Middle Grade Monday: Treasure, by S. Smith

 

Title: Treasure (Seed Savers #1)

Author: S. Smith

Published: 2012, 221 pages

Source: I either purchase the 3-volume Seed Savers set or picked it up on a free day. Naturally, I can't recall because it sat on my Kindle for months before I read it. It is only right to disclose that the author and I are both members of the "BookElves" group, but my review is in any case my honest opinion.

Publisher's Summary:

It’s 2077. There’s no apocalypse, but some things are different. Things like the weather, the internet, and food. In twelve-year-old Clare’s world, blueberry is just a flavor and apples are found only in fairy tales.

Then one day Clare meets an old woman who teaches her about seeds and real food. The woman (Ana) tempts Clare with the notion that food exists other than the square, processed, packaged food she has always known. Under Ana’s tutelage, Clare and her friends learn about seeds and gardening despite suspicions that such actions are illegal.

When the authorities discover the children’s forbidden tomato plant and arrest their mother, Clare and her brother flee. Clare has heard of a place called "The Garden State," and with their bikes, a little money, and backpacks, the children begin a lonely cross-country journey that tests them both physically and spiritually. Will they succeed in their quest to find a place of food freedom?  And can they, only children, help change the world?

Treasure is a gentle dystopian, frightening only in the possibility that we may not be far from the future it paints.   

My Review:

The entire concept of the Seed Savers series is a bit chilling, primarily because, as the publisher's blurb states, it paints a future we can easily see coming our way. But the story itself is not edge-of-the-seat frightening, and would be suitable for most children of 9-12. Clare is a likable heroine, and if she and her little brother get along a bit unbelievably well, they have good reason to stick together, especially once they are on the run. 

I found the beginning of the story a little slow. It takes time for Clare, Dante and their friend Lily to learn about the whole idea of seeds and growing plants, which is understandable, but the story might do better to move more quickly through this. For me, the story takes hold when the food police (as it were) arrest Clare & Dante's mother and the kids flee. Their view of the world has been pretty circumscribed, not just with regard to food, and we see them growing and expanding as their world does. I can't help liking that they make their escape to Canada by bicycle, nor do I miss that the heavy guard the border carries is to keep people IN the US, not out.

One thing which made me a little uncomfortable was the use of religion in the story. I kind of get it, but it doesn't seem necessary to have them be religious, nor does it seem necessary to the story to focus so on prayer and scripture (well, maybe the latter makes some sense, because it is partly the Bible's agrarian roots that sabotage the efforts to make everyone forget where food comes from; this works because while the government controls science education, they have apparently chosen to leave religion alone, a plausible development in today's world). I might like to see a more overt consideration of the implications of religion, not as a means for the children to pray and make things okay, but as something which seems to be simultaneously a controlling tool of the government--and the source of the rebellion. That might be asking a bit much of a children's book, though!

Recommendation:

This book and its premise are (pardon me) food for thought that everyone should consider. Those whose children are not Christian may need to talk about the religious aspects, but that doesn't seem so bad either (everyone should be willing to read about people of other religions). And everyone, of whatever age, would do well to ask themselves where their food comes from--and in the case of the vast bulk of processed foods in our stores, what it might be made of.  
Full Disclosure: I purchased the Seed Saver boxed set on a sale or free day, of my own will and desire, and received nothing from the writer or publisher in exchange for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."  

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Friday Flash: Dahlia's Doorstep

A month or so ago, the Wendig Challenge presented us with a whole lot of titles dreamed up by his followers. I wrote down a half a dozen I liked, just for times like this when I need a prompt. So, courtesy of s.c.kross (if I've read my own notes correctly), I present, in 792 words, my Thanksgiving tale, "Dahlia's Doorstep." Since I've used that name before, I tied this back to another story, from September of 2014, simply titled "Dahlia"

Dahlia’s Doorstep

The cat known to some as Dahlia sat on the doorstep and surveyed his world. Colorful leaves blew by, and a chill touched the air. It was fall. A general feeling of change ruffled his fur, as the scent of roasting fowls disturbed his magnificent complacency.

He did not, in fact, mind if the turkey was roasted or raw, nor did his friends.  But if The Woman wanted it roasted, that was fine with him. Even a cat known to his friends as James Dean could compromise for the sake of a big hunk of turkey.

Killer Instinct arrived first. The dog was looking a bit thin and seedy, and slunk out of the bushes with a wary look about him.

“Hey, Fluffy!” Dahlia/James Dean liked to tease his friend about the name his people had given him.

“Not flippin’ Fluffy any more, Dahlia,” KI growled. The cat ignored the jab at his own name, surveying his friend with a superior air.

“No, you aren’t looking so fluffy these days. What’s happened to you? Aren’t your people feeding you right?”

“They left.”

“Left? And what, you wouldn’t go? Had enough of being Fluffy?”

“They didn’t give me the chance to go, did they? Up and left me sitting on the doorstep watching. Didn’t even wave goodbye.”

James Dean’s world reeled. The way he saw it, an animal could leave his people any time. He’d done it, for a while, when he’d tired of being called by that silly flower name. He’d come back, and The Woman even tried to remember not to call him that. She didn’t call him James Dean, because she didn’t know. She called him John Travolta because he liked to hang out at a dance club downtown. Anyway, he’d come back, and she fed him, because people didn’t leave their animals. People were there to serve the  animals, right?

“Need a meal, then?” he asked, when he recovered from the shock.

“Yup. It’s killing me, JD. Everyone’s cooking meat today for some reason, and I got nothin’ but half a burger from the bin behind the Dairy Prince.”

“Stick around. It’s Turkey Day, you know. Some human ceremony that requires they roast a turkey. Burnt offering to the gods or some such.” JD spoke indifferently. He didn’t care what the offerings were for as long as he got his cut. The Woman was good that way.

The little dog, white fur matted instead of fluffed, flopped down on the doorstep next to the big marmalade cat. “I kind of liked being fluffy,” he admitted. “Not the name, but the rest. Warm, fed, and clean. I mean, it’s great being Killer Instinct all the time,” he hastened to add. “A dog should be fierce and all that. But really, you know, I’m kind of small for it.”

JD nodded. He massed more than the little dog. They sat together on the porch and watched the leaves blow by.

A scrawny black cat slunk out of the shrubbery and eased himself onto the porch.

“Heya Tom,” JD greeted him.

“Hey yerself,” growled the feral cat. “What’s with the good smells?”

“Turkey Day. Stick around; I’ll share.”

Tom settled himself with the skill of long practice, nabbing the sunniest spot on the doorstep. They all settled down to nap while the scents grew more alluring. Over the course of the afternoon the group on the doorstep grew. Two neighborhood dogs—Snuffy, who preferred to be called Growler, and Wobbles, who couldn’t shake the name his people gave him because it fit him to perfection, stretched out next to KI. Another feral cat introduced herself as Cat and settled in next to Tom.

The afternoon was growing old when the door opened.

“Dahlia, here’s your—oh!” The Woman stopped abruptly, looking from the small dish of sliced meat in her hand to the crowd on the doorstep. “Just a moment, John Travolta,” she said, correcting herself. She sighed and went back into the house.

James Dean followed, and supervised while she cut a few more slices from the large roasted fowl on the counter, laying them on a plate with vegetables. Then she took up the rest of the bird, set it on a tray, and carried it out to the front stoop, JD following her every move.

“Here you are. Happy Thanksgiving, all of you,” said the Woman, laying the turkey down on the doorstep.

Dahlia’s doorstep, Dahlia’s feast…The Woman watched the animals gather around and begin eating, then went back into the empty house, to emerge a moment later, plate in hand. Stepping carefully over the feasting dogs and cats, The Woman seated herself on the steps.

“No one should eat Thanksgiving dinner alone,” she said, and smiled.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2015

Happy Thanksgiving

Here in the US, it's Thanksgiving. So instead of a book review today, I'm posting a few things I'm thankful for.

My family. A great bunch of guys (well, mostly guys. We women are in a woeful minority), from my husband and sons to my brothers and brothers-in-law and nephews and a few parents and sisters-in-law. I'm particularly grateful for a pair of boys who have never gotten into trouble, consistently get top grades, and are actually kind of sweet.

My husband, who is part of the family mentioned above, but gets a special listing for making my writing habit a possibility, among other things ;)

The personal computer. I am old enough to remember writing before the word processor. Believe me, it's much better now. I still carry a notebook everywhere, but I love my computer.

Good food, and the ability to eat it. There are too many people with too many allergies, for whatever reasons. I am grateful that I can eat anything (except parsnips. They aren't as awful as they were when I was a kid, but I still don't like them).

A bicycle and a beautiful place to ride it. As long as I'm not too scared of traffic. So I'm also grateful for a couple of lean years in Seattle when I worked as a messenger. After that, it's hard to get too scared of normal traffic.

Friends and fellow writers (like the BookElves!). What a joy to be able to do what I love, and share that with others who love it too!  The same goes for all my backpacking friends, whom I got to know through something else I'm grateful for:

The Internet. Yes, that thing we all bemoan for the way it shortens our attention spans and distracts us from our real work. It's also given me some friends, and I don't mean "friends." I mean people who would cross the country to help me out, and vice-versa. Not everything on the Internet is bad.

Okay, and pumpkin pie. I really really like pumpkin pie. And turkey. And my mother-in-law's stuffing. I really really like that, too. Bathroom scales, not so much.

Happy Thanksgiving!