Countless greats of American juvenile literature went their entire careers without winning a Newbery, so when an author earns a Newbery Honor on her first attempt, as Lauren Wolk did for Wolf Hollow in 2017, it's worth noting. The novel strikes a different tone from most youth literature, creating an atmosphere of unease and suspense that keeps the reader flipping pages. It's 1943, the year Annabelle McBride will turn twelve years old. No part of society is unaffected by the two world wars of the past quarter century, not even the small farming town Annabelle and her family call home in Pennsylvania. Anguished former soldiers have traveled in and out of the area for decades, most staying only briefly before moving on, but a drifter named Toby made a permanent home in an abandoned smokehouse not far from the McBride farm. Locals were wary of the silent, serious man with his long beard and hair, carrying a trio of rifles on his back, but Annabelle grew to see that Toby was scarred inside and out by the war in Europe, coping with horrific memories and endeavoring to stay sane. Annabelle doesn't always get along with her younger brothers—nine-year-old Henry and seven-year-old James—but she loves the rhythm of life on and around the farm. Then comes the autumn of '43, a season that changes everything.
Sweet and petite at first blush, fourteen-year-old Betty Glengarry is sent to live with her grandparents in a town near Annabelle. Rumor has it that Betty is a problem child, too much for her parents to wrangle, and some time out in the country air might do her good. Right away the older girl targets Annabelle for bullying, cornering her daily on the walk to school through the pretty vale called Wolf Hollow, demanding Annabelle give her things. The McBrides have money, don't they? Will it hurt Annabelle to fork over some of it to Betty, whose family subsists on so little? That's how Betty frames the situation. Failure to comply will yield unpleasant results, Betty warns, brandishing a heavy stick at Annabelle. She soon proves she's not averse to using the stick, but Annabelle is more worried by Betty's threats against Henry and James. The boys run ahead of Annabelle to school every day, never heeding her calls to wait; Betty could harm them without Annabelle being there to stop her. Annabelle is sick at the thought, but she's not ready to tell her parents about Betty. She doesn't want to trigger a violent reaction against Henry and James.
Temporary relief comes when Betty takes interest in Andy Woodberry, one of the older boys in school, but before long he and Betty are conspiring to intensify her harassment of Annabelle. A gut-wrenching incident leaves Annabelle's best friend Ruth gruesomely injured, but were Betty and Andy behind it? Could Betty be that evil, or is someone else to blame for Ruth's life-altering tragedy? Annabelle treats Betty with barely veiled contempt when the older girl attempts to extort money from her now. What do a few nasty whacks from a stick matter after what happened to Ruth? Betty won't back down, especially not now that she's colluding with Andy. Her violence against the three McBride siblings worsens until Annabelle can't keep the secret anymore; her parents have to know. Betty has treated Annabelle despicably, but how much is provable? What if Betty has set a trap for a third party to take the fall should Annabelle report her to an authority? The tension of Annabelle's standoff with Betty shifts to Toby, that World War I veteran content to wander Wolf Hollow with his guns and camera, quietly wrestling with inner demons that others can only speculate about. Toby says little even to Annabelle, and rarely interacts with anyone else, but Betty's insinuations place him under the microscope of public scrutiny. Is he, not Betty, responsible for the worst offenses to befall Ruth, Annabelle, and her brothers? Is Toby's soul darker than Annabelle believes, a breeding ground for heinous acts that would horrify the community?
Betty leverages her young, innocent appearance to generate suspicion against Toby, but Annabelle is convinced he isn't a monster. Her mother and father acknowledge he's an "odd" character, traipsing around the woods with his guns, conversing only with Annabelle, but they have no reason to believe he's a menace. If Betty can't get to Annabelle through physical intimidation, though, then Toby might be a weakness she can exploit. The police get involved at Betty's insistent claim that Toby is depraved and must be stopped before he causes more harm. We have a missing persons report, a young girl suddenly gone from her home, and Toby missing at approximately the same time; we have photographs discovered, taken by Toby on his camera, that toe the line between artistic curiosity and impropriety; we have local and state authorities desperately searching the woods for a man and a girl, time running out to avoid tragedy. How far will Annabelle go to shield her "odd" friend? Does she believe his innocence absolutely, or could some of Betty's allegations be true? Annabelle's aunt Lily, who lives with the family, vociferously opposes Toby even if she's not quite on Betty's side either, but where do Annabelle's parents stand? Are they comfortable with her relationship with Toby, or do they harbor doubts that he's safe for her to spend time with alone? If they knew Annabelle was hiding him from the police, would they help her, or expose Toby to the increasingly hostile community? Constable Oleska, Officer Coleman, and the rest of the police diligently look for the missing girl, but Annabelle knows the area better than any of them, and more important, she knows Betty Glengarry. What small detail could she be aware of that might unravel the mystery and set the police on the path to exonerating Toby? It isn't as easy as solving a mystery, however. Distrust of Toby won't easily fade, and the ocean of fear in that man from the unspeakable terrors of war is likely to bubble up at any moment. What hope is there for a broken person in a world stained by indifference? Can there truly be a happy ending in Wolf Hollow, a place that can't escape its own sinister past?
Life is a delicate balance. Boredom can feel as though it will stretch on forever, a prison without walls to break out of. Yet how quickly it can morph into excruciating anxiety, leaving us yearning for the dullery we were so ready to be done with. Fear engulfs the mind and we forget how we wished for something new and exciting; in the midst of crisis, all we want is for it to end. We'd give anything to hide under a comforting blanket of anonymity and be left alone. Drama, boredom, excitement, disappointment, and many other elements comprise our lives, each in turn feeling novel and then stale if we remain in that element for long, but major change comes at a price. Annabelle sees this play out as she goes from desiring some pizazz in her small-town life to wanting nothing but to hide until the conflict drifts away like storm clouds. "Just weeks ago I'd begun to hunger for change, impatient with my life, much as I loved it. Somewhere, excitement waited for me like an uncut cake. Now I wanted nothing more than to be still and thoughtful and quiet for just a little while." Be careful about wishing to be involved in adult matters that your parents think you're too young for. Soon enough you'll be unable to avoid realities that make you feel unclean, and you'll long for the innocence you so eagerly shed. So it is for Annabelle at the tail end of her twelfth year.
Though admittedly a darker story, Wolf Hollow has some thematic commonality with another Newbery book, The Defender by Nicholas Kalashnikoff (Newbery Honor, 1952). How does the world treat individuals whose interests deviate from the norm to an extent that causes reasonable people to suspicion them? Are they wrong for existing outside the window of "acceptable" eccentricity, or does society need a few strange birds? Is it better to give them a wide berth, assuming they could be dangerous, or take a chance and embrace their idiosyncrasies in the conviction that unusual people have something to contribute, and by ostracizing them we doom these individuals to a lonely life for no reason? Whether it's a mountain dweller with a unique affinity for wild rams (as in The Defender), or an ex-military man who can only converse unguardedly with a kind, unthreatening young girl like Annabelle, people have reasons for their quirks, and great harm is done when we condemn them for being "odd." Good and evil surely grapple in the hearts of societal outcasts, and taking due caution is wise, but the debate between acceptance and rejection of such individuals is a complex issue we should not decide glibly.
If I were to chart desirable traits in youth literature and connect them to the author best representative of each trait, one of the rarest would be Robert Cormier. Wolf Hollow has an unmistakable dash of that unsettling Cormier magic, the pervasive feeling that things won't necessarily turn out right, that bloodshed and suffering might lurk at the story's end. Betrayal may occur without redemption, accusation without exoneration, and as in real life, we must learn to reconcile ourselves to these realities. Wolf Hollow is far from a complete victory for its protagonists; if you want a narrative that ends in predictable cheer, look elsewhere. But it's a superb novel because of this commitment to telling a story that's allowed to venture into the dark woods and emerge grievously wounded on the opposite side. Lauren Wolk's juvenile debut is richly deserving of its Newbery Honor, and I urge you to read it if you appreciate children's authors who aren't afraid to write downbeat books. I'll always treasure Wolf Hollow.