Virginia Frances Voight

The male entitlement in the female protagonist's family is breathtaking. On page 3, April is headed home in a hurry, "the full skirt of her red-and-white checked gingham dress" swinging "crisply over her flounced, polished cotton petticoat", because she's responsible for making lunch for her brother. I assumed her little brother was out catching frogs or shooting marbles, but no. This brother is 16 and a year older than April. Handicapped by testosterone, apparently.

There's more... if it wasn't that April spends a good deal of the book staying in the Maine woods with her single aunt where there are no helpless men to cater to, it would be unbearable.

So it goes along. April at the beginning of the book has every fear, every squeamish reaction, that the author could load her down with, but within a week or two of arriving in Maine where she's terrified of wild animals and many other things, she conceals the fact that she had heard gunshots in the woods in order to secure permission to camp with her new friend. Even a close encounter with jacklighters and deer poached before her eyes doesn't faze her now. She may have difficulty with risk assessment.

At the end of the book, with little or no buildup, her friend's brother Kent declares that April is his girl, "And don't you forget it!" I think it's a doomed relationship.… (altro)

As I read through this young people's book, I was surprised by the quality of the story. I thought that the story would limit itself to bobcats frolicking about and being inquisitive within their environment. Instead, what the author presented was a deeper story of reality. The bobcats are taught by their mother to kill prey for their food. There are struggles that the bobcats face which show death as a natural part of life's order. The story is illuminated by gorgeous drawn illustrations. This book is an excellent story about real life.… (altro)