FIVE FINGER RULEHOW TO CHOOSE A “JUST RIGHT” BOOK

JUST RIGHT BOOKS – THE GOLDILOCKS RULE

1. Choose a Book.

2. Open it to any page and begin reading.

3. Hold up ONE finger for each word you don’t know.

0-1 fingers = Too Easy. This is a vacation book.

2-3 fingers = Just Right!

3-4 fingers = Give it a Try! You may need some help.

5+ fingers = Too Hard! Save this book for later.

From Railsea by China Miéville Every railsea nation other than Streggeye, if it was discussed by many of the Streggeye-born trainsfolk, was, Sham noted, traduced. It was too big or too small, too lax or strict, too mean, too gaudy, too plain, too foolishly munificent. Lands of all dimensions & governments met with disapproval. The scholarocracy of Rockvane was snootily intellectual. Cabigo, that quarrelsome federation of weak monarchies, was quarrelsomely monarchist. The warlords who ran Kammy Hammy were too brutish. Clarion was governed by priests whose piety was too much, while far-off Mornington needed a dose of religion. Manihiki, far the most powerful city-state in the railsea, brashly threw its weight around with wartrains, the grumbles went. & the democracy of which it crowed so loud was a sham, they added, in hoc to money.

& on & on. Similarity to its detractors’ home was no defense. Streggeye was one of several islands in the Salaygo Mess archipelago, in the railsea’s east, run by a council of elders and advised by eminent captains & philosophers, but it was, the xenophobes sniffed, the only one that didn’t do it wrong.

Sham nuzzled his recuperating daybat. It still not infrequently tried to bite him, but the force & frequency of the snaps was decreasing. Sometimes, like now, when he swaddled it, the animal buzzed with what Sham had learned was purring. Bat happiness.

The Boundless by Kenneth Oppel Threadbare blankets and makeshift pillows are scattered everywhere. There is scarcely room to move. More children bound up and down the aisle, and clamber over the backs of the bench seats, making a playground of the carriage. The only light comes from narrow windows, high up near the ceiling, and a few oil lamps secured to the walls.

Slowly at first, and then more quickly, people start to notice Will and the others.

“Circus…”

“Zirkus…”

“Sirkuksen.,,”

“Cirkuszi…”

The word whispers and slithers itself through the car in all different languages. Most of the people look glad. A few shrink back as the trio passes. A small girl cries at the sight of Mr. Dorian in his severe black top hat and coat – until the ringmaster pulls a lollipop from his pocket and hands it to her. Suddenly, the performers have a trail of children, their hands tugging, eyes imploring. More lollipops and jawbreakers appear from the ringmaster’s bottomless trousers. Applause and cheers ring out from the passengers.

“You’ll need to clear this aisle,” Drurie calls out pointlessly, for no one heeds him. “You can’t have all this here. It must be cleared of obstructions! Is that a chicken?”