Ghost Boyby Iain Lawrence
Full of colorful performers, the circus seems like the answer to Harold's loneliness. He's eager to meet the Cannibal King, a sideshow attraction who's an albino too. He's
Harold Kline is an albino--an outcast. Folks stare and taunt, calling him Ghost Boy. It's been that way all of his 14 years. So when the circus comes to town, Harold runs off to join it.
Full of colorful performers, the circus seems like the answer to Harold's loneliness. He's eager to meet the Cannibal King, a sideshow attraction who's an albino too. He's touched that Princess Minikin and the Fossil Man, two other sideshow curiosities, embrace him like a son. He's in love with Flip, the beguiling horse trainer, and awed by the all-knowing Gypsy Magda. Most of all, Harold is proud of training the elephants, and of earning respect and a sense of normality. Even at the circus, though, two groups exist--the freaks, and everyone else.
Harold straddles both groups. But fitting in with those who are "normal" comes at a price, and sometimes it's recognizing the truth beneath what's apparent that ultimately leads to happiness . . . and turns a boy into a man.
From the Hardcover edition.
SOURCE: VOYA, December 2000 (Vol. 23, No. 5)
—School Library Journal, Starred
- Random House Children's Books
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- Age Range:
- 12 Years
Read an Excerpt
It was the hottest day of the year. Only the Ghost was out in the sun, only the Ghost and his dog. They shuffled down Liberty's main street with puffs of dust swirling at their feet, as though the earth was so hot that it smoldered.
It wasn't yet noon, and already a hundred degrees. But the Ghost wore his helmet of leather and fur, a pilot's helmet from a war that was two years over. It touched his eyebrows and covered his ears; the straps dangled and swayed at his neck.
He was a thin boy, white as chalk, a plaster boy dressed in baggy clothes. He wore little round spectacles with black lenses that looked like painted coins on his eyes. And he stared through them at a world that was always blurred, that sometimes jittered across the darkened glass. From the soles of his feet to the top of his head, his skin was like rich white chocolate, without a freckle anywhere. Even his eyes were such a pale blue that they were almost clear, like raindrops or quivering dew.
He glanced up for only a moment. Already there was a scrawl of smoke to the west, creeping across the prairie. But the Ghost didn't hurry; he never did. He hadn't missed a single train in more than a hundred Saturdays.
He turned the corner at the drugstore, his honey-colored dog behind him. They went down to the railway tracks and the little station that once had been a sparkling red but now was measled by the sun. At three minutes to noon he sat on the bench on the empty platform, and the dog crawled into the shadows below it.
The Ghost put down his stick and his jar, then dabbed at the sweat that trickled from the rim of his helmet. The top of it was black with sweat, in a circle like a skullcap.
The scrawl of smoke came closer. It turned to creamy puffs. The train whistled at Batsford's field, where it started around the long bend toward Liberty and on to the Rattlesnake. The Ghost lifted his head, and his thin pale lips were set in a line that was neither a frown nor a smile.
"It's going to stop," he told his dog. "You bet it will."
Huge and black, pistons hissing steam, the engine came leaning into the curve. It pulled a mail car and a single coach in a breathy thunder, a shriek of wheels. It rattled the windows in the clapboard station, shedding dust from the planks. The bench jiggled on metal legs.
"I know it's going to stop," said the Ghost.
But it didn't. The train roared past him in a blast of steam, in a hot whirl of wind that lashed the helmet straps against his cheeks. And on this Saturday in July, as he had every other Saturday that he could possibly remember, Harold the Ghost blinked down the track and sighed the saddest little breath that anyone might ever hear. Then he picked up his stick and his jar and struck off for the Rattlesnake River.
The stick was his fishing pole, and he carried it over his shoulder. A string looped down behind him, with a wooden bobber swinging at his knees. The old dog came out from the shade and followed him so closely that the bobber whacked her head with a hollow little thunk. But the dog didn't seem to mind; she would put up with anything to be near her master.
They climbed back to Main Street and trudged to the east, past false-fronted buildings coated with dust. The windows were blackboards for children's graffiti, covered with Kilroy faces and crooked hearts scribbled with names: Bobby Loves Betty; Betty Loves George; No One Loves Harold. And across the wide front window of May's Cafe was a poem in slanting lines:
He's ugly and stupid He's dumb as a post He's a freak and a geek He's Harold the Ghost.
In the shade below the window sat a woman on a chair with spindly legs, beside a half-blind old man with spindly legs sitting in a rocker. Harold glanced at them and heard the woman's voice from clear across the street. "There he goes," she said. "I never seen a sadder sight."
He couldn't hear the old man's question, only the woman's answer. "Why, that poor albino boy."
The man mumbled; she clucked like a goose. "Land's sakes! He's going to the river, of course. Down where the Baptists go. Where they dunk themselves in the swimming hole."
His head down, his boots scuffing, Harold passed from the town to the prairie. The buildings shrank behind him until they were just a brown-and-silver heap. And in the huge flatness of the land he was a speck of a boy with a speck of a dog behind him. He walked so slowly that a tumbleweed overtook him, though the day was nearly calm. In an hour he'd reached the Rattlesnake.
In truth it was no more of a river than Liberty was a city. The Rattlesnake didn't flow across the prairie; it crawled. It went like an ancient dog on a winding path, keeping to the shade when it could. But it was the only river that Harold Kline had ever seen, and he thought it rather grand. He splashed his way along the stream, a quarter mile down the river, until he reached his favorite spot, where the banks were smooth and grassy. Then he sat, and the dog lay beside him. He put a worm on his hook and cast out the bobber. It plunged in, popped out, tilted and straightened, like a little diver who'd found the river too cold. A pair of water striders dashed over to have a look at it, and dashed away again.
The dog was asleep in an instant. She hadn't run more than a yard in more than a year, but she dreamed about running now, her legs twitching.
"Where are you off to?" asked Harold the Ghost. His voice was soft as smoke. "You're off to Oregon, I bet. You're running through the forests, aren't you? You're running where it's cool and shady, you poor old thing." He looked up at the sun, a hot white smudge in his glasses.
The dog went everywhere Harold did. It seemed only natural to him that she would dream of the places he dreamed about.
"We'll get there," he said, leaning back. The grass and the water and the blue of the sky made a pleasant blur of colors around him. "David will be on the next train, maybe. Or for sure the one after that. And he'll take us away. You bet he will."
From the Hardcover edition.
Meet the Author
Iain Lawrence is a journalist, travel writer, and avid sailor.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Ghost Boy is a wonderful novel following the story of Harold Kline, an albino. There are many colorful and interesting characters who help Harold understand himself, his friends, and people in general. This book is both sad and intriguing, it teaches the reader valuable lessons they won't want to forget. When you finish Ghost Boy, you will be thouroughly satisified!
I'm in Grade 10 and read it for English class and I find this story so, not fulfilling. The beginning was slow, and I would seriously abandon this book in the beginning if I was not forced to read this for school. Near the middle, it finally gets interesting - but, Harold is such a pushover and at moments, it was just so frustrating to read because the storyline moved so slow. When it came to the climas, it was SO rushed. I had to re-read it a few times, and I still don't quite understand it. The falling action was like only 1 chapter and everything seemed to be resolved so quickly that it truly let me down. I love the topic and theme - I think it's amazing, I just believe the plot needs to be .. timed better?
Ghost Boy is an outstanding book about an albino boy who is extremly self conscious about himself. One day, he goes off from his home to a wandering circus. There he joins it and becomes one of the 'freaks'. From there comes betrayal of his best friends just to hang out with a beautiful girl he's in love with. But something terrible happens... If I were to rate this book out of ten I would give it an easy 15!
I LOVE THIS BOOK! I'm in the 9th grade and all my friends think its the gayest book ever but I think its awsome! Write another!
I read this book along with his other book in 5th and 6th grade. I finished 'Ghost Boy' in 6th grade and I just have to say that it's really good. Get it.
Good Book. Harold Kine Is An Albino Boy That Runs Away From His Mean Mother, And Leaves Behind His Dog To Join The Circus As A Circus Freak.
I have read most of the classics, some of the recommended, and a few of the unnoticed, and yet still, I return to this book again and again! A ghostly albino figure, Harold Kline, is lost on hope. His family is torn between death, disappearance, and insanity, while he wanders quietly about his town, taunted and teased, for years. A circus stops near his little town, and he joins it eagerly, being caught between what seems two different worlds- the freaks, and the other people. It leaves you curious, whether it was all in his head or not, and yet... It leaves you satisfied, not hanging. Iain Lawrence is bloody brilliant, and full of talent. She leaves me begging for another tale.
From the beginning to the end, Iain Lawrence attracts attention to the story Ghost Boy. In Liberty, the small town sits in a big wheat field. Everyone in town looks at Harold as an outcast. When Harold does something about being made fun of, the town becomes shocked of his actions. Harold is known across the town due to his appearance. What I mean by that is Harold is an albino person that lives in a town where everyone knows each other. Harold feels awkward whenever he walks to town because the other kids tease him and call him names like ¿Powder Boy¿ or ¿Ghost Boy¿. Finally one day Harold hears that the circus is coming to town and he is all fascinated about it, but when he goes and ask him mother can he go to the circus, she furiously yells at him like he had killed somebody. Later on that night he sneaks out the house while his parents are sleeping. While he is leaving he looks ahead and sees the gigantic bright shining colors of the circus lights. The conflict of the novel is that Harold isn¿t allowed by his parents to go to the circus. Then he takes upon himself and his own actions to do what he wants for himself. Harold isn¿t a bad son or teenager, he just wanted to view the circus and enjoy. Also the parents aren¿t awful parents either because they were protecting Harold from being hurt from the townspeople. The conflict of the story can be reasonable because maybe if Harold¿s parents went along and inspected, maybe they would of received satisfaction from some of the performances. Ghost Boy should be a seller because the readers would enjoy the adventures Harold went on. Or did he even go to circus and join them?
This book is not very interesting at all!It's boring and very stupid. I would never want to read it ever again. I mean come on you cant teach a elephant to play baseball. And he is si self conchious and listens to every body else.