ENGINERDS available for pre-order!!!


Is there a farting robot-sized hole in your life? If so, and you can’t bear to wait a single day longer than you must to fill it, pre-order the first ENGINERDS book today! It will arrive on your doorstep the day it comes out (having perhaps been delivered by one of the below retailers’ very own fleet of flatulent drones).

You can pre-order RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT from any of the below sites:


Barnes & Noble

BAM! (Books-A-Million)


. . .


by Jarrett Lerner

The battle between boys and bots is on in this funny, fast-paced novel.

Ken is an EngiNerd: one of a super-smart group of friends—all nerds—who have been close since kindergarten.

They may be brainiacs, but they’re just like everyone else: they fight with one another, watch too much TV, eat Chinese food, and hate walking their dogs. Well, maybe not just like everyone because Ken’s best friend Dan has been building robots. He then secretly sent one to each of the EngiNerds, never letting them know he’s the mastermind.

At first Ken is awed and delighted: what kid hasn’t dreamed of having a robot all their own? Someone who can be their friend, clean their room, walk the dog, answer homework questions…how amazing is that?

But be careful what you wish for: Dan’s robot, Greeeg, may look innocent, but his ravenous consumption of food—comestibles—turns him into a butt-blasting bot. And once the other robots ‘come alive’ it’s up to the motley crew of EngiNerds to not only save the day, but save the planet!

ENGINERDS cover art is here!

I’m beyond thrilled to finally share the cover art for ENGINERDS! This first book in the series hits shelves Fall of 2017, with sequels to follow.

If you’ve always wondered what might happen if a horde of comestible-obsessed, dangerously flatulent robots was unleashed on your town, THIS is the book for you.

Follow the blog to keep up-to-date on all ENGINERDS-related info.




Breathlessly paced, carefully plotted, and packed with more wit and humor than should possibly fit in a book of its size, HORTEN’S MIRACULOUS MECHANISMS is a gem. It has mystery, magic, and – true to the promise the title makes – many miraculous mechanisms.

The book is built around an elaborate puzzle, a scavenger hunt that stretches across both space and time. But unlike many similarly premised novels, HORTEN’S MIRACULOUS MECHANISMS has a big beating heart at its center. Whether it’s the guilt and grief surrounding a long-lost sister, the desire to belong, or the need to end the crushing boredom of a summer spent all alone, it’s this emotional element that gives depth to Evans’s characters and helps propel them along.

One other thing I found both exciting and refreshing: the magic that HORTEN’S MIRACULOUS MECHANISMS revolves around is (at least initially) stage magic. Now don’t get me wrong – I love me some novels about telekinetic teenagers and awkward, lonely, orphaned boys who are whisked off into worlds populated by wizards and witches. But it’s rare to find a kids’ book that concerns itself with that other sort of magic, the kind performed on a stage, in an auditorium. Rarer still is the way in which Evans is constantly celebrating the ingenuity behind the illusions, that special blend of hard work, creativity, and technical skill that 19th century magicians needed in order to entertain and stimulate their audiences.

As much as it made me want to have an adventure of my own, HORTEN’S MIRACULOUS MECHANISMS made me long to get my hands greasy, to tinker with an old piece of machinery. And that is a very exciting thing for another old piece of machinery – a book – to do.



I first learned about THE CHRONICLES OF EGG a couple years ago, when I saw it on one of my young cousin’s bedside tables. I asked him if he liked it, and he immediately brightened up and told me, “It’s awesome.”

I got myself a copy a few days later. When I see or hear about a kid getting that excited about a book – any book – I find it and I read it. I do this because I want to see just what it is that’s so awesome in there, and also because, if a kid’s excited about books, I think you should try to keep them excited about books, and I read enough kid lit that I can usually go back to said excited kid (or said excited kid’s parents) with a few recommendations for future reading.

All of which is to say that I don’t know why it took me so long to finally pull DEADWEATHER AND SUNRISE, the first book in THE CHRONICLES OF EGG trilogy, off my shelf and give it a read. I don’t know why, after my cousin gave it such a glowing review, it literally took me years to read it. I’ll blame it, though, on there being too many other damn books to read, and say, too, that I wish I had read it sooner. Because my cousin was right – THE CHRONICLES OF EGG is awesome.

Rodkey, first and foremost, is an excellent writer. Every sentence of DEADWEATHER AND SUNRISE is an absolute pleasure to read. The descriptions are wonderfully evocative, the pacing spot-on, and the story both gripping and interesting. There’s also the world-building – THE CHRONICLES OF EGG takes place on a sort of alternate 19th- or early 20th-century planet, Deadweather and Sunrise being the names of two small islands, physically close but perched on opposite ends of the economic spectrum, the one muggy and pirate-infested, the other idyllic and overflowing with vacationers and tourists. (Books 2 and 3 of THE CHRONICLES venture further and further away from the islands, the reader learning more about Rodkey’s world as Egg himself explores it.)

But the thing that really sets Rodkey’s book(s) apart from all the other Middle Grade adventure series flooding the market (to which I’ll be adding my own next fall) is the characterization. Egg (formerly “Egbert”) is our narrator, and so he’s explored most thoroughly. But DEADWEATHER AND SUNRISE is packed with other characters. Some appear for two pages and others for two hundred. But it’s a testament to Rodkey’s abilities that even the minor ones, when they’re “onscreen,” seem major. Rodkey is as subtle a writer as he is an entertaining one, and he takes care with every character’s appearance, behavior, body language, and even diction, and also has Egg – a sensitive, insightful boy – offer his own interpretations of each new person introduced. Even those characters who only have cameos seem to live off the page, to have their own complicated lives to live and stories to tell. This realness of the characters makes Rodkey’s fantastic world come all the more alive, and makes the stakes of Egg’s story all the more meaningful. Like any great book, Rodkey’s is a master class in storytelling.

Shortly after you finish DEADWEATHER AND SUNRISE, you’ll find yourself missing its cast of characters (even the nasty ones), and longing to return to Rodkey’s world. Fortunately, Egg’s adventures are only just getting started – and hopefully, Rodkey’s only just getting started, too.



This slim book if founded on an elegantly simple premise: a boy, Danny, falls in a hole. On the face of it, this may seem like a complete story in and of itself, or at the very most an incomplete one that, once fleshed out, couldn’t possibly be all that interesting. But in the hands of a storyteller as skillful as Fagan, this novel about a boy who falls in a hole is by turns funny, moving, exciting, and fascinating, and never once does it come even close to being boring.

By trapping his main character – and thus himself – in a hole, Fagan earns himself a kind of freedom that a novelist spinning a more complicated, event-heavy story doesn’t have. There isn’t much for Danny to do down there in that hole, and this leaves Fagan free to explore his character with a patience and depth that a lot of writers of kids’ books either don’t get to or choose not to.

Reading DANNY, WHO FELL IN A HOLE, I was reminded of the books of another writer, Cesar Aira, who I’ve posted about here a handful of times. Aira has said many times that he never revises his novels, and that he often purposely writes himself into awkward corners just to force himself to then get out of them. In Aira’s stories, this makes for the occasional disorienting passage, but more often than not, it leads to thrilling, unforeseen twists and moments of surprising, electrifying enlightenment.

Fagan is doing something similar here. But in backing both himself and his main character into a corner, he’s doing more than drawing his readers’ attention to his own skills and ingenuity. He shows, too, what happens to Danny – and, by extension, what can happen to any of us – when we find ourselves in a tough, even seemingly impossible predicament with nothing to rely on but our own two hands and the head on our shoulders.

Before Danny’s fall, we learn just a little bit about his family, his place in it, and his relationship to the various members of it. It turns out he is the sole practical-minded one in a group of creative eccentrics who, even collectively, have only a tenuous grasp on reality. He is known – not un-affectionately, but still – as the single unimaginative, uncreative one of the bunch. Here’s a representative comment, which occurs during a family discussion following Danny’s discovery that his still-happily-married parents are nonetheless splitting up for a year in order to pursue their most-recent artistic dreams, one in Banff and the other in New York City:

“It’s not your fault that you’re not creative like the rest of us . . . To a common-sense person like you,” his mother went on, “this might seem very impractical. But dreams are not practical, Danny. Vincent van Gogh wasn’t practical. Bob Dylan wasn’t practical.”

In a way, Fagan’s book is about proving just how wrong Danny’s mom and dad and older brother are about their younger brother and son. Because sure, Danny can’t really draw and he doesn’t play an instrument, and unlike his parents, he doesn’t have a passion for baking cheesecakes or for singing opera. But forced to fend for himself in that hole of his, he shows us, himself, and also ultimately his family that he is equally – if very differently – as creative as each one of them. Maybe he won’t be the next van Gogh or Dylan, but Danny displays the sort of creativity that, say, a successful engineer or scientist might need.

This book is a good read for anyone and everyone, but especially for kids who perhaps feel out of place in their family or school, and especially especially for any kids feeling frustrated about “not being good at anything” or not knowing what they’ll grow up to be and do. The novel is also a good argument for the potential benefits that can come from properly challenging kids. Obviously, Fagan’s not encouraging any parents or teachers to throw kids in holes and forget about them for a few days. But in presenting kids with difficult problems to solve, in allowing them the time and space to wrestle with thorny questions and tackle trying situations, you give them a chance to push and stretch themselves and, beyond that, to perhaps discover abilities they never dreamed they had.

FLUSH, by Carl Hiaasen


Carl Hiaasen is a masterful storyteller. The way he strings his sentences and scenes together, you just don’t want to stop reading them. Ever. His characters (even the more minor ones) immediately pop off the page, and have a tendency to hang around long after you finish a book.

I was overjoyed when, in addition to his usual, adult-oriented output, Hiaasen began writing novels aimed at younger readers. Like his others – HOOT, SCAT, and CHOMP – FLUSH is, at base, a story about nature and the environment, pitting those who wish to preserve and protect it against those who exploit and/or damage and degrade it. The story is narrated by Noah, the son of a big-hearted but impulsive man who takes matters into his own hands when a crooked businessman parks his casino boat at his neighborhood marina. Adventure and absurdity ensue, with Noah and his little sister growing ever more entangled in their father’s mission to uncover the dirty (extremely dirty, in fact) dealings of the casino boat owner. The loose ends Hiaasen scatters throughout the first half of his book are all tied up by the end of the second – neatly, believably, and satisfyingly.

One thing I always love about Hiaasen’s books for kids – and something that goes a long way toward making his stories, despite their occasional zaniness, so believable, and his endings so satisfying – is his inclusion of adult characters, and his exploration of their wants and needs and feelings in addition to those of his younger characters. It’s good, I think, for young readers to be urged toward empathy for people the ages of their parents, teachers, and older neighbors and relatives. And the emotional layer that Hiaasen incorporates into his stories has the additional benefit of preventing them from ever getting preachy – which, in a lesser writer’s hands, they certainly could.

But even if, say, you don’t believe in global warming and every night you dump the day’s garbage out on the side of the road, you won’t be able to stop yourself from falling for Hiaasen’s characters and reading eagerly till the very end. Like all his books, FLUSH will make you think, feel, and laugh deeply. It’s a high-quality read for anyone, young or old, who simply enjoys a good story well told.

THE WHIPPING BOY, by Sid Fleischman


Weighing in at a mere 89 pages, THE WHIPPING BOY might be one of the slimmest novels to ever win the Newbery Medal (it did so in 1987). But Sid Fleischman’s little book more than deserved it. It is a gem – a compact, perfect little diamond.

The story concerns Jemmy, an orphan plucked from a grimy, dangerous life in the sewers and streets in order to serve as Prince Brat’s whipping boy – a stand-in punishment-taker for the cruel, mischievous heir to the throne, a boy too important, too royal to be flogged himself. When the prince grows bored with his castle-bound mischief-making, he decides to run away. Jemmy, seeing this as a possible opportunity for his own escape, joins the prince. But when they are abducted by a pair of dim-witted scoundrels and held for ransom, Jemmy is prevented from breaking free, first by the prince’s stupidity, then by the prince’s selfishness, and finally by Jemmy’s own growing concern and feeling for the prince – who, mistreated by his kidnappers and increasingly reliant on Jemmy for his own survival, gradually becomes more empathetic and fair-minded as the story moves along.

Right at the top of the book’s back cover, in big capital letters above the brief synopsis, it says “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER,” so the similarity to the classic tale is neither skirted around nor denied. But Fleischman approaches this basic plot in a manner all his own. Or, I guess I should say, with a language all his own. Because it’s Fleischman’s language that sets his story of a prince and a pauper apart from all the rest.

Fleischman writes short, straightforward sentences, but imbues each one with an old-fashioned flavor, using curious, evocative phrases and inventively repurposing more-familiar words. For instance, a sewer isn’t just dark, but “blacker’n a stack of black cats.” And when Jemmy is caught off guard by an approaching soldier on the lookout for him and the prince, and he doesn’t have time to hide himself away, there is “nothing to do but brazen it out” and walk on by, hoping for the best.

It helps, too, that Fleischman is funny. Every chance he gets, he injects the zippy plot with a dose of his dry wit, from the chapter titles (“Chapter 18: Of assorted events in which the plot thickens thicker”) to the convoluted series of mistaken identities and the slapstick-y chase scenes.

And yes, the story is ripe with discussion-launching scenarios, and could be used by a parent or teacher to talk with kids about issues such as class and wealth, prejudice and privation. But first and foremost, this book should be given to kids for the language, for the clever and constantly thrilling uses and reuses of seemingly static words, for the way Fleischman shows how flexible and dynamic the English language is and can be. I’d even argue that the close study of his use of language can help achieve the same goals that those issues-based discussions aim to. Because to let children know that they can approach something as seemingly rule-bound and rigid as the English language with playfulness, even irreverence – that is the sort of thing that can get a kid seeing and thinking in an entirely different and profoundly personal way, encouraging them to question what seems immovable and sacred and leading them to make their own unique mark on the busy but still-unfinished canvas that is the world.