Midst our recent move, my daughter (now 13) and I picked up this short Newberry-winning book to relieve some stress. She wasn’t a fan of it, and while I eventually finished the book on my own, by the end I had to agree with her.
Missing May sparked something in me—as a book reviewer mainly, but also as a dad that wants to instill a love for reading in his kids—something that I’ve just got to share.
Quick Summary of Missing May
But first, let me offer a brief synopsis of this book. It starts off with yet another orphan—something that’s been a running joke in our family, because—how many popular books have hero-kids with two parents enjoying a healthy relationship? Not nearly enough! But I’ll leave that initial annoyance for another time.
Six-year-old Summer is living with her Uncle Ob and Aunt May, when May suddenly dies in her garden. Fast forward 6 years, and it seems that neither Uncle Ob nor Summer have really learned to let go. When Ob thinks May sends him a message from the spirit world through the whirligigs that he crafts, he and Summer and their odd little friend Cletus set out on a journey to speak with May from the other side.
Death, Sorrow, and…Books for Kids?
Ultimately, Missing May is a book about loss, letting go, and living life through its pains and trials. Important themes, no doubt, but why do these particular elements (plus ghosts and “a small medium at large” of course) raise this book to the level of “Newberry Winner”?
In fact, I have often wondered this with other books: Why do so many Newberry winning books deal with the same bleak issues? The award is to be given for craft, not for content or subject matter. According to Britanica, the medal goes to “the author of the most distinguished American children’s book of the previous year.” (Britannica)
Judges who dole these annual awards out do consider certain criteria. “Distinguished” in this description simply means books that have literary excellence, a strong impact on child readers, and evidence of the author’s mastery of plot, character, theme, style, and setting. “Distinguished” doesn’t mean “sad and dreary,” yet that’s so often what we find in Newberry winners! Take The Bridge to Terabithia and Dear Mr. Henshaw as two other examples.
“Eat Your Veggies!”
Why is this? Well, check out who’s on the Newberry judging committee:
The judging committee responsible for selecting the award’s winner comprises educators, librarians, book reviewers, publishers, and children’s literature experts, all of whom are members of the Association for Library Service to Children. (Britannica)
Ah! There’s the rub! For over 100 years now, the people selecting “the best books for children” have been stuffy, sophisticated, lettered adults who’ve apparently forgotten what it’s like to be a child. They may not realize it, but in their efforts to preserve the best of children’s literature, they’ve become wiry nutritionist trying to convince kids that raw broccoli and green bananas are good for them. “Just eat it. You’ll love it!”
Do you personally know many children that would choose raw broccoli over, say, a hearty bowl of beef stew or a grilled-chicken wrap? Me neither, because they’re not the majority. Kids want flavor in their food like they want humor in their books. They want variety and adventure and mystery. To take another spin on it, young readers want killing in their books but not death!
Kids want Harry Potter and A Series of Unfortunate Events and The Hunger Games and The Mysterious Benedict Society. They don’t mind explosions and murders and swordfights and fart jokes, but they don’t want to read about grandpa’s sadness at losing grandma, about cancer or divorce or bullying.
Of course, people will be quick to argue: “This might be what children want but it’s not what they need!” But check out the Newberry criteria—”learning hard life lessons in story form” is not what the Newberry medal is all about. It’s about craft.
Tell me that the 1998 winner Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse was more literary and distinguished than Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets—or that any Newberry winner of the given year was more distinguished than any of J.K. Rowling’s follow-up books in the series. It can’t be done. Even The Order of the Phoenix beats out The Tale of Despereaux for craft—and I love them both.
Nothing New Under the Sun
I know I’m not the first to complain about this. The ALA has an entire FAQ section dedicated to this very opinion. But golly, award-winning kids’ books should be the books that kids love, not publishers, educators, librarians, or even book reviewers like me.
It certainly should not be a mere popularity contest, but when my kid reads 700-800-page books and ask for more, then I pay attention. The author that can pull that stunt needs the award. Period.
Conclusion
There’s nothing wrong with reading about an 70-year-old man getting over the death of his wife. And there’s nothing wrong with delivering this tough life message through the eyes of a child. It’s creative and meaningful. It’s high literary craft. But the truth is, most kids don’t love it, so it shouldn’t win an award for children’s literature.
Those are my 2 cents. Now, let the “Yeah, but”s begin!
©2025 E.T.