City of Fire

City of Fire is a 308 page adventure book by Laurence Yep. The story stars the young Kushan lady Scyrie and her pet lap griffin Klestesetse, accompanied by the dragon Bayang, as well as the magical weapon-armed Leech and his pal Koko. Together the band mst join forces with the goddess Pele to defeat the evil Mr. Roland, who has done something to all of them.

Double Pages: 616 pages total

Here is a picture of Pele:


Here is one of Bayang:


Here is Koko the Tanuki:


Here is Klestesetse:

My Holocaust Project

Milkweed

As told by Uri

            I guess it all started when I found the gypsy. I was just walking around town-well, creeping, more of, looking for something to snatch. Then I saw it. Just another rich fat lady carrying a loaf of bread. Easy pickings, and besides, she would just by twelve more.

            I snuck up from behind, slowly and craftily. My hand darted out, but there was a yell of “Stop! Thief!” and the bread was gone.

            I silently congratulated myself. Good, Uri. We’ll eat well tonight. Then I realized something. The bread wasn’t in my hand. I swerved around. I saw a little blur running past, carrying the bread. The midget had moved so fast I didn’t even know it was he who stole the morsel! 

            Right as he passed the alley where I was hiding I made an instant decision. I reached out and grabbed him by his ratty shirt’s collar. I started off running, dragging the gypsy behind me. He would fit right in, after all. We were all Jews, so a gypsy would just increase our diversity. Besides, he was good at snatching, and could help fill our bellies a little more.

            I brought him to see the boys. They were a little rough on him, I think. But he needed to know the truth, the little boy. They yelled and threw food. They told him about Jews. What they said was true, unfortunately.

“Even Cannibals hate us!”

“Even monkeys hate us!”

“Even cockroaches hate us!”

They crowed and laughed. The midget was taking it all surprisingly well. He just stood there and stared. They continued to argue. If I didn’t argue back, soon he would be booted out.

I suddenly lunged out and grasped the yellow stone around his neck. I showed it to everyone. “He’s a gypsy.”

That caught their attention. “How do you know?”

“Look at his eyes, how black. His skin. And this…” I held up his stone.

The boy just continued watching us, interested. We locked eyes. Then I realized how much he looked like Jozef. He had to stay. Maybe having him near would lessen the pain of losing my brother.

Fortunately, the argument was cut short by the arrival of the old stable man. He yelled at us, but we just yelled and threw food back. I instructed the boy where to sleep. I then went out scouting for some pickles. I needed them to calm my nerves.

*                      *                      *

It wasn’t for another month until I told the boy about Jozef. I only told him what he looked like, how he was small like the gypsy, and growing fast. The boy looked extremely interested, but when I stopped talking, he just lay back down and went to sleep.

I turned over in my bed, glad I had gotten that off my chest. Then I remembered.

I had previously spent several hours inventing a story for the boy, who called himself “Stopthief.” His “story,” courtesy of me, was that he was born to a gypsy family with seven brothers, nine sisters, and two great-grandmothers. A little ridiculous, but the poor little gypsy didn’t know it wasn’t true. I told him that the jackboots were practicing bombing, and that they saw Misha’s caravan, so they let it drop. After all, to the jackboots, gypsies are just above Jews. I told Misha that he survived and came to Warsaw, stealing.

He also became obsessed by his name, Misha Pilsudski. He’d run up to people and shout it in their faces right before he snatched something right out of their hands. He never got caught, but I knew, someday, he would.

*                      *                      *

Misha was as happy as the flies that buzzed around the city. After all, the flies were the only thing happy, besides Misha.

He would romp around the city gaily until he found someone with something to snatch. Then he would run up to them, yell “Misha Pilsudski!” in their face, and then zoom off before the person could realize what had happened. The little boy seemed so content, and then I realized why.

One day he came running back to the alley where the boys and I lived, and placed down a birthday cake. “They were trying to burn it!” His eyes were wide, and he looked horrified at the thought. He explained how he had been constantly visiting a little Jewish girl and giving her food. When the rest of us were hungry enough!

“Stupid.” I said, and gave him a blow to the ear. He took it and then continued talking.

“But- they were lighting the-”

I sighed. “Those were candles, stupid.” I was about to turn away, when I realized how good that cake looked. “I suppose it shouldn’t go to waste…”

Misha just nodded heartily and dug in.

*                      *                      *

It wasn’t long before they sent us to the ghetto. Everyone was very solemn and sincere, except, of course for Misha and his little girlfriend. They talked about the ghetto like it was a wonderful place.

Misha began to live with the little girl’s family, the Milgrom’s. I watched them, even though I had been brought to train with the jackboots just a little while ago. Dirty gypsy, I thought, but I couldn’t push the thought about how much he looked like Jozef.

I tried to convince myself that by becoming a jackboot, I could eventually free the Jews and Misha, but I knew that it would never happen. I could at least save myself, though. My ancestors were not Jewish, even though I am a Jew, so because of my red hair, the jackboots do not know.

Misha found me once in the streets outside the ghetto. Apparently, there is a hole for him to sneak through. I told my fellow jackboots, and we boarded it up.

*                      *                      *

Weeks later, the trains came. Hundreds of Jews were getting loaded on to them. I saw a man telling the girl and Misha to run, but the little girl refused to leave the man, who must have been her father. Finally, the girl won, and jumped on the train right as it pulled away. Misha was about to follow.

Then he saw me, and I saw his eyes, so much like Jozef’s. I couldn’t let him die. Before he could see my boots, I pulled out my gun and fired at him, purposely missing. He ran away. My little brother was safe for now.

________________________________________________________________________

I chose to narrate the story from Uri’s point of view because throughout Milkweed, Uri is a rather mysterious character, and most of his actions are not clear. It was enjoyable to figure out his motives, but at the same time very saddening to watch Uri become a Nazi, but at least he did a good thing in saving Misha’s life, which proves he is not all bad.

Milkweed

Milkweed, by Jerry Spinelli, is a 208 page book set during the Holocaust in Warsaw. A young thief named Misha is forced into a  ghetto where he lives an innocent life tormenting Nazis and stealing food. He is happy throughout the entire book until his "sister" willingly jumps onto a train leading to a death camp. Then he realizes the true horrors of the time he is living in and runs away from the ghetto.

Double Pages= 416 pages total

This is a picture I really like of Misha (the boy):