Maybe more often than any other Newbery-winning author, Betsy Byars wrote superb books that didn't earn widespread acclaim like her famous ones. You might be familiar with The Summer of the Swans or The Pinballs, but how about The Cartoonist? The Computer Nut? The Seven Treasure Hunts? In that vein we find Cracker Jackson, a novel as emotionally affecting as any of Ms. Byars's greatest hits. Eleven-year-old Jackson Hunter is a born and bred North Carolina boy, and he's got a problem. He knows it's bad when an anonymous letter shows up, though the sender's identity is as obvious to him as if it were signed. "Keep away, Cracker, or he'll hurt you." That's the message from Alma, the only person who calls him Cracker. Alma is a young woman who babysat Jackson for years of his early childhood. She has a baby of her own now, six-month-old Nicole, and Jackson is worried for their safety living with their husband and father, Billy Ray. Jackson remembers when Billy Ray loved having him around the house and the attached garage where he fixes cars for a living, but lately Billy Ray gets angry if Jackson shows up. Alma's injuries don't go unnoticed, a black eye here or puffy lip there, but she tells Jackson these are accidents, not signs that Billy Ray is abusive. Alma adores Jackson as much as when she babysat him, but isn't sure he's safe with Billy Ray in his current state of mind. When Jackson rides his Day-Glo bike to her house after receiving the anonymous letter, she asks him not to come back. But even if he stays away, he can't help worrying.
Jackson would tell his mother what he suspects, but Alma begs him not to. She isn't financially secure like Jackson's mother, but hopes to emulate her career as a flight stewardess. Alma can't stand the thought of "Miz Hunter" thinking Alma is in a bad situation, so Jackson holds off on telling, uneasy as he is. He can't prove Billy Ray hurts Alma, but why else would she suffer so many black eyes, cuts, and bruises? Jackson's father, who divorced his mother three years ago and moved to Los Angeles, has called him on the telephone every Thursday evening since leaving, and now Jackson vents his fears about Alma to him. His father, a jokester who refused to be serious on so many occasions that it led to the divorce, sobers up at Jackson's story. He ignores his son's pleas to leave his mother out of it, and though nothing can be done without Alma's cooperation, Jackson's parents forbid him from going to see her as long as Billy Ray might pose a threat. Jackson feels worse; he not only betrayed Alma's confidence, but is more distant than ever from helping her.
Ralph "Goat" McMillan, Jackson's best friend, has a reputation for pulling zany tricks at school and home, often convincing Jackson to get in on the action, but he's just as ready to lend a hand should Jackson think up a plan to help Alma. When Jackson spots his former sitter in public with Nicole, Alma's face showing new injuries, he implores her to leave Billy Ray and seek help, but she's not ready to admit the problem is that big. Alma's relationship with Jackson is rich and complex, but so is her relationship to Billy Ray, as we learn from flashbacks interwoven with the narrative from start to finish. Alma used to fret that she might not end up with him; one day when she still babysat on a regular basis, she took Jackson with her to ask a palm reader if she and Billy Ray would someday marry. Alma invested a lot of emotional energy in her life with Billy Ray, and Jackson witnessed every leg of the journey. He knows what the man means to her, and remembers the decent person Billy Ray used to be. But is Alma safe in his home?
The instinct to embrace denial is powerful, and it takes a threat to more than just Alma for her to see that standing pat is no longer an option. When Nicole is jeopardized, Alma is ready to act, but where could she go to escape the violence? Will the police be persuaded by Billy Ray's quiet earnestness and send Alma and the baby back to live with him? There's a shelter for battered women in Avondale, but that's at least half an hour away by car; Alma doesn't know how to drive and won't tell anyone but Jackson about the abuse she has suffered. Well...who says an eleven-year-old can't drive his mother's Cutlass Supreme into town? The police do, of course, but Jackson has been willing to do anything for Alma his entire life, and he's not stopping now. Conspiring with Goat, who never shies from trying something outrageous, Jackson drives up to the meeting spot to pick up Alma and Nicole en route to the women's shelter. The twenty-three mile ride is a game of hide-and-seek on the open road from police. Is Alma's nightmare almost at an end...or is one last horror of abuse, more extreme than any that preceded it, necessary to create the permanent change Jackson has wished for since Alma's first black eye?
I love this book, but it may be impossible to show why in a review. The story's emotions are almost infinitely nuanced, a flawless re-creation of real life. It takes only a few pages to sense Jackson's special bond with Alma. His mother dislikes nicknames and won't tolerate any being used for Jackson, but years ago Alma took to calling him "Cracker". She once explained why to Jackson's mother. "It's just a pet name. I call him that because, to me, he's like a box of Cracker Jack—real sweet with a surprise inside, like, you know, in a box of Cracker Jack you always get a little prize or a toy or a decal you can paste on yourself? Well, that's what he reminds me of—real sweet, but always coming up with a surprise..." That description perfectly captures Jackson, a kid you want to get to know and love. He's as sweet and surprising as Alma recognized from his early childhood, and we see it time and again in this book. But why does Jackson feel such allegiance to Alma? It crystalizes in one flashback moment, when Alma burst out of the palm reader's sanctuary to pick Jackson up and swing him around in a hug. Sister Rose had just foretold that Alma would marry Billy Ray, and the purity of Alma's joy is magical to Jackson. "(Her) face shone with enough glow to brighten the whole room. He had not known it was possible for a person to be that happy. He never had been. His mother never had been. Not even his carefree father. Jackson felt he had been let in on one of the best-kept secrets of the adult world—total, complete happiness. For the first time in his life, he was willing to be big." Jackson has no misguided perception of Alma as perfect, but she's sacred to him, and it's difficult to discern whether that says more about him or her, as is often the case in real life. The story of their uncommon connection fills the reader's heart as few novels do.
If Cracker Jackson isn't Betsy Byars's finest book, it's up there with the top two or three. Her subtle emotional profundity is at its peak, and I'm lucky to have participated in the reading experience. Every relationship in the book is unique, interesting, and fully developed, and I find myself reflecting on how much it all means to me. If asked why I consider Betsy Byars a Newbery-worthy author, I'd point to Cracker Jackson even before The Summer of the Swans, and that's saying a lot. I rate this book three and a half stars, and could hardly be closer to rounding to four. If you're a Betsy Byars fan, I urge you not to overlook Cracker Jackson while enjoying her extensive library of juvenile titles. It's a novel to be celebrated.