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A review by rbreade
Bigger than a Bread Box by Laurel Snyder
Rebecca Shapiro is 12, lives in Baltimore with her parents and younger brother Lew (2), and is working on her math homework when the lights blink off and her family comes apart. Within days, her mother has packed the car and driven herself and both kids to her mother's house in Atlanta, while she figures out her life. This sudden uprooting is disastrous for Rebecca, who is angry at her mother and at her own helplessness.
The only good thing--or so it seems at first--is a breadbox, one of many, found in the attic. It has the power to grant wishes that adhere to certain restrictions; above all, the objects wished for must actually exist in the world. Much of the plot structure comes from the working out and exploitation of this magic item's powers, as Rebecca uses the candy, food, and gift cards provided by the bread box to buy herself popularity at her school in Atlanta, and then sees that popularity, and more, undone as the exact nature of how the item works, especially the fact that it takes items from elsewhere in the world to give them to Rebecca, becomes clear. In fact, there is a nice connection made between this and the Greek philosopher, Epicurus, who briefly appears as an answer on a test Rebecca takes about halfway through the story. This limitation on the magic's power becomes downright harrowing with a certain spoon Rebecca gets for her mother, a gift that leads the novel in a most unexpected direction.
That unexpected direction is indicative of Snyder's refusal to take easy paths in this story. The little old lady in the messy house is kind and lonely until that spoon hits the scene and she reacts with a pathetic and heart-wrenching fury, something rare for middle-grade fiction. The girl you think will become Rebecca's best friend and ally at her new school, doesn't. Not for any obvious reason, but simply because Rebecca is too emotionally wrecked to pursue friendship and the girl, Megan, is too cowed by the school mean girls, led by one Hannah. Megan's main role is to provide Rebecca background about Hannah, whichcomplicates rather than simplifies the task of sorting people into black hats and white hats.
Snyder does a good job of anticipating and defusing the most obvious criticism a reader might have: because the bread box is magic, why doesn't Rebecca simply demonstrate this fact to any of the various people who become mad at her as a result of objects provided by the box? The bread box is the engine that powers the plot, but the story is concerned with how real people make a mess of their lives and how difficult--sometimes impossible--it can be to undo the damage. At the end, Snyder gives a final unexpected move when Rebecca considers destroying the troublesome box. This is a path frequently chosen in stories that feature magic in an non-magical world--even Prospero destroys his ability to use magic by the end of The Tempest! Instead, Rebecca decides to take the bread box back to Baltimore, sensibly deciding that it might come in handy in some situations.
The only good thing--or so it seems at first--is a breadbox, one of many, found in the attic. It has the power to grant wishes that adhere to certain restrictions; above all, the objects wished for must actually exist in the world. Much of the plot structure comes from the working out and exploitation of this magic item's powers, as Rebecca uses the candy, food, and gift cards provided by the bread box to buy herself popularity at her school in Atlanta, and then sees that popularity, and more, undone as the exact nature of how the item works, especially the fact that it takes items from elsewhere in the world to give them to Rebecca, becomes clear. In fact, there is a nice connection made between this and the Greek philosopher, Epicurus, who briefly appears as an answer on a test Rebecca takes about halfway through the story. This limitation on the magic's power becomes downright harrowing with a certain spoon Rebecca gets for her mother, a gift that leads the novel in a most unexpected direction.
That unexpected direction is indicative of Snyder's refusal to take easy paths in this story. The little old lady in the messy house is kind and lonely until that spoon hits the scene and she reacts with a pathetic and heart-wrenching fury, something rare for middle-grade fiction. The girl you think will become Rebecca's best friend and ally at her new school, doesn't. Not for any obvious reason, but simply because Rebecca is too emotionally wrecked to pursue friendship and the girl, Megan, is too cowed by the school mean girls, led by one Hannah. Megan's main role is to provide Rebecca background about Hannah, whichcomplicates rather than simplifies the task of sorting people into black hats and white hats.
Snyder does a good job of anticipating and defusing the most obvious criticism a reader might have: because the bread box is magic, why doesn't Rebecca simply demonstrate this fact to any of the various people who become mad at her as a result of objects provided by the box? The bread box is the engine that powers the plot, but the story is concerned with how real people make a mess of their lives and how difficult--sometimes impossible--it can be to undo the damage. At the end, Snyder gives a final unexpected move when Rebecca considers destroying the troublesome box. This is a path frequently chosen in stories that feature magic in an non-magical world--even Prospero destroys his ability to use magic by the end of The Tempest! Instead, Rebecca decides to take the bread box back to Baltimore, sensibly deciding that it might come in handy in some situations.