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Summary
Summary
Twelve-year-old Annyrose relates her adventures with Joaqu in Murieta and his band of outlaws in the California gold-mining region during the mid-1800s."
Author Notes
Sid Fleischman was born in Brooklyn, New York on March 16, 1920 but grew up in San Diego, California. He loved all things magical and toured professionally as a magician until the beginning of World War II. During the war, he served in the U.S. Naval Reserve, and afterwards, he graduated from San Diego State University in 1949.
After graduation, he worked as a reporter with the San Diego Daily Journal. After the paper folded in 1950, he started writing fiction. He tried his hand at children's books because his own children often wondered what their father did. To show them how he created stories, he wrote them a book. He wrote more than 50 fiction and nonfiction works during his lifetime including The Abracadabra Kid: A Writer's Life; Escape! The Story of the Great Houdini; The Trouble Begins at 8: A Life of Mark Twain in the Wild, Wild West; The Thirteenth Floor; and The Ghost in the Noonday Sun. His book, The Whipping Boy, won the Newberry Award in 1987. He is the father of Newbery Medal winning writer and poet Paul Fleischman; they are the only father and son to receive Newbery awards.
He also wrote screenplays including Lafayette Escadrille, Blood Alley, and The Whipping Boy. He died from cancer on March 17, 2010 at the age of 90.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (5)
Horn Book Review
(Intermediate) Orphaned Annyrose Smith is twelve years old when she is left in the care of a heartless swindler during the California gold rush. Dressed as a boy, she escapes, only to be gathered up by infamous outlaw Joaqufn Murieta and his outlaw band. But Joaqufn protects her because he wants her to teach him to read. At first appalled by the lawlessness of her captors as they rob and sometimes kill, Annyrose slowly and reluctantly learns of the horrors perpetrated on the original Mexican and Spanish settlers in California. She gradually becomes fond of Joaqufn and the other outlaws, especially Pio Pio, a boy about her own age. In a lively and convo-luted plot, Annyrose saves Joaqufn several times with her quick wit but eventually betrays him because she believes he has killed her long-lost brother. In the end, Joaqufn escapes to fade into the legend of a famous historical bandit hero. The characters of Joaqufn, a Mexican Robin Hood, and Annyrose, spunky but thoughtful, clothe issues of loyalty and honesty in a roaring adventure story, smartly written and chock full of humor and derring-do. Lively and compulsive reading. a.a.f. (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
School Library Journal Review
Gr 3-6-An exciting novel set in the days of the California Gold Rush. After young Annyrose breaks her ankle, she is left with the evil O. O. Mary by her brother, who continues on to make his fortune in the mines. She is saved from this horrible fate by the Mexican bandit Joaquín Murieta, who has come for revenge against the people who murdered his family and stole his land. Thinking that Annyrose is a boy, Joaquín takes her along with his gang so that she can teach him to read. During her travels with the band, Annyrose gains an understanding of the injustices the ruthless bandits are avenging and becomes friends with Joaquín and the others despite her fears and objections. She alternately helps and hinders their endeavors and is ultimately reunited with her brother. Written in the style of an old Western, the book is full of lore and legend of the Old West. It is fun, fast, and wild, but there is a serious side to the story. In an author's note, readers learn that a Mexican bandit, Joaquín Murieta, became a legend as both a cutthroat and a Robin Hood-type figure. Fleischman makes Joaquín a sympathetic central character as he shows the injustices suffered by minorities during this time of greed and lawlessness. This is classic Sid Fleischman: a quick read, with lots of twists, wonderful phrasing, historical integrity, and a bit of the tall tale thrown in.-Marlene Gawron, Orange County Library, Orlando, FL (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Publisher's Weekly Review
Seasoned author Fleischman (The 13th Floor) returns with a spirited novel set against the California Gold Rush. Plucking a character out of historyJoaquín Murieta, an infamous 1850s Mexican outlawhe expertly crafts a fictionalized tale that takes a clear-eyed look at bigotry and racism, while steering away from the twin pitfalls of pedantry and sermonizing. Told from the point of view of Annyrose Smith, an orphan in search of her brother Lank, the story starts with a bang (she's swept off with the banditos) and never lets up its fierce pace. All the trademarks of one of Fleischman's rollicking yarns are here, from treachery aplenty and multiple cases of mistaken identity, to colorful rascalsall delivered with a double helping of humor (as when Annyrose attempts to teach the outlaw to read and he remarks, "They tell me my name starts with a J. Yes, I have seen that shape on wanted posters"). Fueled by brisk dialogue and lively descriptions ("my heart sounded like woodpeckers in my ears"), the story moves as swiftly as a whitewater stream, carrying readers along for an exhilarating ride. It's not all thundering hooves and gunfire, however. Fleischman also tucks in weightier issues, as Annyrose ruminates on such concepts as revenge, villainy and friendship while riding with the outlawwho, as it turns out, is hardly the bloodthirsty figure he's been painted to be. Food for thought packaged inside a most enticing adventure. Illustrations not seen by PW. Ages 8-up. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
Gr. 3-6. Most girls would be upset if a gang of bandits rode in, but Annyrose sees it as an improvement. Locked in a barn since she tried to run away from the villainous O. O. Mary, Annyrose pleads with the bandit called "Wakeen" to let her go along with the gang. Thinking she's a boy, Wakeen agrees to take her--provided she'll teach him to read so that he can find out what the gringos are saying about him on wanted posters and in the newspapers. Although Annyrose heartily disapproves of the gang's thievery and murder, she comes to realize that the bandits are only stealing what was taken from them when ruthless white settlers "wrote laws to pry off those with darker skins from the diggings." The message about bigotry forms the underpinnings of the book, but Fleischman couldn't write with a heavy hand if he tried. His rollicking humor (Annyrose and Wakeen are both surprised when they discover Wakeen's name is really spelled J-o-a-q-u-i-n), spicy writing style, and action-packed narrative make this a page-turner. Joaquin, of course, is the famous Mexican bandit Joaquin Murieta, and an afterword explains which parts of the story are true and which are fictionalized. Annyrose and Joaquin are equally likable, the setting is detailed and authentic, and the substantial story comes to a satisfying conclusion. (Reviewed October 1, 1998)0688158307Susan Dove Lempke
Kirkus Review
Fleischman (The Abracadabra Kid, 1996, etc.) tells a meandering but effective story of a Mexican outlaw and a spunky ``gringo'' girl. During the Gold Rush, when recently orphaned Annyrose, dressed as a boy, escapes from her brutal caretaker, she is taken in by the infamous bandit, Joaquín Murieta. He gives her food and protection in exchange for teaching him to read; he also helps Annyrose in her search for her brother, and she helps the bandit fake his death. Her loyalty to Joaquín is only tempered by her strong sense of ethics (in fact, her moral haranguing is constant); despite his great charm and unusual kindness he is, after all, a murderous outlaw (whose crimes occur mostly offstage). Based on the exploits of bandit Joaquín Murieta, this story wanders all over the map, literally and figuratively. What holds it together is the tense but warm relationship between Annyrose and Joaquín; Fleischman infuses their scenes with charm and offers plenty of excitement set in an intriguing historical period. (b&w illustrations, not seen) (Fiction. 8-12)
Excerpts
Excerpts
Bandit's Moon Chapter One I Hide I had hardly got three miles down the road when 0.0. Mary herself caught me running away and locked me up in the harness room off the barn. It was infernally dark, and I knew there were black widow spiders in there. I tried to keep my mind off them except to think that 0.0. Mary could give black widows lessons in meanness. I had been padlocked almost a week when I heard someone come around the pond on a winded horse, frightening off the squawking ducks and mud hens. I heard a yell; "Mary! 0.0. Mary! That Mexican's a-coming after you! The whole gang of 'em! Run for your life! They ain't far behind!" It was hardly a moment before a key started rattling in the padlock. 0.0. Mary flung open the door. The white afternoon sunlight about blinded me.She tore through the saddles and harnesses and general trash until she came up with a scuffed red hatbox with the tips of yellow feathers sticking out the lid. I'd been using the box to eat on when she remembered to bring me some food. I could hardly imagine that she'd ever owned a pretty hat. She had a head of hair as matted as a dead cat's. But hadn't I heard her say she'd once been with the circus or a showboat or something? That must have been a hundred years ago, I thought. I don't know what her real name was. She told me that everyone called her 0.0. because her eyes were always open, and don't forget it. She gave the leather box a smile with that fossil face of hers and then seemed to notice me for the first time. "Out of my way, child! Run for your life!" "What on earth for?" "Annyrose! Didn't you hear? That cutthroat don't spare women and children! Why are you standing there? Contrary orphan! Run!" "I'm not exactly an orphan," I said. After all, I had kin. I had a brother still alive. "It's no skin off my bones if that confounded outlaw murders you in your shoes!" If I'd wanted to argue fine points with her, I'd have reminded her they weren't my shoes, either. She'd sold my New Orleans petticoats and dresses months ago. She had me walking around in some boy's castoffs, shirt and pants, and brown boots as curled up as dead fish. "Don't claim I didn't warn you!" she shouted, pushing me out of the way. "And don't think he'll spare you! It's the devil on horseback riding this way! It's Wakeen himself!" I answered, calm and snooty, "He isn't coming after me." "Stupid girl!" she snapped. "His arms drip blood up to his elbows. And if he don't finish you, there's Three Fingered Jack to do it. They'll cackle over your bones, the whole gang of them! Pesky foreigners! Greasers!" That was what she called her Mexican help, when she had any. The foul and lumpish woman didn't have a good word for anyone. "You don't aim on coming back, do you?" I asked, hoping I might be seeing the last of her forever. "Even if they burn the place to the ground, I'll be back," she snapped. Moments laterI saw her with her hatbox racing down the road in her dusty black buggy. It was piled withloose dresses and her big goose-feather mattress, all rolled up and puffy as a cloud. With the horsewhip held aloft, she struck sparks in the air. I'd heard the horrible tales about Wakeen, and they were enough to give anyone the fits. Now as I saw dust rising behind the hill, I decided I ought not to be passing the time on the porch having myself a long fresh drink out of the water barrel. I got my few belongings in a pillow slip, in case the outlaws set the ranch on fire. My eyes lit on the bundles of hay standing out in the field like a flock of scarecrows. With my bootheels flopping in the dirt, I hurried to the field and snugged myself inside the nearest stack of hay -- but not too deep. I wanted to be able to see the famous cutthroat. As I waited, I thought I must be a true child of calamity to be standing all covered with smelly hay. Ever since we'd set out for California, my mother and brother, Lank, and I, bad luck came leaping out at us. Crossing Panama on muleback to reach our ship in the Pacific Ocean, Mama had caught a jungle fever. We had had to bury her at sea off the coast of Mexico. When Lank and I landed in San Diego, where Mama had planned to start a school, our money was stolen right out of Lank's left coat pocket. Not only our money but all our papers, including a guide to the gold country up north that Lank had got hold of. It showed an X mark near a place called Mariposa where there was supposed to be a rich vein of gold. In order to eat, we had had to sell off Mama's trunkful of books, including all of Shakespeare in red leather bindings. And then Lank got it into his head to walk to the gold diggings a few hundred miles north, the both of us, and strike it rich like everybody else. He figured we'd outfit ourselves in Sacramento first. So we set out with all our belongings on our backs like peddlers. But you'd think someone had thrown a curse over me. Mama never believed in evil curses and hokey-pokey stuff like that, so I figured bad luck just happened. And when it did, Mama never spared it more than ten minutes of her time and just got on with things. I tried to get on with things, but why couldn't I have tripped over my own long feet and broken my ankle in a better spot? Lank carried me to the nearest house, which was only a mile away. Tarnation! It turned out to be 0.0. Mary's horse ranch. Only she was just back from across the border in Mexico, and so powdered and gussied up you'd hardly recognize her. She splinted my leg with greasewood sticks and seemed as kindly as your grandmother. So Lank left me there to heal and said he'd send coach fare as soon as he could. And she said not to worry, for as soon as I could walk on my leg, I could do little things around the horse ranch to earn my keep. Lank was hardly out of sight when she pulled off her wig and put it in mothballs. The next day I found her holding up my dresses and lace petticoats to the light. They disappeared to pay for my keep. I cried when she sold my violin in its black leather case and every note of my Mozart and Schubert. She even cut off my long yellow hair and sold it. With all the comings and goings around the place, it didn't take me long to figure out that she dealt in stolen horses and earrings and anything else you didn't hang on to with both hands and a foot. I think she must have stolen letters from Lank. He wrote me once from Sacramento to say he'd be sending me coach fare, but I never saw it. I was awakened from my thoughts by the squawk of ducks from the pond. When I looked out again, there came the bandits, about ten of them, with their hawk's eyes looking out from the black shade of large straw hats. Yellow cartridge belts made X marks across their chests. The men looked as stiff as soldiers, and I wondered if they'd fought in the war we'd finished off with Mexico. The Mexicans had sold us California and Texas when it was over, but when it was over, my papa didn't come back. Closer and closer the horsemen came, walking their beasts now, with only the silver jingle of spurs and the snort of a horse to disturb the afternoon quiet. I recognized a big Mexican by the finger missing off his right hand and figured he must be Three-Fingered Jack. My gaze shifted to the bandit riding beside him, the one with the silver buttons running down his legs. He smiled. His teeth gave off a flash as white as oyster shells. That must be Wakeen, I thought. He made my blood run cold, smiles or not. I'd never been so near to murdering villains. It surprised me that Wakeen hardly appeared much older than my brother, Lank, who was seventeen. And the outlaw wasn't even as tall. He wore a red scarf around his long black hair so that he looked more like a pirate than a general leading his army of cutthroats. Step by step he advanced. He frightened me even though his arms weren't stained with blood all the way up to his elbows. He smoked a thin black cigar as crooked as a twig and wore silver spurs almost as big and spiky as sunflowers. He said something in Spanish, and his men began ransacking the place, looking for 0.0. Mary. He dismounted and helped himself to the water dipper on the porch. As I peered out, I saw him staring down at the dust, studying it. He must have had a keen eye for tracking because he began following my fresh footsteps as directly as if I'd left a trail of breadcrumbs like the kids in the fairy tale. I saw him pull a pistol from his sash, shift to one side, and cock back the trigger. "Buenas tardes, Calico. I heard a whisper that 0.0. Mary was hiding you. Do you wish a moment to say your last prayers? It is me, Wakeen!" I was almost afraid to breathe. If the outlaw saw even a few straws jiggle, he might be edgy enough to fire. Copyright (c) 1998 by Sid Fleischman Bandit's Moon . Copyright © by Sid Fleischman. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Bandit's Moon by Sid Fleischman 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.
