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Summary
Summary
When the world's most horrible editor turns up dead, investigator Jon Scieszka has his work cut out for him. The suspect list is long. Very long. Think eighty-three-famous-YA-authors long, including Libba Bray, David Levithan, John Green, Lemony Snicket, Lauren Myracle-you get the picture. They've all got alibis, collected in this very anthology. But the question is ... Who done it?
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In Scieszka's anthology, which benefits Dave Eggers's literary nonprofit 826NYC, 83 authors provide their alibis for the murder of editor Herman Q. Mildew ("the most hated man in ALL publishing," as Peter Brown puts it). Most of the backhanded eulogies and professions of innocence that follow-from Libba Bray, John Green, Maureen Johnson, Lemony Snicket, Mo Willems, and many others-are two- to three-page essays. "Of course I wanted to murder Herman Mildew. Please understand, I want to murder people all the time, and I never do it," writes Mac Barnett, who then lists other hateful people he hasn't killed. Elsewhere, a murderous tweet comes back to haunt #gayleformanicepickkiller; an annotated illustration shows a suspicious looking Adele Griffin and Lisa Brown with straitjackets and voodoo dolls; and David Levithan riffs on William Carlos Williams ("herman mildew ate/ the plums/ that were in/ the icebox/ and I was pissed"). Jokes about royalty statements, missed deadlines, and editorial cruelty may be a bit inside-baseball for the average reader, but teens should be entertained by the range of imagination and humor on display, while seeing favorite authors in a mischievous new light. Ages 12-up. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
This quirky mystery anthology is jam-packed with some of the most celebrated, award-winningest YA and children's authors ever to be accused of . . . murder. The victim is boss/superior/editor Herman Q. Mildew, a man so despised, the list of suspects includes 83 authors. With the alibis curated (in alphabetical order, naturally) by Scieszka, the finger-pointing and self-incrimination begin in every form imaginable: some are illustrated, others use text/Twitter/IM-speak, and David Levithan even offers his alibi in verse and questions the benefits of bloodily murdering someone while the pen is mightier than the sword. The short bursts of writing create a sizable sampler for readers to choose from, gleaning from each entry the style and voice of everyone from Lemony Snicket and Libba Bray to Barry Lyga and Rita Williams-Garcia. Indeed, the pen is being used mightily to drum up support for creative writing; proceeds from sales will benefit Dave Eggers' (another among the accused) 826 writing program in New York.--Jones, Courtney Copyright 2010 Booklist
Kirkus Review
A routine writing exercise filled with in-jokes and carried to ridiculous extremes by a mammoth stable of YA and children's authors. Produced to benefit the creative writing program 826NYC, the anthology consists of alibis of various length offered by 83 (!) alphabetically ordered contributors accused of killing evil editor Herman Q. Mildew. Along with making frequent reference to cheese (the stinky sort, natch), pickles and frozen legs of lamb, some "suspects" protest their inability to meet any deadline (Libba Bray) or map out a scheme ("Plotting has never been my strong point. Just read any of my books," writes Sarah Darer Littman). Others protest that they adored the victim despite his habit of callously rejecting their story ideas, mistreating their manuscripts, insulting their pets, calling them at odd hours and bilking them of royalties. Dave Eggers and Greg Neri provide lists of explicitly described ways in which they did not kill Mildew, Mo Willems and Michael Northrup claim to have been off killing someone else at the time, and Elizabeth Eulberg, Mandy Hubbard, John Green, Lauren Myracle and several others shift the blame to fellow writers. Young readers, even the sort who worship authors, will find their eyes soon glazing over. Clever in small doses--tedious after the first few dozen entries. (author bios) (Belles lettres. 10-12)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
Herman Q. Mildew is a renowned editor, mostly known for his cruelty toward the authors he works with, and he's throwing a party at an abandoned pickle factory; he has blackmailed more than 80 authors into attending. Unsurprisingly, Mildew is found dead at the party. This anthology is composed of the suspects' alibis, each entry written by one of the authors accused of the heinous-but possibly justified-crime. Contributing authors include Lemony Snicket, Dave Eggers, Lev Grossman, and John Green. The casual talk of murder and a few instances of understandable adult language make this anthology more suited for 12 year olds and up. Rebecca Gibel's narrating is a bit theatrical, but considering she is impersonating a group of authors who are describing the wrongs inflicted upon them by an evil editor, it is appropriate. Listeners may want to start with Scieszka's "Introductory Interrogation," then skip around to their favorite authors' contributions (try Patrick Carmen's and Elizabeth Craft's alibis), and end with the "Verdict," which is also by Scieszka. The tracks are nicely laid out, with one for each author, which makes moving around a breeze. Verdict Recommended for fans of YA and locked-room mysteries.-Samantha Matush, Clara B. Mounce P.L., Bryant, TX (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
Introduction (by Jon Scieszka) Ladies and gentlemen . . . and I use those terms loosely because I know you are all writers and illustrators . . . we have a bit of a situation. You were all invited to this party tonight because of your relationship with Mr. Herman Q. Mildew. Some of you were not fond of him. Others of you could not stand him. Most of you completely hated his guts. Mr. Mildew brought you to this abandoned pickle factory because he had something to tell you, something that he thought might make you very mad. And he wanted to see all of you freak out live and in person. But that is not going to happen. You see . . . Mr. Herman Q. Mildew is no longer with us. He shuffled off this mortal coil, took the long walk off the short pier, has gone to glory, gave up the ghost, cashed in, checked out, kicked the bucket, went bye-bye. He is now a corpse, a cadaver, dearly departed, a stiff. The problem? Each and every one of you had a reason to send Mr.Herman Mildew to the Great Beyond. You are all suspects in his demise. And it is up to me--and the keen reader holding this book--to figure out: Who done it? As you well know, Herman Mildew was not a nice man. He was mean, arrogant, loud, large, obnoxious, cruel to small furry animals, delusional, thoughtless, difficult, vulgar, negative, likely to take the last sip of orange juice and then put the empty carton back in the refrigerator, intolerant, sneaky, greedy, fond of toenail clippings and strong cheeses, hugely entertained by the misfortune of others, hateful, quick to anger, unforgiving, mean, gaseous, paranoid, belligerent, unreasonable, demanding, smelly, near-sighted . . . in short: an editor. Perhaps even your editor, or the editor of someone you admire. Some examples of his sadistic behavior, in no particular order: * He enrolled Dave Eggers in True Romance's Book-of-the-Month Club. * He drew mustaches on all of Lauren Oliver's author photos. * He told Mo Willems what he could do with the Pigeon. All this is true. So why did you accept this invitation? Never mind. The more important question is why a quick pat-down of this audience turned up: * 1 poison-tipped umbrella * 1 suitcase full of poisonous tree frogs * 3 throwing stars * 1 noose, 1 candlestick, and 1 lead pipe * 2 snakes resembling speckled "friendship" bands * 1 frozen leg of lamb What? Me? Why do I have a piece of piano wire hanging out of my trench coat? Why . . . why . . . not because Mr. Mildew once forced me to play "I'm A Little Teapot" on the piano in front of hundreds of booksellers. And I wasn't going to use it to strangle anyone in a most fitting way. I have piano wire because . . . because . . . because I was fixing my piano last time I was wearing this coat. I was just replacing the-- Wait a minute! Our readers and I are running this investigation. We'll ask the questions. And we want answers. We want alibis. Of course, before you begin, we are bound by law to advise you that you have the right to remain silent. But who are we kidding? You are (as mentioned) a bunch of writers and illustrators. You couldn't remain silent if your life depended on it. You would sell your grandmother for an audience. So tell us your alibi. Convince us that you did not do in, cut down, rub out, bump off, put away, dispatch, exterminate, eradicate, liquidate, assassinate, fix, drop, croak, or kill the late, unlamented Mr. Herman Mildew. J. R. and Kate Angelella's alibi We were mad enough to murder, but please allow us to explain. We didn't murder Herman Mildew. You can split us up--in fact, we encourage it--and you can scream and shout and shine a bright light in our eyes to see that we are telling the truth. We have nothing to hide here because we didn't do it. We admit that we said we were mad enough to murder, but it's not what you think. We were mad enough to murder, but not mad enough to murder Herman Mildew. (Is it all right that we use the past tense when we talk about Herman Mildew, or does that make us look guilty too?) It's true--Herman Mildew was a rat of a man, who nibbled and nibbled and nibbled away at our words, chewing up and spitting out the most beautiful and meaningful parts of our novel. He was never pleased with any draft that we turned in to him on time. He was never happy with our work. He always wanted more, or demanded a whole lot less. Herman Mildew was definitely the princess who slept on the pea. Herman Mildew was the Goldilocks to our bears. We agree; if he is, in fact, dead and he was, in fact, murdered, then it was most certainly someone he knew. It just wasn't us. Yes, it's true that he used to be our editor. Yes, it's true that he didn't like our book. Yes, it's true that we wrote him into the final draft of our book as a villainous, spiteful tree-dwelling gnome. And, yes, it's true that he fired us from his imprint after he discovered the aforementioned gnome's name, hardly a fire-able offense. That being said, once we were fired, we were free from him. We were free from his yammering, and free from his pointless line edits. We didn't have to falsely lie in our blogs about how brilliant and amazing our editor was to work with (a total lie!) or write a loving acknowledgement in the back of our book like Thank you, thank you, thank you so much, Mildew, we owe every success of this book to you (which would have also been a lie!). Are we guilty of being tacky, naming the villainous gnome after Mildew? Maybe. Are we guilty of being mean? Absolutely. But are we guilty of murder? No, not his. We were mad enough to murder was meant as an expression, not a literal action. We never meant it to be real or even directed at Mildew. Simply put--the reason it was said was that we absolutely drive ourselves insane sometimes. Always talking like this--in the plural first person point of view, simultaneously, like we're the same person, always speaking as one. It's enough to make one mad--maybe not mad like mad enough to murder, but more mad like mad like crazy. Are we making sense with this yet? Allow us to be clearer: we were once mad enough to murder, but after this falsified murder accusation we are madder like madder like incredibly annoyed, and quickly barreling toward madness like madness at the hands of the late Herman Mildew. How is that for clarity? Excerpted from Who Done It? by Jon Scieszka 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.
