Superfudge (Spanish Edition)


Sometimes life in the Hatcher household is enough to make twelve-year-old Peter think about running away. His worst problem is still his younger brother, Fudge, who hasn't changed a bit since his crazy capers in Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. If you ask Peter, Fudge is just an older — and bigger — pain.

Then Peter learns that his mom is going to have a baby and the whole family is moving to Princeton for a year. It will be bad enough ...
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Sometimes life in the Hatcher household is enough to make twelve-year-old Peter think about running away. His worst problem is still his younger brother, Fudge, who hasn't changed a bit since his crazy capers in Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. If you ask Peter, Fudge is just an older — and bigger — pain.

Then Peter learns that his mom is going to have a baby and the whole family is moving to Princeton for a year. It will be bad enough starting sixth grade in a strange place and going to the same school as Fudge. But Peter can imagine something even worse. How will he ever survive if the new baby is a carbon copy of Fudge?

From the Trade Paperback edition.

Peter describes the highs and lows of life with his younger brother, Fudge.

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Editorial Reviews

Children's Literature
Perhaps Blume's most loveable children's novel, Superfudge picks up from where Tails of a Fourth Grade Nothing leaves 12-year-old Peter, his 4-year-old brother Fudge, and the rest of the Hatcher family. As if Fudge hasn't caused enough problems already, now Peter's parents are planning on moving to the country for a whole year and having another baby. Will Peter have another tiny version of Fudge on his hands? The story chronicles these and other familiar growing pains for adolescents, as well as some less-than-typical issues, like the Hatchers' friendly neighbor who may or may not eat worms. Parents will love reading the Fudge stories to a captive audience, and children will laugh out loud at the hysterical reenactment of typical family situations. 2003 (orig. 1980), Puffin/Penguin, Ages 5 to 12.
— Stacey King
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781560146650
  • Publisher: Santillana USA Publishing Company
  • Publication date: 6/28/1996
  • Language: Spanish
  • Series: Fudge Series
  • Edition description: Spanish-language Edition
  • Pages: 159
  • Sales rank: 247,860
  • Age range: 7 - 11 Years
  • Lexile: 600L (what's this?)
  • Product dimensions: 5.30 (w) x 8.40 (h) x 0.60 (d)

Meet the Author

Judy  Blume
Judy Blume is the enduringly popular author of more than twenty books for young readers. Over 75 million copies of her books have been sold, and the Fudge books are timeless classics. Among Ms. Blume's many awards are the Margaret A. Edwards Award for Lifetime Achievement and the 2004 National Book Foundation's Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. She lives with her husband, George Cooper, in Key West, Florida.


Before Judy Blume, there may have been a handful of books that spoke to issues teens could identify with; but very few were getting down to nitty-gritty stuff like menstruation, masturbation, parents divorcing, being half-Jewish, or deciding to have sex. Now, these were some issues that adolescents could dig into, and Blume’s ability to address them realistically and responsibly has made her one of the most popular – and most banned – authors for young adults.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, published in 1970, was Blume’s third book and the one that established her fan base. Drawing on some of the same things she faced as a sixth grader growing up in Elizabeth, New Jersey, Blume created a sympathetic, first-person portrait of a girl whose family moves to the suburbs as she struggles with puberty and religion. In subsequent classics such as Then Again, Maybe I Won’t, Deenie, Blubber, and Tiger Eyes, Blume wrote about the pain of being different, falling in love, and figuring out one's identity. Usually written in a confessional/diary style, Blume’s books feel like letters from friends who just happen to be going through a very interesting version of the same tortures suffered by their audience.

Blume has also accumulated a great following among the 12-and-under set with her Fudge series, centering on the lives of preteen Peter Hatcher and his hilariously troublesome younger brother, Farley (a.k.a. Fudge). Blume’s books in this category are particularly adept at portraying the travails of siblings, making both sides sympathetic. Her 2002 entry, Double Fudge, takes a somewhat surreal turn, providing the Hatchers with a doppelganger of Fudge when they meet some distant relatives on a trip.

Blume has also had success writing for adults, again applying her ability to turn some of her own sensations into compelling stories. Wifey in 1978 was the raunchy chronicle of a bored suburban housewife’s infidelities, both real and imagined. She followed this up five years later with Smart Women, a novel about friendship between two divorced women living in Colorado; and 1998’s Summer Sisters, also about two female friends.

Blume has said she continually struggles with her writing, often sure that each book will be the last, that she’ll never get another idea. She keeps proving herself wrong with more than 20 books to her credit; hopefully she will continue to do so.

Good To Know

Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing was inspired by an article given to Blume by her babysitter about a toddler who swallowed a small pet turtle. She wrote a picture book introducing Fudge (based on her own then-toddler son), the turtle, and older brother Peter; but it was rejected. A few years later, E. P. Dutton editor Ann Durell suggested that Blume turn the story into a longer book about the Hatcher family. Blume did, and the Fudge legacy was born.

Blume is not an author without conflict about her station in life. She says on her web site that, as part of her "fantasy about having a regular job," she has a morning routine that involves getting fully dressed and starting at 9 a.m. She has also getting out of writing altogether."After I had written more than ten books I thought seriously about quitting," she writes. "I felt I couldn't take the loneliness anymore. I thought I would rather be anything but a writer. But I've finally come to appreciate the freedom of writing. I accept the fact that it's hard and solitary work."

Blume's book about divorce, It's Not the End of the World, proved ultimately to be closer to her own experience than she originally imagined. Her own marriage was in trouble at the time, but she couldn't quite face it. "In the hope that it would get better I dedicated this book to my husband," she writes in an essay. "But a few years later, we, too, divorced. It was hard on all of us, more painful than I could have imagined, but somehow we muddled through and it wasn't the end of any of our worlds, though on some days it might have felt like it."

Her most autobiographical book is Starring Sally J. Friedman as Herself, says Blume. "Sally is the kind of kid I was at ten," Blume says on her web site.

Blume keeps setting Fudge aside, readers keep bringing him back. The sequel Superfudge was written after tons of fans wrote in asking for more of Farley Hatcher; again more begging led to Fudge-a-Mania ten years later. Blume planned never to write about Fudge again, but grandson Elliott was a persistent pesterer (just like Fudge), and got his way with 2002's Double Fudge.

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    1. Hometown:
      New York's Upper East Side, Key West, and Martha's Vineyard
    1. Date of Birth:
      February 12, 1938
    2. Place of Birth:
      Elizabeth, New Jersey
    1. Education:
      B.S. in education, New York University, 1961
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

Life was going along okay when my mother and father dropped the news. Bam! Just like that.
“We have something wonderful to tell you, Peter,” Mom said before dinner. She was slicing carrots into the salad bowl. I grabbed one.
“What is it?” I asked. I figured maybe my father’s been made president of the company. Or maybe my teacher phoned, saying that even though I don’t get the best grades in the fifth grade, I am definitely the smartest kid in the class.
“We’re going to have a baby,” Mom said.
“We’re going to what?” I asked, starting to choke. Dad had to whack me on the back. Tiny pieces of chewed up carrot flew out of my mouth and hit the counter. Mom wiped them up with a sponge.
“Have a baby,” Dad said.
“You mean you’re pregnant?” I asked Mom.
“That’s right,” she told me, patting her middle.“Almost four months.”
“Four months! You’ve know for four months and you didn’t tell me?”
“We wanted to be sure,” Dad said.
“It took you four months to be sure?”
“I saw the doctor for the second time today,” Mom said. “The baby’s due in February.” She reached over and tried to tousle my hair. I ducked and got out of the way before she could touch me.
Dad took the lid off the pot on the stove and stirred up the stew. Mom went back to slicing carrots. You’d have thought we were discussing the weather.
“How could you?” I shouted. “How could you? Isn’t one enough?”
They both stopped andlooked at me.
I kept right on shouting. “Another Fudge! Just what the family needs.” I turned and stormed down the hall.
Fudge, my four- year-old brother, was in the living room. He was shoving crackers into his mouth and laughing like a loon at Sesame Street on TV. I looked at him and thought about having to go through it all over again. The kicking and the screaming and the messes and more-much more. I felt so angry that I kicked the wall.
Fudge turned. “Hi, Pee-tah,” he said.
“You are the biggest pain ever invented!” I yelled.
He tossed a handful of crackers at me.
I raced to my room and slammed the door, so hard my map of the world fell of the wall and landed on the bed. My dog, Turtle, barked. I opened the door just enough to let him squeeze though, then slammed it shut again. I pulled my Adidas bag out of the closet and emptied two dresser drawers into it. Another Fudge, I said to myself. They’re going to have another Fudge.
There was a knock at my door, and Dad called, “Peter…”
“Go away,” I told him.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
“About what?” As if I didn’t know.
“The baby.”
“What baby?”
“You know what baby!”
“We don’t need another baby.”
“Need it or not, it’s coming,” Dad said. “So you might as well get used to the idea.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Dad said. “In the meantime, scrub up. It’s time for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I zipped up my bag grabbed a jacket and opened my bedroom door. No one was there. I marched down the hall and found my parents in the kitchen.
“I’m leaving,” I announced. “I’m not going to hang around waiting for another Fudge to get born. Good-bye.”
I didn’t move. I just stood there, waiting to see what they’d do next.
“Where are you going?” Mom asked. She took four plates out of the cabinet and handed them to Dad.
“To Jimmy Fargo’s,” I said, although until that moment I hadn’t thought at all about where I would go.
“They have a one-bedroom apartment,” Mom said.
“You’d be very crowded.”
“Then I’ll go to Grandma’s. She’ll be happy to have me.”
“Grandma’s in Boston for the week, visiting Aunt Linda.”
“So why don’t you scrub up and have your dinner, and then you can decide where to go,” Mom said.
I didn’t want to admit that I was hungry, but I was. And all those goods smells coming from the pots and pans on the stove were making my mouth water. So I dropped my Adidas bag and went down the hall to the bathroom.
Fudge was at the sink. He stood on his stool, lathering his hands with three inches of suds. “Hello, you must be Bert,” he said in his best Sesame Street voice. “My name is Ernie. Glad to meet you.” He offered me one of his sudsy little hands.
“Roll up your sleeves,” I told him. “You’re making a mess.”
“Mess, mess…I love to make a mess,” he sang.
“We know…we know,” I told him.
I ran my hands under the faucet and dried them on my jeans.
When we got to the table, Fudge arranged himself in his chair. Since he refuses to sit in his booster seat, he has to kneel so that he can reach his place at the table. “Pee-tah didn’t scrub,” he said. “He only rinsed.”
“You little…” I started to say, but Fudge was already yapping away to my father.
“Hello, I’m Bert. You must be Ernie.”
“That’s right,” my father said, playing along with him. “How are you, Bert?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Fudge said. “My liver’s turning green and my toenails are falling off.”
“Sorry to hear that, Bert,” my father said. “Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.”
“Yes, maybe,” Fudge said.
I shook my head and piled up some mashed potatoes on my plate. Then I drowned them in gravy. “Remember when we took Fudge to Hamburger Heaven,” I said, “and he smeared mashed potatoes all over the wall?”
“I did that?” Fudge asked, suddenly interested.
“Yes,” I told him, “and you dumped a plate of peas on your head too.”
My mother started to laugh. “I’d forgotten all about that day.”
“Too bad you didn’t remember before you decided to have another baby,” I said.
“Baby?” Fudge asked.
My mother and father looked at each other. I got the message. They hadn’t told Fudge the good news yet.
“Yes,” Mom said. “We’re going to have a baby.”
“Tomorrow?” Fudge asked/
“No, not tomorrow,” Mom said.
“When?” Fudge asked.
“February,” Dad said.
“January, February, March, April, May, June, July…” Fudge recited.
“Okay…okay…” I said. “We all know how smart you are.”
“Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty…”
“Enough!” I said.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G, R, B, Y, Z…”
“Will somebody turn him off?” I said.
Fudge was quite for a few minutes. Then he said, “What kind of new baby will it be?”
“Let’s hope it’s not like you,” I said.
“Why not? I was a good baby, wasn’t I, Mommy?”
“You were an interesting baby, Fudgie, Mom said.
“See I was an interesting baby, he said to me.
“And Peter was a sweet baby,” Mom said. “He was very quiet.”
“Lucky you had me first,” I said to Mom, “or you might not have had any more kids.”
“Was I a quite baby, too? Fudge asked.
“I wouldn’t say that, “ Dad said.
“I want to see the baby,” Fudge asked.
“You will.”
“You can’t see it now,” Dad said.
“Why not?” Fudge asked.
“Because it’s inside of me,” Mom told him.
Here it comes, I thought, the big question. When I asked it, I got a book called How Babies Are Made. I wondered what Mom and Dad would say to Fudge. But Fudge didn’t ask. Instead, he banged his spoon against the plate and howled. “I want to see the baby. I want to see the baby now!”
“You’ll have to wait until February,” Dad said, “just like the rest of us.”
“Now now now!” Fudge screamed.
Another five years of this, I thought. Maybe even more. And who’s to say that they aren’t going to keep on having babies, one after the other. “Excuse me.” I said, getting up from the table. I went into the kitchen and grabbed my Adidas bag. Then I stood in the doorway and called “Well, I’d better be on my way.” I sort of waved good-bye.
“Where is Pee-tah going?” Fudge asked.
“I’m running away,” I told him. “But I’ll come back to visit. Someday.”
“No, Pee-tah…don’t go!” Fudge jumped off his chair and ran to me. He grabbed my leg and started bawling. “Pee-tah…Pee-tah…take me with you.”
I tried to shake him off my leg but I couldn’t. He can be really strong. I looked at my mother and father. Then I looked at Fudge, who gave me the same look as Turtle when he’s begging for a biscuit. “If only I knew for sure what the baby would be like,” I said.
“Take a chance, Peter,” Dad said. “The baby won’t necessarily be anything like Fudge.”
“But it won’t necessarily not be like him either,” I answered.
Fudge tugged at my leg. “I want an interesting baby,” he said. “Like me.”
I sighed. “If you think it’s going to sleep in my room, you’re crazy,” I told Mom and
“The baby will sleep in here,” Mom said. “In the dining area.”
“Then where will we eat?”
“Oh, we’ll think of something,” Mom said.
I put my Adidas bag down and tried shaking Fudge off one more time. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll stay for now. But when the baby comes, if I don’t like it, I’m leaving.”
“Me too,” Fudge said. “Sam got a new baby and it smells.” He held up his nose. “P.U.”
“Who want dessert?” Dad asked. “It’s vanilla pudding.”
“I do…I do…” Fudge yelped. He let go of me and climbed into his chair.
“Peter?” Dad said.
“Sure, why not?” And I sat down at the table too. Mom reached over and tousled my hair. This time I let her.

From the Trade Paperback edition.
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