By Marilyn Nelson

This riveting novel in verse, excellent for enthusiasts of Jacqueline Woodson and Toni Morrison, explores American background and race throughout the eyes of a teenage boy embracing his newfound identity

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Connor's grandmother leaves his dad a letter whilst she dies, and the letter's confession shakes their tight-knit Italian-American kinfolk: the guy who raised Dad isn't his beginning father.

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Reuven asked. " "Who cares? Tell us already," Jake cried. "The goyische Bible," Reuven announced proudly. "Who knows where the goyim come up with all these other books we never heard of. ' Ha. " "It's Jericho's Bible," Jake said quietly, and Kitty shot him a disapproving look. Page 30 Jake had been waiting for a chance to go back and hear Jericho's preacher-voice floating in the air like smoke, so thick you could reach out and grab a handful of it. Then, finally, with everyone busy at their jobs, Jake was free from watchful eyes.

He wore his hat with the visor turned backwards, and he squinted through thick, wire-rimmed specs. His mouth was twisted. Jake guessed he had it pulled tight so he wouldn't say something he'd be sorry for later. Jake practiced that very trick sometimes, but it didn't usually work. Things blurted out of him all the time. It didn't work for Lank Beamus, either. The man took off his hat and stared into it as he said, "You got to give my boy a pass, Miss Leybe. " That made Jake wonder if God had actually spoken to Jericho.

Kitty sighed as she rocked the babies. The rebbitzen had put her in charge of Hannah and Judith and had relieved her of a lot of other responsibilities. Just bathing them took an hour, and feeding them from those tiny bottles still another hour. Now, when they smelled sweet and had full bellies, she held them and felt a twinge in her own belly, as though they'd come from her body. "Hadn't ought to live like that. " Lank drove a nail into the molding with two firm whacks that startled the babies, and when one cried, the other cried.

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