The Line Tender

From School Library Journal Gr 5–8—Twelve-year-old Lucy Everhart is growing up in the 90s in Rockport, MA, five years after her mother, a marine-biologist and shark specialist, passed away. As a summer assignment, she creates a field guide with her best friend, Fred, who is as much of a science enthusiast as Lucy's mother was. Her relationship with Fred becomes more complicated as the two begin developing feelings for one another—then Fred suddenly dies in an accident. Lucy copes with his death by delving into her mother's unfinished research with the help of her father, a local fisherman, and an elderly neighbor. The four form a bond which helps them all to overcome their own personal struggles. Lucy is a grounded, relatable character and the way she processes her grief is believable. Allen skillfully tackles the difficult issues without becoming too didactic or morose. The inclusion of women scientists, including Lucy's mother and, later, one of Lucy's mother's colleagues, is welcome as is Lucy's own budding interest in marine biology. A two-page black-and-white sketch of a different shark accompanies each chapter, reflecting Lucy's own affinity for art. VERDICT Thoughtful and moving, this coming-of-age middle grade novel is a worthwhile addition to any collection serving middle school students.—Laura J. Giunta, Garden City Public Library, NY A National Bestseller A Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2019 A School Library Journal Best Book of 2019 A Kirkus Best Bookxa0of 2019 A Shelf Awareness Best Bookxa0of 2019 A Book Page Best Bookxa0of 2019A BCCB Blue Ribbon Book "Kate Allen writes with lyric grace, and her beautifully textured narrative, of a girl struggling to understand and move beyond tragedy, is a triumph."— The Buffalo News "Allen’s understated but richly detailed story will help young readers dig into their resilience to see how they, too, can draw connections in their lives."— The Minneapolis Star Tribune "A masterful blend of exuberant life and its accompanying tragedy."— The Florida Times Union "Allen’s debut novel is, indeed, tender. Also funny, poignant, sad and filled with hope."— The St. Paul Pioneer Press “In following the adaptation of sharks to a shifting ecology, The Linexa0Tender speaks to our own human capacity to adapt to loss--and Lucy'sxa0losses are profound.xa0This is a novel that stirs our deepest hope thatxa0we can survive profound change, that we can even move into newxa0channels that will support us and nourish us and point us toward whatxa0we had never anticipated. This is a celebration of our ability toxa0survive.”—Gary Schmidt, Newbery and Printz Honoree and National Book Award Finalist“This richly textured story calls us to our most pressing business on earth: to understand and respect the stunningly complex creatures around us before they disappear forever.”xa0—Margi Preus, author of Heart of a Samurai , a Newbery Honor book "Holy fish, this is a graceful, honest, special book. The Line Tender is a story of resilience. It's about how unbelievably strong and resourceful kids can be. About the real magic in the world--the magic of science, the magic of survival, and the magic of love." —Laurel Snyder, author of the National Book Award longlisted Orphan Islandxa0"The Line Tender captivated me. From page one through the end of the book, I couldn't stop turning pages. I was completely lost in the book when I was reading it, and obsessed with trying to get back to the book when I was not. You MUST add this book to your reading list."—Colby Sharp, Nerdy Book Club co-founder and editor of The Creativity Project "Ixa0have gasped and cried multiple times while reading Kate Allen's deeply moving debut."—Mr. Schu, school and library childen's literature advocate ★"Rich, complex, and confidently voiced."— Kirkus Reviews, starred★"Allen tackles the complexities of grief with subtly wry humor and insight in this richly layered middle grade debut about the power of science and love."— Publishers Weekly, starred★"There's no art or science to navigating loss, but Allen blends both into a hopeful path forward."— Booklist , starredxa0★“This book will appeal to just about everyone.” – School Library Connection, starred★"Allen writes with tenderness and confidence....a classic life-affirming weeper, and readers will pick up some respect for sharks along the sniffling way."— The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books, starred★"Numerous middle grade books deal with grief, but few do it so beautifully―and hopefully―as The Line Tender."xa0—Bookpage, starred★"Kate Allen has created a landscape that, in spite of being filled with big, heartbreaking themes of loss, is understated and exquisitely, beautifully real."—Shelf Awareness, starred Kate Allen grew up in Massachusetts and lives in Minneapolis, MN, with her family. The Line Tender is her first novel. Visit her online at www.kateallenbooks.com Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter 4. Empty House Dad spent more time underwater than he spent on land. He was a scuba diver, both professionally and recreationally. If he wasn’t hauling people out of the water (dead or alive) with the rest of the Salem Police dive team, he was hunting our lobster dinner off the coastline near our house. It was typical for Dad to receive a call from the dive team outside his regular hours at the police station. Salem Police divers did double duty, working regular shifts as uniformed police officers or detectives, but also responding to emergency situations. It seemed like there had been more calls than usual that summer—people driving off bridges or swimming in dangerous waters. I didn’t like it when he was gone. When he was at the bottom of some harbor, the house felt empty. But he was always moving like a shark, swimming in order to breathe. That night, I learned later, some moron had driven his truck into Salem Harbor and that Dad was called to the accident scene to help fish him out. There was a mostly thawed block of chicken on the countertop that Dad might have cooked had he stayed home that evening. I didn’t know the first thing about transforming raw meat into dinner, so I sat at the kitchen table and leaned over a copy of the Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook. Some of the recipes had my mom’s notes in the margin. It was always strange to see her handwriting, to see something that was so distinctly hers and that was still here. “Check at twenty-five minutes!” she wrote. “Can substitute with olive oil,” in another place. She had been gone five years. Most of the time, Dad and I were okay without Mom, even though I still thought about her every day. But my grief for her was like a circle. I always came around to missing her again. It could be a birthday that triggered the new cycle or something more unexpected, like finding something in a drawer that belonged to her. I started reading the recipe names in a whisper. “This one sounds simple. ‘Whole Chicken Baked in Salt. Lemon and ginger cooked in the cavity perfumes the bird.’” But the recipe called for four pounds of Kosher salt. Four pounds. I wondered how a chicken cooked in four pounds of salt was still edible. When I reached the part where the chicken cooks for two hours in a wok, I closed the book. We didn’t have a wok. Or four pounds of salt. I opened the fridge. The combination of old food and nothing made me lonely. I pulled out the garbage can from under the sink and started pitching—lettuce, both rusted and soggy; fourteen-day-old moo shu pork that looked deceptively edible; and peaches with skin like a mummy’s. There was half a Corningware dish of lasagna from last weekend. I imagined bacterial colonies beginning to creep up, so I used a knife to wiggle it out of the pan and let it flop into the garbage, which had just about reached its limit. I wiped the shelves with a wet rag. Now we were left with nothing—a half gallon of milk, a pitcher of Tang, some onions, and a door full of stuff in jars. I poured a glass of the orange drink, grabbed a short stack of stale saltines from the pantry, and walked into the den. I gotta learn how to cook . Through the open window I could hear the leaves rustling in frequent swirls of wind and Mr. Patterson listening to dueling radios on his porch—the Red Sox on WEEI and a police scanner. It was an odd and familiar sound—Joe Castiglione’s voice and the crack of the bat, layered with occasional farty blips and cryptic messages between cops and dispatchers. I didn’t hear anything from the dive team. Eventually I walked over to the TV and flipped it on, taking a leisurely stroll through the channels on my way to the Sox game. And there was Sookie on Channel 7, wearing his mirrored sunglasses and speaking into the reporter’s microphone. I never saw people I knew on TV. I picked up the phone. “Turn on Channel Seven. Sookie’s on TV.” “Okay,” Fred said. I could see the wharf and the harbor behind Sookie. “Holy crap, it’s T Wharf.” “I’m getting there, I’m getting there,” he said. The camera panned to show the shark’s body in the near distance, hanging awkwardly from the winch. The shark would have looked powerful swimming in the ocean, but it seemed freakish hanging in a loop on the dock, bunched up in some places and stretched out in others. The reporter asked Sookie if he had ever seen a great white in all of his years of fishing off the Massachusetts coast, and Sookie said, “Nope. Only in the movies.” “There we are!” Fred yelled. “Over by the garbage cans.” I didn’t like seeing myself on TV. I looked way too tall, especially standing next to Fred. The reporter looked into the camera and launched into a brief history of great white sharks in the North Atlantic. Fred was getting agitated. I could hear him breathing into the receiver. “That’s wrong ,” he said. “They can swim in subarctic water.” Then the news story cut to a section of old footage. And there she was. Talking to the camera while sitting on a boat, her hair blowing around, her face with freckles like mine. “Lucy. That’s your mom,” Fred said. “I know,” I said. Somewhere off camera, a man asked her a question. “Am I afraid? Being in the water with sharks?” She grinned. “No. You just have to remember that you are swimming in their home. You have to know how to behave when you are the guest.” “Seriously,” Fred said. “What would you like people to know about sharks?” asked the man off camera. She looked up at the sky for a moment. “I guess that there is so much we don’t know about them—where they go, or how many there are. And we fear what we don’t know. If we knew more about sharks, maybe we would be in a better position to help ensure their survival.” The boat kept rocking and my mother smiled at the camera. It was as though she were smiling at me. At me. I looked right into her eyes and it was like we were staring at each other. The fine lines around the outer corners of her eyes deepened as her smile grew. I shuddered. The phone slid from under my chin and hit the floor. I didn’t take my eyes off her. She sighed and kept looking at me. Then, too abruptly, the clip ended and we were suddenly back on T Wharf with Sookie and the newscaster. It took me a minute to realize that I had been talking to Fred. I wiped my face, bent down, and picked up the receiver. “Lucy?” said Fred. “Fred, what was that?” I asked, sniffling. “It was a clip from an interview with your mom.” “No, I know that. But where did it come from?” “I don’t know. Ask your dad.” “He’s not here.” “Are you okay?” “Not really.” “Want me to come over?” he said. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll call you back.” The circle had begun again. Read more