School Library Journal Review
Gr 4--7--Essie O'Neill fears many things in 1911 New York City. Some are irrational--polar bears, electric lights, cats--but many (infectious diseases, red doors, fires) are grounded in her traumatic past. After her father died, her mother sank into a deep depression. Essie sleepwalks, worries constantly, and has terrible nightmares. She has more to worry about after her mother, a nurse, remarries and moves them both to North Brother Island. Essie's new stepfather is the chief of Riverside Hospital, which quarantines New Yorkers with infectious diseases. Angry and fearful, she thinks the strange German immigrant doctor is behind the mystery of the missing nurses. So Essie investigates and draws (incorrect) conclusions. She befriends the island's most famous patient, "Typhoid Mary" Mallon, and discovers more about the General Slocum maritime tragedy, which she watched in horror as a young child. She also receives help from a ghostly child who shows Essie that she cannot be brave unless she tackles her fears--sensitive readers may tremble at these incredibly suspenseful and deliciously creepy scenes. Ultimately, Essie learns her fears can be conquered if she names them and accepts help. She also learns to accept people whom she does not understand, such as immigrants, by viewing their differences as strengths. Though the work is not for easily spooked readers, it's a suspenseful take on conquering fears, with a lesson on how first impressions can be very wrong. VERDICT Set on an isolated island in a quarantine hospital, and following a heroine who confronts ghosts, nightmares, and palpable fears, this is the perfect Halloween read.--Lisa Crandall, formerly at the Capital Area Dist. Lib., Holt, MI
Publisher's Weekly Review
It is January 1910, and cued-white nine-year-old narrator Essie O'Neill and her Irish-born mother are moving from their tenement apartment to the island that houses New York City's quarantine hospital, joining Essie's new stepfather, the hospital director, in his lavish home. Essie, who has regular nightmares, "fully expect to perish" there; her beloved father's death still haunts her, and her new life will surely expose her to many of the items on her List of Unspeakable Fears--an index including everything from "ravenous polar bears" to doors, fire, and "talkative strangers." The news that three nurses have recently gone missing from the island--and the suspicion that her sinister-seeming stepfather is responsible--gives Essie a focus for her anxiety (sensitively portrayed and discussed further in an author's note). Over the course of her investigation, she also discovers how fear can distort one's sense of reality, and that "being scared is the first step to being brave." Intricately and elegantly plotted, and full of vividly rendered details--including appearances by Typhoid Mary--Kramer's (The Story That Cannot Be Told) novel is a deliciously creepy ghost story with a mystery at its core and, given discussions about vaccines and contagion, special resonance for the current historical moment. Ages 8--12. Agent: Yishai Seidman, Dunow, Carlson & Lerner. (Sept.)
Booklist Review
Essie has always been an anxious child, but since her father's death, her anxieties have spiked to debilitating heights, manifesting as panic attacks, night terrors, and a lengthy list of fears she keeps close at hand. Her outgoing best friend, Beatrice, lives in the same New York tenement and helps draw Essie out of her fearful funks, but even Bea can't help with Essie's newest problem: her mother's sudden announcement that she has remarried and the two of them will be moving into her new husband's house--on North Brother Island. The island, as Essie aptly puts it, is "where the incurable sick of New York City are sent to die." Kramer has chosen an innately creepy setting for her historical novel, where ghosts and mysteries swirl and keep company with assumptions and prejudicial thinking, often directed at immigrants arriving at the island's Riverside Hospital, of which Essie's stepfather is the director. As Essie grapples with new fears and suspicions that her stepfather is connected to the island's spate of missing nurses, she launches her own investigation, meeting notorious island resident Mary Mallon in the process. Also weaving the General Slocum boat disaster into this atmospheric chiller, Kramer delivers a thrilling read with poignant commentary on the value of immigrants' lives and one's capacity to become a stronger, better person.
Excerpts
Chapter One Chapter One A red door. A dark hallway. A terrible feeling of dread. My dream always starts just like this. The only noise is a rhythmic dripping behind one of the walls. I'm so sick with fear, I can't move. I squeeze my eyes shut, but when I open them, the red door is still there. Looming. A tingle prickles up my spine, like the toes of a hundred black spiders. Someone whispers my name. And right then, on most nights, I wake up. Usually I'm crying, my sleeping gown soaked in sweat. Usually I plead for my mam to light the gas lamp by our bed, and she holds me till the shaking has stopped. But sometimes I can't wake up at all. Sometimes, still asleep, I thrash about or crawl to the floor. Sometimes I run screaming straight across the room, my eyes wide open but not seeing. Mam calls it "getting stuck." On those nights, when she catches my cheeks between her hands, she can tell that I'm not really with her. She says she calls to me over and over, trying to lead me back to the world of the living with the sound of her voice, but it's like I'm deep underwater. I hear nothing at all. In the distance, on the other side of the East River, a lighthouse beam pierces the late afternoon fog. Five seconds of burning light. Five seconds of chilling dark. For a moment, I'm certain it's happened again. I'm certain I'm stuck in the nightmare. I realize that the shadow forming across the murky, churning water is North Brother Island, and a shiver passes through me. I turn to go back inside the ferry, but Mam takes my wrist. "You promised," she says under her breath. Since I can hear her, I know I'm awake. "Come now, Essie. Be a brave girl." That's easy enough for her, I suppose. Mam is the bravest person in all of New York City. Everyone says it--the cranky landlord in our crumbling tenement; my best friend, Beatrice; the nuns who teach us at St. Jerome's Catholic School. I've seen Mam pick up dead rats without flinching. I've seen her stomp a fire out with her boot. When she was half my age, just five years old, she crossed the whole ocean with her mother to join her father in America. I can't even take a ferry up Hell Gate without turning white as a petticoat. January wind, freezing and damp, spits into my face. There are slushy puddles of water on the deck and it's so cold that I'm shaking even in my big coat, but Mam takes a step toward the rail, tugging me after. I get an irritated look from her when I dig in my heels, but I refuse to risk my life for a view. Besides, anyone with sense knows that the shadow in the distance is no sort of view to be glad for. "Brought a lot of luggage, you did," someone says, and Mam and I both turn. A crewman in a long, wet rain slicker smiles, tipping his cap. The water is getting rough, so he's checking cargo secured to the deck, pulling on ropes and doubling knots. One of the big wooden crates beside him reads MEDICAL SUPPLIES. Another reads LABORATORY EQUIPMENT. Tied up on top of the pile is our dented old steamer trunk and Mam's pretty metal hatbox--a gift from her new husband. My new father. I cringe. "A lot of luggage just for a visit, I mean," the crewman continues, several questions hanging at the end of his comment. He's not the first curious person we've met today, but I don't like the look of him. There's something suspicious--his hair, perhaps, or his shoes--so I shrink behind my mother and narrow my eyes. "We aren't visiting," Mam says, raising her voice to be heard over the waves. "We're moving to the island." The crewman tilts his head. "You can't be patients." "Heavens, no!" says my mother. I don't want to look out over the water again. I don't want to see the lighthouse, warning us away from the growing shadow it guards. But the ferry rocks violently and I stumble from my mother, crying out as a huge wave splashes up over the bow. Terrified I'll be swept overboard, I lurch to the side railing and cling on tightly. Behind me, Mam is giggling like a schoolgirl, pressing her fancy new hat to her head. She's hardly even lost her balance, as poised and confident-looking as ever. "What weather!" she says to the crewman, and then, as if I didn't just nearly fall to my death, "Not too close, Essie dear." I shut my eyes, trying to keep from looking down at the icy rushing water below. All I want in the world is to go back inside--and then, after that, to turn the boat around and go home--but I'm frightened I'll fall if I let go of the railing. And our home in Mott Haven is no longer our home. The rest of our possessions, few as they are, have already been packed up and sent ahead to the island. Our tenement back in the city is empty. Our apartment, where I've lived my whole life. Our apartment, where I lived with my mam and my da--my real da. When the beam from the lighthouse strikes me again, I force my eyes open, squinting through the brightness, then the gloom that follows. North Brother Island is desolate. The scattered trees look like the arms of skeletons. The shoreline is rocky and seems to be waiting for someone to step wrong and twist her ankle. "You're a nurse, then?" the crewman asks my mother. "To replace the ones gone missing?" I let go of the railing and turn around, my eyes wide, but then the ferry crashes into another high wave and I'm sent tumbling toward Mam, shouting. She catches me as dirty brown water sprays up over the side of the boat. "I'm drenched!" I cry out. "You are not," says Mam. "I'll catch cold!" "Goodness, Essie. Don't be dramatic." My mother turns toward the crewman and excuses us politely before leading me back inside the ferry. By the time we make it, I'm a shivering, blubbering mess. "Stop it now," says my mother. "You're causing a scene." I can't help myself, though. It's terrible, picturing all the ways you might die. Mam pries my fingers from her waist and begins patting her clothing down with a handkerchief. Her wet skirt is black-and-white-striped. Like the hat and hatbox, it's new. Another gift. "We might have picked a better day to travel." She tries to smile at me. "We might have not traveled at all," I say. A sharp look is enough to get me quiet again, so I cross my arms, teeth still chattering, and pace away. Our ferry sways. North Brother Island creeps closer. The storm clouds darken above. When someone begins coughing, I glance over my shoulder. There aren't many other passengers on the small boat, though I saw two police officers board with us. They must be up top with the captain. It seems the ferry is mostly just delivering a last run of supplies before bad weather makes crossing the river impossible. But then, in the far corner of the room, wrapped in a shabby blanket, I see a skinny man, his face flushed with fever. Anxiety knots in my gut. I take a step back. "Come dry off," calls Mam, wiggling the handkerchief as she sits down on a bench. Her eyes dart to the man, and I quickly do as I'm told. For a while, neither of us speaks. We've said everything already, after all. Yelled everything. Shouted everything. Called each other terrible names. I've already cried till I was purple, gasping and begging like my life was in danger. Because, truly, it is. The ferry crests wave after wave, rolling my stomach. "We're going to sink," I whisper. "No, we aren't." "Ships sink in this part of the river all the time. Hell Gate is a graveyard." Mam sighs. "You know, my first time on a ship, I was so excited. I couldn't stop thinking about what my new home would be like. And we had quite a few worse nights than this. Have I told you about the time we started taking on water and the cabin filled up to my bloomers?" Of course she has. I've heard about every moment of my mother's journey from Ireland. Even when she tells me the most frightening parts--the ship catching fire or the food spoiling or sharks circling in anticipation--she speaks as if it were all some grand adventure I missed out on. I suppose, in her mind, anything was better than what they were leaving behind. Mam and Granny were starving. Getting on the boat to America was a last chance at survival. The beam from the lighthouse pierces the fog, fracturing through the ferry windows. Light. Dark. Light again. "He's a good man, Essie. You'll see." I go rigid. I don't want to hear my mother try again to convince me that this is the right choice--the only choice. I don't want to hear about Dr. Blackcreek and his hospital. "We're going to get sick," I say, my voice low as I glance at the other passenger. "No, we aren't," Mam replies, and she puts her arm around me, kissing the top of my head. I understand why my granda came to America. I understand why my granny followed him. But even though, through her pretty new dress, I can feel how thin Mam has gotten--even though, this past Christmas, we could barely afford coal to keep from freezing, much less any presents--I don't understand why my mother's remarried. I don't understand why she agreed to move us to this strange man's estate. Because North Brother Island isn't like other islands. Our new home is where the incurable sick of New York City are sent to die. Excerpted from The List of Unspeakable Fears by J. Kasper Kramer All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
