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Eleanor lives a tidy life with her parents in their small brown house. Everything Is orderly and quiet and makes perfect sense. And then, she meets Queen. Here's the thing: I’m weird. Eccentric, if you’re putting it kindly. I’ve never bothered to hide my weirdness; but unabashed quirkiness can be lonely, and I spent a lot of my time feeling out-of-place in my weirdness until I met my husband. A fellow weirdo, meeting him was like finally exhaling. My weirdness fit. He made me feel like me. Maybe that’s why A Boy Named Queen touched me so much – reading about Eleanor and Queen felt so familiar and warm and joyful. Author Sara Cassidy treats Queen’s 77 pages like a short story, with not a word or image wasted. Every single passage is meaningful and carefully crafted, each puzzle piece needed to create the bigger picture. I loved this book. I loved Queen and I loved Eleanor and I loved every little piece. It is a book about nothing, and a book about everything. I’ll be buying two copies of A Boy Named Queen – one for my school library, and one for me personally to keep and read again and again, smiling every time.
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