There's good reason why every Penderwicks novel was considered a prime candidate for the John Newbery Medal. In an era of kid lit dominated by contemporary ideology and character archetypes, Jeanne Birdsall's series pushes back against that gently but firmly, refusing to be about characters who all espouse the same contemporary values. The Penderwicks has been favorably compared to Eleanor Estes's Moffats series, Elizabeth Enright's books about the Melendy family, and Edward Eager's Tales of Magic, among other youth classics of yesteryear. The timelessness of the Penderwicks series comes from its characters, setting, and stories, all of which could belong to any American era, more or less. We can all see ourselves somewhere in the Penderwick family: as no-nonsense Skye, who deals with people straight-on but rarely reveals her true feelings; as writerly Jane, whose mind churns constantly to turn everything around her into stories, a wordsmith whose fertile imagination supplies her with endless ideas to write about; as the only boy in the family, second-grader Ben, who affably goes along with most of what his sisters ask of him but insists on tending to his own interests, as well; or as timid, heartsick Batty, who heaps the worries of the world on her slender shoulders without complaint, expressing her innermost self through the gorgeous singing voice she inherited from her deceased mother, a voice that freely flows only so long as Batty has joy in her heart from which to sing. There are Penderwicks galore to identify with, including a few I haven't mentioned, but The Penderwicks in Spring focuses on Batty, now almost eleven years old.
Several years have passed since the previous book, The Penderwicks at Point Mouette, and the family is somewhat spread out these days. Rosalind is away at college studying Latin, while Jane and Skye are in their late teens, preparing to depart for institutions of higher learning in the next two years. Another Penderwick child has been born, now two-year-old Lydia, who bears the same fiery red hair as Ben and their mother Iantha, stepmother to Batty and the other Penderwick girls. When a new music teacher joins the faculty at Batty's school and pulls her aside to inform her she has extraordinary vocal talent, Batty is elated. None of the Penderwicks seemed to have inherited her mother's golden voice until now. Batty could surprise the family with a private concert on her upcoming eleventh birthday, if she can find a voice instructor to hone her singing a bit before then. The new music teacher will do nicely in that regard, and Jeffrey is visiting from Boston soon. Batty can reveal her singing talent to him and ask him to help; after all, Jeffrey has been friends with the Penderwicks for years, and he's a serious music student at college. There's no one Batty would rather learn from than Jeffrey.
"Some secrets buried away in boxes are peacefully forgotten, just as we hope they'll be. But some refuse to stay in their boxes, popping out at the worst possible times. And then there are those...that linger and fester, gnawing away from the inside out."
—The Penderwicks in Spring, P. 208
The charmed prelude Batty imagines leading up to her birthday concert goes wrong quickly, mostly in little ways. When Rosalind returns home for a visit, she brings a boyfriend that none of the other Penderwicks like. They preferred when Rosalind was in a relationship with Tommy Geiger from next door, but that ship has apparently sailed. At least Tommy's brother, Nick, is home for a few weeks from his stint in the army. The Penderwicks love Nick Geiger, and he'll play a pivotal role in this book. Though Jeffrey also returns on cue to spend time with the Penderwicks, his connection to them is more tenuous than before. Jeffrey makes no secret that he wants more than friendship with Skye, but she's rejecting the notion of romance for now, busy enough keeping up with her schoolwork. Skye sends Jeffrey packing more than once out of frustration with his unrequited courtship, not giving Batty any chance to have a conversation with him about becoming her music mentore. Then comes the night when Batty overhears a conversation that jars her world from its axis, smothering the joyful singing sprite within and banishing her to an oubliette of sorrow and aloneness she never knew existed. The Penderwicks and their close friends have rebounded from distressing circumstances on several occasions, but this problem may be unfixable, a hurt too deep to recover from. It will take the close-knit affection and unconditional loyalty of more than just Batty's parents and siblings to reconstruct the course of her life as she perceived it up to now, blissfully unaware of the grief that lay waiting to ambush her when she grew old enough to understand. But the Penderwicks are all about banding together and loving each other when it's hard, when love feels more like a chore than a natural effusion. The merry singing sprite within Batty has gone gravely silent in the face of her sadness, but its harmonious voice can be regenerated. All it needs is a little hope to jumpstart its joie de vivre.
There's a lot of good to The Penderwicks in Spring, a story with a tremendous variety of characters who care deeply about their family and friends even when they don't show it well. Not a single character feels contrived, as if they wouldn't occur in real life, and that's a noteworthy accomplishment for a novel so packed with people. The story's emotional gravity comes primarily from the suddenness and enormity of Batty's crisis after she overhears The Conversation, and it makes us as sick to our stomach as she feels, that stubborn knot pushing against her insides continuously and painfully, not letting her draw full breath. It's stressful, but it allows those of us who have felt that way before to identify with Batty's affliction and crave relief on a visceral level, so it feels that much more wonderful when it finally comes. Living with a knot in one's stomach is a torment no one deserves. Batty has to come to grips realistically with her part in the passing away of a couple of loved ones in her life, her mother and her faithful canine friend, Hound, and it will take truth to clear those hurdles. Who better to deliver truth than Nick Geiger, a military man who cares for Batty and the other Penderwicks more than he ever explicitly states? He is distant enough to objectively speak to Batty's guilt over the death of her loved ones, particularly Hound, whom she stayed close beside every day until his doggy heart gave out. "Listen to me, Batty. Dogs die. People die... We do the best we can while they're alive, and then they die anyway." Straight talk from Nick might be just what the doctor ordered after all Batty's suffering. We can't prevent loved ones from perishing—they're flesh and blood creatures, destined to eventually leave us—but we can hold them near while they remain, not letting anything get between us while we have them. Love without reserve and don't take those you care about for granted, that's the Penderwick way. The Penderwicks in Spring is a fitting celebration of that.
I consider many authors to be blessed fixtures in the kingdom of children's literature, like miniature cities on hilltops shining their brave light up into the cavernous universe. Jerry Spinelli, Cynthia Voigt, Patrick Ness, Rachel Field, Oscar Wilde, Aesop, Louisa May Alcott, Howard Pyle, Ingrid Law, Hugh Lofting...the list could go on practically forever. Jeanne Birdsall is one of those luminous hilltop cities, too, a creative artist whose importance to her readers cannot be overestimated. Like the previous installments in the series, The Penderwicks in Spring is a work of heart and hope that leaves an indelible mark on the landscape of literature. I give it at least two and a half stars, and wouldn't object to three. The Penderwicks will be special to me the rest of my life.