To tell you the truth

Review by Booklist Review

Ever since Trixy's Gran, a prolific storyteller, passed away, a grieving Trixy has herself been overflowing with words. To make up for a missed memoir assignment, her sympathetic but strict fourth-grade teacher asks her to write a series of true stories. Though Gran insisted that her tales remain confidential, Trixy turns in one of those anecdotes as her own. It is well received, so Trixy turns in more, and they become more widely shared. When their truth is called into question, Trixy, determined to prove that Gran's adventures were more than just tall tales, begins to unravel her family's mysteries. Told in beautiful, dreamy prose accented with Southern drawls, Trixy's adventures are easily woven in with stories from Gran's fascinating life, including some remarkable reveals. The book imparts a gentle wisdom on friendship and family, grief and grace, but it shines in how it stresses the beauty and importance of stories, both spoken and silent. A gorgeous reminder of the power of stories to shape our worlds and each other.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Ever since her grandmother Dolcie B. Jacobs died in a car accident six months before the events of this book begin, fourth grader Trixy Mae Williams has struggled with school as her parents disappear into their own grief. Internalizing Gran's rich oral storytelling, Trixy puts the tales to paper, despite Gran's explicit instruction not to share them, and turns them in as her own--only to get punished for fibbing, as her teacher urges Trixy to use her natural storytelling gift to write "true" stories. When Trixy's best friend Raymond's father, a traveling musician, prepares to embark on a Tennessee-wide tour that auspiciously follows Gran's pre-death plans, Trixy is desperate to go to "places like Memphis, where the music comes from every corner, draping like a blanket of sound to tuck in the town," despite the disheartening roadblocks that materialize. Vrabel (the Newspaper Club series) offers a sympathetic majority white cast against a rich Tennessee setting; employing Trixy's lively Southern voice and evocative descriptions to dig through her bramble of conflicting emotions, this cathartic narrative nimbly explores love, grief, revival, and what makes a tale true. Ages 8--12. Agent: Nicole Resciniti, the Seymour Agency. (June)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 3--7--Vrabel's book of adventure and redemption beautifully intertwines stories from two generations. Trixy heard her last story from her grandmother just before the car accident that took her life and left Trixy scarred. Since the accident, Trixy's friendships, family, and schoolwork have been suffering. To improve her grades, Trixy has to write five stories, and she vividly retells her grandmother's wild tales to skeptical ears. To prove her stories are true, Trixy runs away with her best friend, Raymond, to retrace her grandmother's childhood memories. While running away has its problems, it mends her friendship, begins to heal her family, and proves that all of the stories were true. This is an outstanding book, and Trixy's struggles will resonate with readers. The suspense of Trixy's dilemmas and adventures, along with the excitement within her grandmother's stories, make this a page turner. Disparate story lines weave a multidimensional tale that ties together perfectly. Trixy's and her grandmother's voices will remind readers of Louisiana from Kate DiCamillo's Louisiana's Way Home, echoing a similarly fearless, independent, and spunky attitude. VERDICT Featuring a determined protagonist, this evocative tale of truth and healing is a must-purchase for all libraries.--Kate Rao, Alhambra Civic Center Lib., CA

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Stories, whether they are sad or happy--or both--reveal truths that make a difference and that can heal. Nothing illustrates this better than the stories about her childhood that Gran whispered into Trixy's ears, right up until her tragic death. Trixy feels better as she shares Gran's stories at school, but no one, not even her mother, believes they are true. Mama resents that Gran didn't talk about her past with her and struggles with her grief. Determined Trixy sets out to uncover the truth. She stows away on a road trip that her friend Raymond Crickett and his sister are taking with their dad's band. As it happens, many of the stops are places in Tennessee that Gran had outlined as tour stops for Mr. Crickett years before. Trixy narrates with spirit and insight, describing the present-day events and interspersing them with Gran's colorful stories about the past. Sure enough, Gran's tales provide a path to reunion and reconciliation. As the richly drawn characters, past and present, are introduced, their storylines and their lives become interwoven. Themes of love, abandonment, hardship, and triumph are explored. Difficult topics and dramatic revelations are softened by the leisurely pace and the humorous interactions between headstrong Trixy and sensible, sensitive Raymond. Most satisfying of all is that Gran's tales prepare Trixy for her own future. Main characters default to White. Poignant and uplifting. (Fiction. 8-12) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Chapter One Chapter One Gran loves me. This is the truth, heavy as the air this late August night. It's stronger than the throw-away thoughts that will keep my eyes open when I crawl back into bed. It's brighter than the lilacs that grow in tangles by the white stone marking Gran's eternal rest: Dolcie B. Jacobs, beloved grandmother and mother . But much as she loves me, Gran hates me too. This is the new truth that's tickling me from the inside out and twisting down, down, down to where I lock away her best stories. Including the one she told me when the sky was the blue of a newborn baby's eyes. I'll keep that one just for me, no matter what. Because if there's one thing Gran couldn't ever stand, it's a liar. "I don't have room in this old heart for hate, Trixy," I can hear her say even now. "Except for liars and thieves." And here's one last for-sure truth: That's just what I am. A selfish liar and a thief. I've been lying to Mama, stealing my gran's stories, and, worst of all, I'm about to break my daddy's heart. I'm going to run away with Raymond Crickett. Only Raymond doesn't know it yet. When kids at school found out that Raymond Crickett's dad was a famous musician who went on tours, everyone thought he must be super rich. Rumors put his house at three stories tall, contended that celebrities could be spotted on the rocking chairs on his porch, and that his dad did nothing but sing and strum his fiddle all the day long. People whispered that the only reason Raymond had lunch tickets for the cafeteria and patches on the knees of his jeans was that he wanted to blend in with everyone else. But the truth was that Raymond's house was a lot like mine--only my ranch house was yellow and his was blue. We both had big front porches and tiny living rooms. Both of our dads had pushed their old trucks into the yard when the engines refused to turn the last time. There were differences too. While Mama had planted flowers around my house, Raymond's house had plain grass right up until the porch. The paint around the trim was flaky, and a couple of railings on the porch had splintered or broken fully off. The house was a bit like Raymond--pleasant but not quite taken care of enough. Raymond's dad spent a lot of time playing the fiddle, but he also had a bunch of side jobs, mostly landscaping and carpentry. Like Raymond, Mr. Crickett had big brown eyes. He also had a beard like my dad's, only Mr. Crickett's beard stretched into a point under his chin and his mustache curled up at the ends. Raymond told me once that his dad used "product" for that to happen. Tattoos ran along his arms and stretched to the sides of his neck. They were of eagles, trees, and words too swirly for me to read. When Mr. Crickett sang, my heart paused. Once, Mama and I went into the city and ate at a gourmet restaurant in the middle of winter. I wore a scratchy dress with silver ruffles and Mama had her hair twisted into a bun atop her head like a ballerina. Snow fell outside the windows, and all around us people rushed and slid on sidewalks. Inside the café, it was warm enough to fog the windows. Mama nibbled on a layered cookie that had cost seven dollars. I ordered a hot chocolate, and it arrived in a gold-rimmed red mug with a huge pile of twisting whipped cream on top. I remembered that first sip, how it seemed to pour straight down to the tips of my toes, filling me with sweetness, making every silly thing I had worried about--what the other diners thought of me, whether I was wearing the right dress or saying the right things--melt away. Mr. Crickett's voice was like that first sip of cocoa. I couldn't be scared when he sang. But unfortunately, he wasn't singing when I crept down the street to their house in the dark of night. I was sure I was about to be in a world of trouble. Mr. Crickett was loading the bed of the truck with bags and equipment while talking into a cell phone tucked in the crook of his neck. Sara, Raymond's sister, leaned against the passenger side, scowling at him. I sneaked past them, moving silent as could be, toward the house. I found Raymond sitting on the front porch stoop. He jumped when he saw me pop up beside the railing. "Trixy, what are you doing here?" he gasped. I whispered, "I told you I was coming along with you on your daddy's tour, didn't I?" "You most certainly did not." Raymond's head swiveled from side to side, making sure no one saw us. "You said you wanted to come along. That's different. And then today you assaulted Catrina and got kicked out of school!" he said. "Dad saw a bunch of police cars and an ambulance going to your house too! What happened to you? I thought maybe you done lost your mind! You been saying such wild things lately!" I scrunched my face and crossed my arms. "Raymond Crickett, my mind is right where I left it inside my head. Now's the time to use yours. How can I get into your truck without your dad or sister seeing me?" Excerpted from To Tell You the Truth by Beth Vrabel All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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