The new novel from Jill Wolfsonan exciting, fresh voice in middle-grade fiction
Whitney has been in so many foster homes that she can give a complete rundown on the most common varieties of foster parentsfrom the look-on-the-bright-side types to those unfortunate examples of pure evil. But one thing she doesn't know much about is trees. This means heading for Foster Home #12 (which is all the way at the top of the map of California, where there looks to be nothing but trees) has Whitney feeling a little nervous. She is pretty sure that the middle of nowhere is going to be just one more place where a hyper, loud-mouthed kid who is messy and small for her age won't be welcome for long.
Jill Wolfson has woven together the stories of an irrepressible foster child and a deeply divided small town with incredible humor and compassion.
|Publisher:||Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)|
|Edition description:||First Edition|
|Product dimensions:||4.80(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.80(d)|
|Age Range:||10 - 13 Years|
About the Author
Jill Wolfson is the author of the highly acclaimed novel What I Call Life. She lives in Santa Cruz, California.
Read an Excerpt
Home, and Other Big, Fat Lies
By Jill Wolfson
Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)Copyright © 2006 Jill Wolfson
All right reserved.
HOME, AND OTHER BIG, FAT LIES
OneLet's say you're a kid who's small for her age and some other kids who are way overgrown decide it would be the most hilarious thing in the world to shove the new kid in the house into the clothes dryer and slam it closed. I can tell you how to get out of that dryer by kicking and screaming bloody murder so that the foster mom with the bald spot on the top of her head rescues you in front of the entire snickering ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha house full of kids.I can also give you the complete rundown on the most common varieties of foster parents you're likely to run into. Like the look-on-the-bright-side ones who go on and on until your head is ready to explode like a potato in a microwave about how lucky you are that you weren't born a foster kid in 1846. Or the one Inicknamed Miss Satan because she was so evil, and I bet she's still alive because everyone knows you can't kill pure evil. Or the one who won't like you screaming bloody murder even when the family dog sticks its nose in your crotch and who says things like, "A little, bitty dog never hurt anyone."Oh yeah, well, what about the Demon Dog from Hell?Man-oh-man, I can tell you other things too. Important things you need for survival, not baby stuff.Like how to jump down from and then shimmy back up to a second-story window.And how to kick heart disease in the butt. Scary thought, right? But I have the scar right down the center of my chest to prove it.I can tell you how to slip some quote-unquote souvenirs from a foster home into your pocket without anyone noticing a thing missing.But there are a few things I don't know much about. I admit it. Trees are one. In the World of Whitney, that's just something I never needed to know, so why waste a bunch of words on it? In some places, the people have a hundred different words for something that's important to them. Like, in Alaska, the people have one word for wet snow--say, oogabloga--and a totally separate word for the big flaked kind of snow--like moogablogo.For me, one word for tree has always been good enough, and that word is tree. There are small trees and big trees, trees that stay green all year and trees where the leaves fall off. Those are called decidingus trees because they all decided to let their leaves fall off for the winter. And there was the tree that I used for sneaking out of my sixth foster home because they duct-taped my bedroom door shut to keep me from being a night howl. That means I like wandering around and making lots of noise after dark.That's about the whole sum total of it for trees and me.So you can imagine how thrilled I was to be heading to Foster Home #12, where there was bound to be some real tree nuttiness going on. How did I know this? I saw a map of California, and way at the top there was no big (big city) or even a medium-sized (medium-sized city). Where I was headed, the map was a blob of green with hardly any \\\\\\\ (roads). That meant trees, lots of them.On a Sunday morning, the social worker from way up north came all the way south to the Land of Concrete to pick me up from my old foster home and take me to the new one. I was in the back seat of her official Department of Children's Services car. My pet pill bug, Ike Eisenhower the Sixth, was curled up in some leavesin a mayonnaise jar on my lap. I was working through a supersize bag of sunflower seeds--crack--spitting the shells out the window and sizing up my future.Here's the way I saw it. There are two true, never-going-to-change facts of life for me. I'm going to die someday. And I am not going to last long in this new foster home. There's no getting around either one of them. Crack. Especially the second. Crack. No matter how things seem at first ... crack. No matter how much the people tell me they want me around ... crack ... I'm going to get under their skin like a bad heat rash. Like a rubber band growing tighter and tighter around their throats. Crack, crack, crack!"Can you stop it with those seeds?" the social worker blurted out."Nope," I said."It's been six hours and three hundred miles with that cracking.""I need to be doing something with my hands. You don't want to see me without anything to do with my hands.""Ugly, huh?""Very ugly."By this time, we were out of San Jose, past Oakland, past Sacramento, all the way to where there were no more buildings, where the sky was no longer blue like anormal California sky. It looked like chocolate chip ice cream melted and schmooshed together. I rolled down the window and felt something like a damp rag slap across my face. That was the air. I stuck out my head even farther, all the way to the neck."In, please," the social worker said."Can't hear you," I lied.I spotted a huge truck hauling logs that was coming at us from the opposite direction. I waved at the driver, then pulled down on a pretend cord, which everyone knows is the way to get a truck driver to sound the horn, unless the driver happens to be an old sourpuss, which this one was because all I could hear was wind banging on my eardrums. The truck got closer. I could see the driver's face now, and it wasn't smiling. It was screwed up, like I was a ghost."Get your head in!" the social worker was screaming. The driver blasted the horn, really blasted it. I cheered and waved. My ears were ringing. My eyes were tearing. Gravel was flying. Whoooo!"Are you out of your mind?" the social worker screeched.Man-oh-man, what was her problem? My nose didn't get knocked off or anything. She pulled to the side of the road, shut off the engine, and refused to drive any farther until I brought my head in and rolled up thewindow. "And lock the door," she ordered in a shaky voice.That was the only major excitement for a while. After that, it was just trees to the right, left, ahead, and behind. It was a jungle out there, only not an interesting jungle jungle with monkeys and tigers and vines to swing from. This was just a lot of trees. There was a sign that said SCENIC HIGHWAY, and I wondered, What kind of idiot do they think I am? Of course it's scenic when everything looks like a postcard. Only it wasn't my kind of postcard. I like the ones where they paste an antelope and a jackrabbit together so you think there's really such an animal as a jackalope. Which I did for a while. I mean, why wouldn't I?The social worker didn't take her eyes off the road, except to glance at me every ten seconds through the rearview mirror. "Girl with your kind of energy?" she said. "Good fresh air can work a miracle. This is where you belong, just the kind of home you need."Who was she kidding? In social worker language, what she really meant was "Whitney, you've already been thrown out of or run away from every foster home in the world of civilization. That's why I have to drive you here to the middle of nowhere."Home? I thought. One more place where other people belong, one more big, fat lie.Text copyright © 2006 by Jill Wolfson
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Home and other big fat lies, is definetly going to be a classic like Ida B or Olives Ocean. Readers will fall in love with Whitney (termite) and her tale of being a foster child. How one day she moves to a place in california that has many many trees. And other foster children, Whitney soon makes friends, but in the back of her mind she knows its all to good to be true. But maybe its not, maybe Whitney has found the perfect place...And as they say the grass is always greener on the other side...Or tree in this case.
Home and Other Big, Fat lies is a book that anyone can relate to and laugh at. From IMVS (Imaginary Vice Principal Syndrome) to decidingus trees, Whitney, a.k.a. Termite, is a down-to-earth character with a crazy sense of humor and an even crazier laugh. She is a small foster child who ¿kicked heart disease in the butt.¿ Her nickname, Termite, is a comment about her size made by Striker, the unlikely environmentalist. When the logging business becomes active again, Termite and Striker try to save the forest by their home, while providing a million laughs along the way. This book is a keeper for anyone looking for some humor in reading. I enjoyed how the author, Jill Wolfson, portrayed how far Termite was willing to go to save the ¿Big Mama¿ tree. Not everyone will climb to the top of a tree just to prevent loggers from chopping it down. Termite is fearless, except for the fact that dogs will attack her. She says during the book, ¿Ike Eisenhower is the pet for me. I just don¿t understand why someone would have a dog. They are always trying to sniff your crotch.¿ Termite also has an altered phrase for every occasion. ¿All I know about trees is this. There are pine trees and decidingus trees,¿ she proclaimed. ¿You mean deciduous trees,¿ replied Honeysuckle. ¿No, I mean decidingus trees. They all decided not to keep their leaves through winter,¿ Termite explained. Jill Wolfson wrote very well. I found Termite to be a believable character that I could relate to on many topics in my life. She was also descriptive. I felt as if I was standing next to Termite during her many adventures. The issues in this book, the environment and foster care, are presented in a comical view, but environmentalism becomes serious at the end of the novel. The storyline was well done, and realistic. There was no reason to question why this couldn¿t have actually happened. In fact, I¿m almost positive that there is an area like the one in the book. This book is a high quality novel that anyone can laugh at. Termite is hilarious, the Portapotties are crazy, and Striker is the son of a logger but an environmentalist at heart. I give this book five stars, and there is no higher praise that I can offer
'Home, and Other Big, Fat Lies' by Jill Wolfson is probably one the best books I've ever read. It is funny, well written, and is told from the halarious point of view of a young foster girl named Whitney who likes to go by 'Termite.' But this novel is not just laughs-- you learn important lessons about nature, family, and fitting in. Please buy this or check it out at your local library!
The book Home and Other Big, Fat Lies by Jill Wolfson is a good and interesting book to read. I liked this book a lot because the main character Termite has had a very hard life because she is a foster kid and she was really able to overcome that in this book. This book also really showed her opinion on things and I was able to connect with the character very easily. Termite is heading to her 12th foster home with the McRarys in the Forest Glen, CA. where there are trees everywhere and that is pretty much it. She is a very loud girl and gets into a lot of trouble which made her think she would not stay at this home very long. Like always she started out not fitting in but very soon she became friends with all the foster kids at her school and she became the leader of their group. Forest Glen has a very poor economy because most of the people were logger but could not be because logging got banned because it was not good for the environment. After a while logging was allowed and Termite and the McRarys son Striker tried very hard to save the woods and their favorite tree Big Momma. I liked this book because it was told from Termite's point of view and she had so much emotion so you really understood her personality and what she thought of everything. When she first got to her new foster home she did not try to impress the family she acted like herself and that really helped me understand how the book will go and the kind of person Termite is. I like how Termite is very persuasive. I could tell she was when in school she got a shy foster kid to come out of the box he always stays in. Termite is a really determined girl and that made the book really good. She did not give up when she and Striker were trying to save Big Momma. She worked with him even though they don't always get a long and she just did not give up. The way the author wrote as Termite really helped me get a feel of what was going on and it helped me understand every little emption that Termite was having. I loved how all the characters had their own little personalities and were so different from each other. The message of the book was to never give up on what you want and always look on the bright side and don't think that everything will turn out bad. If you like books that are very surprising and up-beat this is a must-read. I would give this book four stars.
I rented this book from the library.. now i wish i bought it!!
home and other big fat lies is the best book i've read.Even if i'm on page 97 i like it so far this book is awsome.I love the main character.