Monday the 17th would have been Robert Cormier's 86th birthday, though he passed away on November 2, 2000. While reading this excellent study of his life and work by Patty Campbell, a superb YA librarian and one of The Horn Book's finest contributors, I remembered the two things that initially attracted me to Cormier's The Chocolate War (published the year I was born) when I was 14 years old in 1988.
First, my paternal grandmother is Rita Cormier, and the French Canadians on that side of my family (as on my mother's side) moved south to Waltham, Massachusetts, to work in factories just as Robert Cormier's family had come to Leominster, Mass. As far as I know, we are not directly related, but the name certainly caught my eye. We shared a similar workaday Catholic heritage; I could tell that right away.
Second, the very first chapter of The Chocolate War kicked me in the gut like no other piece of writing I'd read to that point. The rest of the book -- its cinematic scenes, sinuous metaphors, and pogo-ing points of view that have all been catalogued by scholars and critics -- continued to pummel me. I took it. I loved it, each word. And I still do.
Since then I've read most of Robert Cormier's work, except for his last two novels, Frenchtown Summer and The Rag and Bone Shop (which I plan to read). However, I still cannot bring myself to read Beyond the Chocolate War (though Campbell makes a great case for why I should) simply because I think the first book is perfectly self-contained, a closed system with an open ending that neither needs nor wants a sequel.
I don't begrudge Cormier for writing Beyond -- he always followed his instincts as a writer, after all -- but I can forgive myself for putting off the experience for so long.
Jerry Renault is murdered, whatever you take that to mean. Am I wrong to resist his resurrection?