What’s the connection?
The book launch of LOST BOYS, a middle grade historical fiction novel by début author (and friend) Darcey Rosenblatt.
LOST BOYS is a captivating coming-of-age story of friendship, hardship, and hope. Twelve-year-old Reza is an Iranian boy who loves music and spending time with friends until the day he becomes a soldier and eventually a prisoner of the 1980’s Iran/Iraq war.
Reza’s story honours the strength of the human spirit. It is a tribute to every child who has managed to survive the horrors of war, as well as to the many who did not make it through. LOST BOYS is a heartfelt début novel. I only have one word of caution (well, maybe three): keep tissues nearby.
I wish I’d had a handkerchief on hand for Darcey’s book launch, too, where a packed house of warmhearted family, friends, and book lovers of all ages gathered to celebrate her and the release of LOST BOYS at our phenomenal local independent bookstore, Book Passage.
The line for book-signings measured at least forty feet –
snaking from the prominent spot next to the podium *
to the luscious celebratory lemon cake lying in wait at the back of the room
As for the rose petal reference?
It’s Darcey’s last name translated into English.
Check out DARCEY’S fabulous website for more on the real lost boys and an awesome interview at Kidlit 411 where she shares more about herself and her journey from the moment she was struck by the idea, complete with goosebumps.
One last word:
“Rosenblatt’s debut is fiction, but rooted in fact: the plight of ‘lost boy soldiers’ was all too real. Thanks to careful research and a well-written narrative, Rosenblatt brings their stories to vivid and memorable life. The lost boys, at least here, are found.” ―Booklist
Or maybe thirteen:
BUY IT – BORROW IT – READ IT
(and please remember to review it here)
* photo credit – someone other than me
With the weather taking a turn, I ditched the broom and opted for United Airlines. Once we reached our cruising altitude, the skies turned friendly, reflecting the lovely crew members’ cordiality, making my journey to Scotland if not completely comfortable (22F had its challenges) at least sociable, swift, and safe. Even if they had been rude, nothing could have spoiled my excitement over a reunion with friends I’d only visited with separately during the last nine years.
Ready, aim, fire! It’s no use taking careful aim, though. By the time I catch my subject dead center between the crosshairs, it’s too late – a blip in the landscape – gone faster than you can say, “Gotcha!”
