Mick Harte Was Here is a profoundly moving story on mortality, blame, love, remembrance, family, guilt, and childhood freedoms. I wasn't expecting it, to be honest.
It has been a while since I read a children's book I've enjoyed. Fuzzy Mud by Louis Sachar comes to mind, as does The One and Only Ivan. While a lot of people loved them, they felt like kid's books to me. The best of children's literature has the power to connect, no matter one's age. That's part of what makes (or will make) Harry Potter, Narnia, or Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day timeless.
You find out on page one that it was a bike accident. That Mick hit a rock. And like any Jon Krakauer book, you know where you're heading: here's the tragedy. Here's how we got here.
For me, the most honest parts of the book are the ones that I hesitate to ask. "And my grandmother says that God must have needed Mick more than we did. Only what kind of selfish God is that? To just snatch somebody away from the people that love him? Not to mention the fact that it's a little hard to believe that the most powerful being in the entire universe needs a seventh-grader who can't even program a VCR without screwing up the TV."
I've been (and maybe we've all been) the grandmother saying things trying to help, and hurting. Or the insecure friends at school, keeping their mouths shut - protectionist: ourselves, you - and hurting. Maybe that's what acceptance of mortality is: pain.
*Edit* I read this book because the junior high where I used to teach read it together as a school. I'm grateful to be included, even though I'm no longer there. I'm interested to hear how it was received by the students and staff.