The Ballad of Lucy Whipple by Karen Cushman

Also Known As: Seriously, Karen Cushman Is The Only Author In The World That Could Write A Book For Young Adults With Poignance And Humor Tied Into A U.S. History Lesson About Manifest Destiny.

Karen Cushman's first two books (Catherine, Called Birdy and The Midwife's Apprentice) were both unqualified triumphs in my mental library, so when I found The Ballad of Lucy Whipple, I let out an actual out-loud cheer. Having finished reading it -- finally -- I can say that the weird looks I got were totally worth it.

This is the story of California Whipple, told in first-person narrative and pieces of letters she writes back East to her grandparents, left behind in a Massachusettes town 40 miles outside of Boston after her father died and her mother, in a fight of American-ness up and moves the entire family westward during the gold rush, hoping to find gold nuggets littering the ground, dragging along a half-dozen children named things like Prairie and Sierra -- there was a point in the book where I said, "Oh God, it's like I've been trapped by the Park Slope stroller mafia or something." -- and a singular boy named Butte. (Proper pronunciation up for debate. To be kind, I have been saying, Bute -- like butane.) California decides her name is Lucy, since California is preposterous and loathesome.

California drags her heels the entire way, protesting and wailing and talking extensively about how she hates absolutely everything about the "town" in which they settle -- Lucky Diggins, California. Mining is hard and horrible, and Arvella Whipple, California's mother finds employment running the only boarding house in the joint for vagrants and miners, rough people with hard lives, and it becomes an increasingly endearing setting for a revolving cast of everybody from the Gent (possibly a serial killer, but very charming?) to Brother Clyde, a preacher come for lost souls who Lucy hopes will bear her away back to the East Coast.

The story -- all its hilarity and heartbreak -- is classic Cushman. Like with Catherine, Called Birdy, she pulls no punches. If the idea of Birdy's awful father slapping her in a drunken fit as he tries to sell her like cheese to the highest-bidding suitor horrifies you, so will the wretchedness Lucy and her family are forced to endure. But the rough edges, I think, are what make Cushman's books so enormously compelling, she writes some of the most imperfectly-human adults I've ever read, and the frustration of trying to understand them viewed again, suddenly, through the lens of a 13 or 14 year old girl is shocking. It's strange to shift back in time so quickly when for so long we've made our excuses for our more-or-less grown up behavior, but to remember it from the slightly shorter perspective of a pre-teenaged girl is humbling and also heartening, to know that even if you seriously, seriously hate your mother for all the crap she's putting you through, you still love her, and want only the best for her.

I loved Lucy, and I love the uncompromising strength and female cussedness about her -- I only wish there were more writers who could tap that core of awesomeness that dwells at the heart of every girl. Or at least that Cushman would write more books. Hey, I vote the Victorian era. I bet she could totally make me laugh about corsetry.

Recommended Reading?: Buy it now. Get three copies and mail them to your friends and their daughters.
Adults Will Love It As Much As Kids?: Absolutely.
Will I Pervert The Source Material And Ready Dirty Things Into It?: No -- I like to think that the dirty things Cushman writes into her books are intentional, and I like that she doesn't whitewash anything. (To that point, Bernard becomes my second-favorite character in this story.)