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    Harbor Me
    Harbor Me
    Harbor Me
    Ebook142 pages1 hour

    Harbor Me

    By Jacqueline Woodson

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    A NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER!

    Jacqueline Woodson's first middle-grade novel since National Book Award winner Brown Girl Dreaming celebrates the healing that can occur when a group of students share their stories.

    It all starts when six kids have to meet for a weekly chat--by themselves, with no adults to listen in. There, in the room they soon dub the ARTT Room (short for "A Room to Talk"), they discover it's safe to talk about what's bothering them--everything from Esteban's father's deportation and Haley's father's incarceration to Amari's fears of racial profiling and Ashton's adjustment to his changing family fortunes. When the six are together, they can express the feelings and fears they have to hide from the rest of the world. And together, they can grow braver and more ready for the rest of their lives.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Young Readers Group
    Release dateAug 28, 2018
    ISBN9780525515135

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    Reviews for Harbor Me

    4/5

    103 ratings15 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Right to the heart. Woodson goes right to the heart of the many terrifying and sorrowful things that many of our kids are facing right now, every day, in this frightening and sad country. That she can do that without lecturing, with immediate and compelling characters, with gorgeous language and poetry for when the moment is heading off the cliffs of sorrow, is a testament to her great power as a writer and her great compassion as a human being. This is a book about pulling together and supporting one another. This is a book about hearing. About seeing the people around us and singing a song together rather than in spite of each other. Beautiful. Hard.

      Set in beginning of 6th grade, looking back on 5th. One incarcerated parent, one stolen by immigration, one deceased. The fear of gun violence. Racism. Economic privilege. Bullying. Growing up in 6 voices from many different backgrounds.
    • 3/5
      This is a beautifully written book that sensitively handles modern social issues in a way that’s accessible for young readers. With that being said, I wanted to love this book, but I didn't. 

      Jacqueline Woodson writes well; the words are beautifully crafted. Too beautifully crafted.The children all fell like "old souls" who express their personal stories in a manner that is way too eloquent for 5th graders. Though the sentiments expressed are wonderful, it doesn't quite sit right. The first thing that really jarred me out of the story was the basic "Breakfast Club" for 5th graders concept. I work in a school system. It's hard to imagine ANY school letting a group of young kids sit for an hour unsupervised in a room. It's even more unlikely considering that it is implied that these children are students with special education needs. It's also hard to imagine that these kids are so calm when discussing such big and important issues. There are a few scenes where the students exchange snarky words and comments, but it was way too subtle. If anyone has interacted with kids who are the same age as these students, we know that their feelings are BIG and they frequently express these feelings in a BIG way. These kids are much more gentle with each other than I've experienced. It's clear they have an exceptional teacher who has taught them thoughtfulness throughout the year, but they're still tweens.  It also feels almost like the author is checking off a list of what makes a good and diverse book. African American student- check. Latino student- check. Mixed race student- check. Undocumented student- check. Bullied student- check. Students with disability- check. Kids with different economic backgrounds- check. Social justice topics- check.

      Woodson's poetic writing style saves this from being formulaic, but it doesn't make it feel realistic. It felt like the book was more about delivering a heartwarming message than an actual story. The unrealistic things continuously pulled me out of these characters lives and stories, even though I loved the messages that were being delivered when they were sharing what was in their hearts and minds.  
    • 5/5
      This is a quiet story of six "special" children and a teacher who knew they needed time to talk out their pain. Each has a different background and story; Haley, one of the six, is determined to record their voices so they'll all be remembered. As always, Woodson's words add a layer of lyrical richness. A beautiful book for our grade 4/5 school library shelves.
    • 3/5
      diverse middlegrade realistic fiction. 6 Brooklyn "at-risk" 5th-graders share their backgrounds with each other and become friends--they discuss issues of racism, deportation, their family situations, etc. and learn to support each other. A bit slow to start but a quick read with several heartbreaking moments, and characters that could easily be kids that you know in real life. Would probably be great for a tween book group discussion.
    • 5/5
      Jacqueline Woodson is a treasure and I would read anything she wrote, in any form, for any age group. I'm surprised that I haven't heard more about this book, because it's focus on kids and diversity and current events is so well done. The audiobook performance is so good too! Don't miss the ending where she and her son talk about the book.
    • 4/5
      Over a school year, classmates from a “special” class bond by telling their personal stories. Woodson allows her characters to delve into many issues: immigration, race, class, privilege, etc. while reminding all of us to “harbor each other. Even strangers. Everyday.”
    • 4/5
      4.5 stars.

      Harbor Me by Jacqueline Woodson is poignant yet heartwarming novel with a cast of diverse characters that are exceptionally well-developed and appealing.  Although the target audience is middle-schoolers, I highly recommend this quick but powerful read to readers of all ages.

      Narrated by twelve year old Haley McGrath, she and her five classmates gather together once a week to talk freely to one another without adult supervision. Their conversations are surprisingly deep as they delve into the realities they each face due to their life experiences. Haley is bi-racial and currently being raised by her white uncle and she is apprehensive about the upcoming changes in her life. Her best friend Holly finds it impossible to sit still and she often blurts out her uncensored thoughts.  Tiago is the son of Puerto Rican immigrants and he is troubled by the hateful rhetoric he and his mother encounter while conversing in Spanish in public. Amari recounts a recent discussion with his father which highlights the dangers African American's face even during innocent play. Ashton is the only Caucasian in the group which leads his fellow classmates to mistakenly believe this affords him protection from any type of hardship or adversity. Young Esteban is a going through a heartrending experience that no one should ever have to endure.

      With frank honesty and surprising insight, Harbor Me touches on relevant social issues through the eyes of these six pre-teens.  Through these weekly discussions, Jacqueline Woodson highlights the fact that political and racial issues affect children just as much they do adults. Their stories are captivating and their compassionate and perceptive reactions to one anothers' plights offer hope for the future of our country. I highly recommend this timely novel which features an engrossing and thought-provoking storyline.
    • 5/5
      Jacqueline Woodson is masterrful at creating round characters and then masterfully revealing their senstivities, talents, fears through their relationships - in this case a group of five very different children bound only by their learning differences at first and bound as friends for life after sharing their stories weekly each other.
    • 4/5
      A wonderful light read about deep issues such as immigration issues and understanding one another.
    • 4/5
      This book explores the deep bond formed between 6 students in a 5/6 grade classroom when their teacher gives them an hour in a special room weekly to talk. Told in flashbacks and with audio recordings, Haley shares her worries about adjusting after her father moves back home from prison and her uncle leaves. The students have really different backgrounds and the book explores issues of race (why Amari's mom won't let him play with nerf guns), immigration (Esteban's dad is taken and held in a detention center), and has the kids share their stories as they grow closer. While the students are in some type of special program with the small class, their learning differences are not explored.
      A powerful (and at times, a bit preachy) read.
      The audiobook was well done.
    • 5/5
      6 young students get to meet up every Friday in the ARTT room ( a room to talk) where they are free to tell their stories and learn about themselves and others.
    • 5/5
      Six students gather together once a week to talk in the ARTT (A Room To Talk). At first it seems like a boondoggle, but gradually over the school year, the kids open up and details of their lives are revealed. The stories are heartfelt and sometimes tragic. And although the six kids have dramatically different experiences, a lasting bond grows between all of them. A really beautiful story of community building.

      The individual stories are definitely not the vanilla middle-school stories we're so used to. We're not talking about issues like the loss of a pet or missing homework, but major issues that are especially relevant today --from a parent who is detained and deported for being an illegal immigrant to a father who is in jail.

      This would be a great parent - child read or middle grade book club selection. Powerful and uplifting.
    • 5/5
      In these overwhelmingly fraught times, a short read written with a light hand and a view to social justice is certainly a balm. Woodson has such a strong sense of how teens act and speak, and teachers know that her characters can be found in every school, on every block, in every home. Here, six middle school students are given the gift of time to themselves as a group by their brilliant teacher, who finds a vacant classroom for them to gather in before they go home for the day. They are "special" kids, which makes their stories all the more compelling. Via a tape recorder, they learn of their missing puzzle pieces - ADD, learning disabilities, a parent in prison, dead, or deported, or being a minority in the school. Each becomes an integral part of the group as they stretch to fill in their chasms.
    • 5/5
      I cannot explain how much I loved this book. Kids who come from different walks of life get to know each other and realize they have more in common than different. It is what every teacher wishes to see in their classrooms. Acceptance and understanding. This book would be a PERFECT read aloud for ages 10 and up. Everyone should read it. I can just imagine the deep classroom discussions this book could lead to.
    • 4/5
      I don't often read books targeted for the middle school reader, but this is Woodson and I love how she tackles difficult subject. She does the same here, portraying six eleven and twelve year olds, all a different ethnicity, and from different backgrounds. All six have a harder time academically in school, for a few it is the language barrier, for another, not being able to be still. They are in an experimental classroom, and have an amazing teacher who sees a need, and fills it the best way. She let's them leave her classroom, making available an empty art room, just so they can talk about whatever they want, without adult involvement. The kids call it ARTT, a room to talk. At first they find this awkward, but eventually we learn their stories, and what herartfelt stories they are.

      Woodson show how the many problems so many face, whether it is a parent in prison, the abrupt growing up of s black boy, or a young boy whose father has been taken by ICE, affect these young people. She does it in a way that is easy to relate too, and takes many of our nation's headlines, making them personal. If one can see and get to know someone different than you, ones views change, as these six kids experience this for themselves. I felt for all of them, quite impossible to not.

      A fantastic reading and learning experience for middle schoolers, a book that will open the lines of communication, or so I believe. I know just the young lady, a big reader, who will appreciate this book, and she will be receiving it for her tenth birthday.

      ARC from Edelweiss.

    Book preview

    Harbor Me - Jacqueline Woodson

    1

    We think they took my papi.

    It’s over now. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe, even as I sit on my bed in the dying light of the late afternoon, it’s beginning again. Maybe Ms. Laverne is looking over the new class list, her finger moving down the row of names. Maybe her, she is thinking. And him. And her. But it won’t be the same. It won’t ever be the six of us together again.

    We think they took my papi.

    My uncle is a musician and a storyteller. He says the hardest part of telling a story is finding the beginning. I’ve pulled the voice recorder from my closet and have it sitting on the middle of my bed now. When I press play, Esteban’s voice fills my room. It is scratchy and faraway- sounding, but still, Esteban is here again and all of us are sitting in our small circle in a place we called the ARTT room.

    Nobody knows where he’s at.

    Outside, a blue jay perches on the edge of a branch. Ailanthus tree. Tree of Heaven. Ms. Laverne taught us that. It’s the same tree the girl in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn saw from her fire escape. The thing about that tree was it could grow anywhere. And keep growing. And that was the metaphor: that even when things got really hard for everyone in that story—even when the dad died and the mom had to scrub more and more floors to make money, even when the kids didn’t have anything to eat for days and the apartment was freezing—the tree kept growing. The main character, her name was Francie— she was like that tree. Ms. Laverne said that all of us—Esteban, Tiago, Holly, Amari, Ashton and even me—we’re like that tree too.

    My uncle is moving out tomorrow. He’s really the only parent I’ve ever known. He says, This is a beginning. He says, Now you’ll have two houses to go to. He says, You’re twelve now, Haley. You’re ready.

    But I’m not ready.

    This afternoon, I miss everything.

    I miss my uncle even though he is upstairs packing. I miss the ARTT room, I miss Holly and Amari arguing and Ashton pushing his hair away from his forehead. This afternoon, I miss Tiago’s dreams of the sea and Esteban’s poems and all the stories we finally trusted each other enough to tell. I miss the beginning of our story together. And the deep middle of it.

    Once there were six of us. Once we circled around each other, and listened. Or maybe what matters most is that we were heard.

    Downstairs, my father is playing the piano—soft, sad notes floating up from the living room. The piano is old—found on the street a few blocks away the day my father moved back home. My father, uncle and three other men lifted it up the stairs, then had to remove the door to get it inside. It’s an upright—scratched wood and yellowing keys. My father took a whole day tuning it, and now the notes move through the house, dipping down at the end like tears. Rising up like prayer. Upstairs, I can hear my uncle moving from dresser to bed and back again and I know he is neatly folding shirts and sweaters into his suitcase. Most of his stuff is already downstairs. Boxes line the hall by the front door. His favorite chair is draped with a blanket. His guitars are stacked in their cases beside it. Tomorrow, he will move to Manhattan and start his new life. I’ll be the bachelor I was always meant to be, he said. Then, seeing the look on my face I failed at hiding, he added—And I’ll be back every single Sunday to spend time with my most favorite person in the world.

    I don’t remember a life without my uncle in it.

    In two weeks, I’ll begin seventh grade. My best friend, Holly, will be there. But there will be holes where Ashton, Amari, Tiago and Esteban once were.

    We think they took my papi.

    I play the first words of Esteban’s story over and over as my father’s song lifts up to my room, as my uncle packs above me, as the blue jay perches in the Ailanthus tree. As the world keeps on spinning.

    2

    That first week of September, the rain wouldn’t stop. Rivers ran down along the curbs, and at the corner near our school, cars had stalled in the middle of the huge pools of rainwater. Even though it was still warm outside, our classroom felt damp and a little bit cold. Some of the kids were playing with those spinner things. One boy, whose name I forget, had his head down on his desk. I remember his dark curls, the way they fell over his arm. For some reason those curls spiraling over his arm and down onto the scratched-up desk made me sadder than anything. There were eight of us then. Our small class had come together because the school wanted to try something new: Could they put eight kids together in a room with one teacher and make something amazing? Eight special kids.

    Even though they didn’t say it, we knew there was something different about us. We had all been in the big classrooms before, and our learning felt like a race we were losing while the other kids sped ahead. We made believe we didn’t care that we learned differently, but we knew we did. And the school knew we did. The school knew we got laughed at and teased in the big yard and that some days we faked stomachaches and sore throats to stay home. It was only September, so no one knew if this experiment would work. But our teacher, Ms. Laverne, was tall and soft-spoken and patient. We loved her immediately. And the school itself had huge windows and brightly colored walls. My uncle said it was one of the best schools in the city. I had been there with Holly since first grade, so I didn’t really have any other schools to compare it to. But if nice teachers and rooms filled with lots of windows made something the best, then I guess it was true.

    By the end of that rainy week, the boy with the curls had moved away and another girl’s mom had come in and fussed about her daughter being smarter than those children while Ms. Laverne shushed her and guided her and her daughter gently out of the room. The girl looked like she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. We never saw her again, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if she had gotten a chance to be a part of the ARTT room, if she’d gotten to hear what we heard, see what we saw. After she and the curly-haired boy left, only Ms. Laverne and the six of us remained.

    An hour after class started on that Friday, Esteban came in, his head down, his hair slicked wet against his forehead, his Yankees cap dripping with rain. He walked straight to his seat without looking at the rest of us. I watched him sink into his seat so sadly and heavily, it felt like the whole room shivered. His jacket was way too big for him, the shoulders hanging down his arms, the sleeves falling over his hands. I didn’t know Esteban yet. I didn’t know anyone but Holly, really. But I wanted to go over to him, hug him hard. I didn’t care how dripping wet he was. No one should ever have to look that sad.

    Do you have a late pass for me, Esteban? Ms. Laverne asked. She was standing at the front of the room, her arm stretched out toward the smart board. I don’t remember what was on it, maybe a globe. Our tiny group that year was a fifth/sixth grade class—this too was a school experiment.

    Is everything okay? Ms. Laverne’s dark brown face was crisscrossed with worry.

    Esteban shook his head. I don’t have a pass, he said, his voice breaking. We think they took my papi. Nobody knows where he’s at. He put his head down on his desk, his face turned toward the window.

    Ms. Laverne went over to Esteban’s desk and bent toward him, her hand on his back. They spoke softly to each other. Maybe they spoke for five minutes. Maybe it was an hour, I don’t remember. That was a long time ago. So much can change in a minute, an hour, a year.

    3

    While Ms. Laverne talked to Esteban about his father that morning, I thought about mine. I thought about handcuffs. I thought about fathers being taken away. I thought about uncles coming to the rescue and mothers gone.

    The memory is mostly shadows now—my father’s pale hands hanging from silver handcuffs. The cops pushing his head down into the police car. My uncle coming to me and lifting me up into his arms. I was three years old.

    When my uncle first came to live with me, I was afraid. It was this vague fear around the edges of myself. Whenever I got real quiet in class, Ms. Laverne knew why. As I watched Esteban that morning, I felt it, the fear coming around the corner, finding me. Finding both of us.

    I stared over at him. I wanted to give Esteban the same sign—my pinky pointing toward him while my thumb pointed toward me. I wanted to say, I know that thing, Esteban. I’ve looked out the window that same way.

    Ms. Laverne turned from Esteban and told us to read quietly to ourselves. We took our books from our bags and

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