Waiting for the Queen: A Novel of Early America
Autor Joanna Higginsen Limba Engleză Hardback – 19 aug 2013 – vârsta de la 10 până la 14 ani
A surprising friendship develops between Eugenie, an escapee from the French Revolution, and Hannah, a Quaker girl, when they unite in the cause against slavery in this adventuresome tale of true nobility set amidst the rugged, eighteenth-century, Pennsylvania wilderness.
Fifteen-year-old Eugenie de La Roque and her family barely escape the French Revolution with their lives. Along with several other noble families, they sail to America, where French Azilium, as the area came to be known, is being carved out of the rugged wilderness of Pennsylvania. Hannah Kimbrell is a young Quaker who has been chosen to help prepare French Azilum for the arrival of the aristocrats. In this wild place away from home and the memories they hold dear, Eugenie and Hannah find more in common than they first realize. With much to learn from each other, the girls unite to help free several slaves from their tyrannical French owner, a dangerous scheme that requires personal sacrifice in exchange for the slaves' freedom.
A story of friendship against all odds, Waiting for the Queen is a loving portrait of the values of a young America, and a reminder that true nobility is more than a royal title.
Fifteen-year-old Eugenie de La Roque and her family barely escape the French Revolution with their lives. Along with several other noble families, they sail to America, where French Azilium, as the area came to be known, is being carved out of the rugged wilderness of Pennsylvania. Hannah Kimbrell is a young Quaker who has been chosen to help prepare French Azilum for the arrival of the aristocrats. In this wild place away from home and the memories they hold dear, Eugenie and Hannah find more in common than they first realize. With much to learn from each other, the girls unite to help free several slaves from their tyrannical French owner, a dangerous scheme that requires personal sacrifice in exchange for the slaves' freedom.
A story of friendship against all odds, Waiting for the Queen is a loving portrait of the values of a young America, and a reminder that true nobility is more than a royal title.
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781571317001
ISBN-10: 1571317007
Pagini: 247
Dimensiuni: 137 x 206 x 25 mm
Greutate: 0.41 kg
Editura: Milkweed Editions
Locul publicării:Canada
ISBN-10: 1571317007
Pagini: 247
Dimensiuni: 137 x 206 x 25 mm
Greutate: 0.41 kg
Editura: Milkweed Editions
Locul publicării:Canada
Recenzii
"French aristocrats in Early America? Quaker carpenters and housemaids? Slaves in the Northeast? I never knew, but Joanna Higgins brings to life their story through three very different girls who grow into courage, wisdom, tolerance, and friendship. Their story is exciting, touching, and so real that I didn't want it to end, and neither will you."
—Karen Cushman, award-winning author of The Midwife's Apprentice
"A meticulously detailed work of historical fiction about the challenges of the new and unfamiliar, and about looking beyond oneself toward the greater good."
—Publishers Weekly
"This rewarding novel should be shared with confident readers who enjoy historical fiction."
—School Library Journal
"A fresh look at early America."
—Booklist
"A well-rounded, satisfying historical tale."
—Kirkus Reviews
"A compelling portrait."
—Voice of Youth Advocates
"Higgins draws each character with sensitive precision.... Sci-fi writers would be hard pressed to envision as jarring a culture clash as is supplied here by early American history."
—Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books
"Deserving of readers' interest and sympathy, these two girls transform miraculously under the gifted hand of Joanna Higgins.... Occasionally poetic language and themes of true human compassion, liberty, and courage top off this remarkable historical piece for middle school and, perhaps, early high school readers."
—ForeWord Reviews
—Karen Cushman, award-winning author of The Midwife's Apprentice
"A meticulously detailed work of historical fiction about the challenges of the new and unfamiliar, and about looking beyond oneself toward the greater good."
—Publishers Weekly
"This rewarding novel should be shared with confident readers who enjoy historical fiction."
—School Library Journal
"A fresh look at early America."
—Booklist
"A well-rounded, satisfying historical tale."
—Kirkus Reviews
"A compelling portrait."
—Voice of Youth Advocates
"Higgins draws each character with sensitive precision.... Sci-fi writers would be hard pressed to envision as jarring a culture clash as is supplied here by early American history."
—Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books
"Deserving of readers' interest and sympathy, these two girls transform miraculously under the gifted hand of Joanna Higgins.... Occasionally poetic language and themes of true human compassion, liberty, and courage top off this remarkable historical piece for middle school and, perhaps, early high school readers."
—ForeWord Reviews
"Higgins demonstrates an eye for telling detail, a compelling narrative voice, and psychological insight." — Publishers Weekly
Notă biografică
Joanna Higgins is the author of A Soldier's Book, Dead Center, and The Importance of High Places (Milkweed Editions), a collection of short stories. She received her PhD from SUNY-Binghamton, where she studied under John Gardner. An adoptive mother of two children, Higgins lives with her family in upstate New York. Waiting for the Queen is her fist book for young readers.
Extras
1793
Novembre / November
Eugenie
A cold wind gusts through these American mountains, ruffling the churning river and further impeding the progress of our boats. On a map Papa showed us in Philadelphia, the river bears the Indian name Susquehanna as it meanders down through eastern Pennsylvania like gathered blue stitching on green fabric. The looping is most definitely accurate. But today the river is not blue; rather, nearly black. And the mountains are not green, but in their sheery drapery of fog and mist, a dismal gray. Often a cask slides by, carried swiftly by the current. Or there might be great tree limbs with a few tufts of leaves that seem torn bits of flag. Our flag, I imagine in my fatigue. The flag of our beloved La France.
Cold penetrates wool and velvet and settles upon my shoulders like stones. Ah, the marquis’s perfidy! Talon promised fine dwellings, but where are they? We have been traveling, now, for a week upon this wilderness river. He promised a French town, but where is it? I lean to my trembling pet and wrap my cloak more securely about her. “Courage, Sylvette. Soon we shall learn if the marquis is a man of honor or not.”
Sylvette curls herself tightly against me, shivering in spasms. I try to comfort her, but a settlement appears along a bank that causes me to tremble as well—forest scraped clear for a few meters, and six rude log dwellings there, earthen colored. Smoke rises from chimneys, mingling with low cloud. Someone on a landing gestures toward our boats.
Mon Dieu! Can this be our promised town?
I close my eyes and hold onto Sylvette. When I open my eyes again, the settlement is behind us.
Merci, my Lady.
Fear eases its hold. I scratch behind Sylvette’s ears, feel the warmth of her. She hides under her paw and dozes. By now it must be midafternoon. Early this morning we embarked from the usual sort of camp we’ve been seeing along this river, merely a few board houses surrounded by a cluster of squat log huts more like caves. Last evening and again early this morning, several ill-clothed women and children emerged from these dark dwellings to stare at us. Maman ignores the uncouth gaping Americans. I do as well. But when a child ran up to Papa, wanting to touch his fur-trimmed cloak, Papa leaned down and lifted the boy high into the air and swung him down again. The child ran off, but not far. “Au revior!” Papa called. The urchin smiled and threw himself at Papa again, and again Papa swung him upward. This time the child reached for the feathers on Papa’s high-crowned hat, but Papa set him down before he could tear them off. Then Papa took a coin from his waistcoat and gave it to him. Maman pretended to see nothing of this.
How these people bring to mind our peasants, the way they watch us. The boy’s mother finally pulled him away as if we were evil.
For such reasons and many others, the journey north from the port of Philadelphia has been distressing—the first hundred or so miles in a bumping coach to the river town of Harrisburg, and now these low boats and rainswollen river. And along the way, poor inns, poor food, and poor sleep, I tossing about on thin mattresses stuffed with crackling straw, tormented by dreams that always leave me exhausted. And then the dreams’ poisonous residue taints my days as well.
But the dipping boats lull, and it is difficult to keep my eyes open. I give in to temptation and am, at once, back at our château in the Rhône-et-Loire. The fields an orange sea, flames rising upon it like waves. I run down stone steps into a cellar. Maman! I call. Papa! But no sound issues from my throat. The cellar becomes a charred field, and I see a farm cart surrounded by peasants on the road bordering the field. In the cart, my beloved maid and companion, Annette. Then smoke rises from the cart. Spikes of flame. Peasants move back. The air around the cart brightens with fire.
I force my eyes open and the scene shrivels as if it, too, has burned.
“Ah, Sylvette.” Her white fur warms my cheek, catches my tears.
Why, Papa, I remember asking, did they do that to my Annette?
Because of her royal blood.
Do they hate us so, then?
I think—yes.
But what have we done to them, Papa?
Perhaps it may not be what we have done, so much, but what we have failed to do.
And that is, Papa?
Treat them as we treat one another.
Novembre / November
Eugenie
A cold wind gusts through these American mountains, ruffling the churning river and further impeding the progress of our boats. On a map Papa showed us in Philadelphia, the river bears the Indian name Susquehanna as it meanders down through eastern Pennsylvania like gathered blue stitching on green fabric. The looping is most definitely accurate. But today the river is not blue; rather, nearly black. And the mountains are not green, but in their sheery drapery of fog and mist, a dismal gray. Often a cask slides by, carried swiftly by the current. Or there might be great tree limbs with a few tufts of leaves that seem torn bits of flag. Our flag, I imagine in my fatigue. The flag of our beloved La France.
Cold penetrates wool and velvet and settles upon my shoulders like stones. Ah, the marquis’s perfidy! Talon promised fine dwellings, but where are they? We have been traveling, now, for a week upon this wilderness river. He promised a French town, but where is it? I lean to my trembling pet and wrap my cloak more securely about her. “Courage, Sylvette. Soon we shall learn if the marquis is a man of honor or not.”
Sylvette curls herself tightly against me, shivering in spasms. I try to comfort her, but a settlement appears along a bank that causes me to tremble as well—forest scraped clear for a few meters, and six rude log dwellings there, earthen colored. Smoke rises from chimneys, mingling with low cloud. Someone on a landing gestures toward our boats.
Mon Dieu! Can this be our promised town?
I close my eyes and hold onto Sylvette. When I open my eyes again, the settlement is behind us.
Merci, my Lady.
Fear eases its hold. I scratch behind Sylvette’s ears, feel the warmth of her. She hides under her paw and dozes. By now it must be midafternoon. Early this morning we embarked from the usual sort of camp we’ve been seeing along this river, merely a few board houses surrounded by a cluster of squat log huts more like caves. Last evening and again early this morning, several ill-clothed women and children emerged from these dark dwellings to stare at us. Maman ignores the uncouth gaping Americans. I do as well. But when a child ran up to Papa, wanting to touch his fur-trimmed cloak, Papa leaned down and lifted the boy high into the air and swung him down again. The child ran off, but not far. “Au revior!” Papa called. The urchin smiled and threw himself at Papa again, and again Papa swung him upward. This time the child reached for the feathers on Papa’s high-crowned hat, but Papa set him down before he could tear them off. Then Papa took a coin from his waistcoat and gave it to him. Maman pretended to see nothing of this.
How these people bring to mind our peasants, the way they watch us. The boy’s mother finally pulled him away as if we were evil.
For such reasons and many others, the journey north from the port of Philadelphia has been distressing—the first hundred or so miles in a bumping coach to the river town of Harrisburg, and now these low boats and rainswollen river. And along the way, poor inns, poor food, and poor sleep, I tossing about on thin mattresses stuffed with crackling straw, tormented by dreams that always leave me exhausted. And then the dreams’ poisonous residue taints my days as well.
But the dipping boats lull, and it is difficult to keep my eyes open. I give in to temptation and am, at once, back at our château in the Rhône-et-Loire. The fields an orange sea, flames rising upon it like waves. I run down stone steps into a cellar. Maman! I call. Papa! But no sound issues from my throat. The cellar becomes a charred field, and I see a farm cart surrounded by peasants on the road bordering the field. In the cart, my beloved maid and companion, Annette. Then smoke rises from the cart. Spikes of flame. Peasants move back. The air around the cart brightens with fire.
I force my eyes open and the scene shrivels as if it, too, has burned.
“Ah, Sylvette.” Her white fur warms my cheek, catches my tears.
Why, Papa, I remember asking, did they do that to my Annette?
Because of her royal blood.
Do they hate us so, then?
I think—yes.
But what have we done to them, Papa?
Perhaps it may not be what we have done, so much, but what we have failed to do.
And that is, Papa?
Treat them as we treat one another.
Textul de pe ultima copertă
A STORY OF FRIENDSHIP AGAINST ALL ODDS, AND A WONDERFULLY RICH PORTRAIT OF EARLY AMERICA
PRAISE FOR Waiting for the Queen
“French aristocrats in Early America? Quaker carpenters and housemaids? slaves in the Northeast? I never knew, but Joanna Higgins brings their story to life through three very different girls who grow into courage, wisdom, tolerance, and friendship. Their story is exciting, touching, and so real that I didn’t want it to end. Neither will you.”
—Karen Cushman
“Joanna Higgins writes a fast-paced inspiring story of two teenage girls from different worlds, languages, and clashing cultures learning the true meaning of friendship, sacrifice, and nobility.”
—John Armistead
“Waiting for the Queen illuminates a time in American history that is not very well known. The characters grow in maturity through the process of bravely facing hardships and forging new friendships. I was fascinated by the descriptions of coastal Pennsylvania in the late eighteenth century, but the story does not get bogged down with the details; instead, the background information is woven through the tapestry of the lives of these two brave heroines.”
—Laura E. Williams
“In Joanna Higgins’s newest novel, young history lovers are bound to find a gripping read, told in two voices, each one distinct and each one crystal clear. The novel gives a vivid portrayal of early America, and a little known moment when Marie Antoinette’s entourage arrived in the susquehanna valley looking for shelter. This historical novel has depth, immediacy, and charm.”
—Liz Rosenberg
PRAISE FOR JOANNA HIGGINS
“Joanna Higgins peels back the surface of seemingly ordinary lives to expose extraordinary passions.”
—Janet Shaw
“[Higgins] renders the experiences of her characters with a refreshingly masterful hand.”
—Kirkus Reviews
PRAISE FOR Waiting for the Queen
“French aristocrats in Early America? Quaker carpenters and housemaids? slaves in the Northeast? I never knew, but Joanna Higgins brings their story to life through three very different girls who grow into courage, wisdom, tolerance, and friendship. Their story is exciting, touching, and so real that I didn’t want it to end. Neither will you.”
—Karen Cushman
“Joanna Higgins writes a fast-paced inspiring story of two teenage girls from different worlds, languages, and clashing cultures learning the true meaning of friendship, sacrifice, and nobility.”
—John Armistead
“Waiting for the Queen illuminates a time in American history that is not very well known. The characters grow in maturity through the process of bravely facing hardships and forging new friendships. I was fascinated by the descriptions of coastal Pennsylvania in the late eighteenth century, but the story does not get bogged down with the details; instead, the background information is woven through the tapestry of the lives of these two brave heroines.”
—Laura E. Williams
“In Joanna Higgins’s newest novel, young history lovers are bound to find a gripping read, told in two voices, each one distinct and each one crystal clear. The novel gives a vivid portrayal of early America, and a little known moment when Marie Antoinette’s entourage arrived in the susquehanna valley looking for shelter. This historical novel has depth, immediacy, and charm.”
—Liz Rosenberg
PRAISE FOR JOANNA HIGGINS
“Joanna Higgins peels back the surface of seemingly ordinary lives to expose extraordinary passions.”
—Janet Shaw
“[Higgins] renders the experiences of her characters with a refreshingly masterful hand.”
—Kirkus Reviews