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Summary
Summary
For fans of Wendelin van Draanen and Cynthia Lord, a touching and funny middle-grade story about family, friendship, and growing up when you're one step away from homelessness.
Twelve-and-three-quarter-year-old Felix Knutsson has a knack for trivia. His favorite game show is Who What Where When; he even named his gerbil after the host. Felix's mom, Astrid, is loving but can't seem to hold on to a job. So when they get evicted from their latest shabby apartment, they have to move into a van. Astrid swears him to secrecy; he can't tell anyone about their living arrangement, not even Dylan and Winnie, his best friends at his new school. If he does, she warns him, he'll be taken away from her and put in foster care.
As their circumstances go from bad to worse, Felix gets a chance to audition for a junior edition of Who What Where When, and he's determined to earn a spot on the show. Winning the cash prize could make everything okay again. But things don't turn out the way he expects. . . .
Susin Nielsen deftly combines humor, heartbreak, and hope in this moving story about people who slip through the cracks in society, and about the power of friendship and community to make all the difference.
Author Notes
"This is the first day I've written in a diary. The reason I am, is 'cos I love writing stories, and if I do grow up to be a famous writer, and later die, and they want to get a story of my life, I guess I should keep a diary." Nielsen wrote this poorly constructed sentence when she was eleven. And while she isn't exactly famous, she did predict her future. She got her start writing for the hit TV series Degrassi Junior High and went on to write for more than twenty Canadian shows. Susin is the author of five critically acclaimed and award-winning titles, including Optimists Die First , We Are All Made of Molecules , and The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen . Nielsen lives in Vancouver with her family and two naughty cats. Visit her at susinnielsen.com; on Facebook at Susin Nielsen, Author; and on Twitter at @susinnielsen.
Reviews (4)
Horn Book Review
A summer adventure in a Volkswagen pop-top van turns into a long-term living situation for twelve-year-old Felix and his loving but irresponsible mother Astrid. Unable to afford an apartment in Vancouver, the two set up housekeeping in Astrids ex-boyfriends van, moving from parking lot to street corner to abandoned garage as opportunities present themselves, more or less managing to keep up a faade of respectability. This is assisted by Astrids flexible sense of morality (its important to note that she has levels of lies, and rules surrounding each. Sort of like the Church of Scientology and their levels of Operating Thetans, her rationales dont always make a lot of sense) but hampered by her bouts of depression, known in the family lexicon as slumps. Felix starts at a new school, where he reconnects with his childhood friend Dylan and meets Winnie Wu, who is introduced as a stereotypical overachiever but develops beyond the initial caricature. When Felix learns that his favorite game show is hosting a junior tournament, he decides its cash prize will solve all his problems and, with his friends help, sets out to win. Felix is a compelling narrator, engaging both as he keeps a wry sense of humor about his familys worsening situation and when he realizes he can no longer rely on the adults in his life. Nielsens eye for detail (Felixs Swedish grandmother gave him a tomte to watch over the house; now named Mel, the figure keeps watch from the dashboard) helps bring the story to life. sarah rettger (c) Copyright 2018. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Booklist Review
At almost 13, Felix is used to a little spontaneity in his life. He's watched his mom, Astrid (he calls her Astrid her idea), hop from job to job and guy to guy, and since Felix's grandma died, they've moved a lot. When they get evicted and have to live in a van for a while, Felix believes Astrid when she says it's temporary. Even if Astrid has trouble finding a job, Felix has a backup plan: his favorite game show is hosting a junior edition, and he's actually freakishly good at trivia. He's going to audition and win enough money so that he and Astrid will never have problems again. But living in a van and keeping it a secret from his friends at school is starting to take its toll on Felix. Canadian Nielsen (Optimists Die First , 2016) infuses her erstwhile hero's first-person narrative with humor. Though Felix's wry observations keep things from getting too dark, this is also a straightforward look at the circumstances that can lead to homelessness. Clear-eyed and heartfelt.--Maggie Reagan Copyright 2018 Booklist
School Library Journal Review
Gr 5-8-Felix Knutsson lived in four different homes before calling a van his home. There is a logical reason for every single move-logical to his mother Astrid, at least. Also, he doesn't like to be called homeless-he would rather use "between places"-but in his home city of Vancouver, vans do not qualify as homes to the mainstream population. Astrid manages to hide their situation from the authorities and even talks her way into securing Felix a spot at a competitive French Immersion program in a new school despite the lack of a fixed address. As the months go on and the weather changes, their situation becomes less and less bearable and leads Felix to a breaking point. The anguish that Felix faces as he strives to follow his mother's demand that he hide their predicament is palpable, and readers will empathize with Felix's situation. Prominent throughout this story is Felix's love for trivia and his quest to land a spot on a new junior edition of a game show, which he believes will end his housing troubles. Readers will be cheering for Felix as he learns to finally let others help him. VERDICT A well-written work of realism that will be a mirror to some and a window for others. A first purchase.-Kate Olson, Bangor School District, WI © Copyright 2018. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
For 12-year-old, "fifty percent Swedish, twenty-five percent Haitian, twenty-five percent French" Felix, all of his scary stories are about the Ministry of Children and Family Developmentthe Canadian agency that has the power to take him from his mom and place him in foster care.His flighty mother, Astrid (she's the Swedish part), is both depressed and chronically under- or often unemployed. His father is mostly out of the picture. Astrid will do what she needs to, including artfully lying and stealing, to keep their headsbarelyabove water as they descend into homelessness. As depicted with gritty realism, the pair has been living in a van for months, using public restrooms, and rarely having enough to eat. But Felix has two great friends, Winnie, who is Asian, and Dylan, who is white; they will watch his back whatever comes. Sadly, they have little idea of his truly dire situation since he's so resourceful at hiding his problems in order to stave off the MCFD. When Felix is selected to appear on a quiz show, it seems as if it could offer a resolution for their troubles: Winning would earn him a $25,000 prize. Felix's deeply engrossing and fully immersive first-person narrative of homelessness is both illuminating and heartbreaking. Although the story ends with hope for the future, it's his winsome and affecting determination that will win readers over.An outstanding addition to the inadequate-parent genre. (Fiction. 11-14) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Excerpts
Excerpts
November 27, 12:05 a.m. My leg jiggled up and down. I shifted from one bum cheek to the other. My palms felt damp and my heart was pounding. "I've never been interrogated before." "You're not being interrogated, Felix. We're just having a chat." "Are you going to record it?" "Why would I do that?" "It's how they do it on TV." "We're not on TV." The cold from the metal chair seeped through my pajama bottoms. "Do cops watch cop shows?" "Of course." "But isn't that like bringing your work home with you?" Constable Lee smiled. Her teeth were very straight. My Powers of Observation, or P.O.O., told me that she came from a middle-class family, one that could afford an orthodontist. My P.O.O. also told me she enjoyed her food: the buttons on her uniform were strained to the max. "Not really," she answered. "It's escapism for us, too. And we get to shout at the TV if they do something totally bogus." "Like what?" "Like record this type of conversation. We only record a conversation if someone has been charged with a crime, or is a suspect in a crime." "Are you recording Astrid right now?" "I can't answer that." Oh boy. I hardly ever cry, but all of a sudden I thought I might burst into tears, right in front of a cop. I think she could tell, because she added, "I highly doubt it." I breathed in. I breathed out. I sat up straight. I tried to look calm and dignified even though I knew my blond curls were sticking out in all directions, because until everything went so terribly wrong I'd been in bed. Plus I was wearing my ancient Minions pajamas, which were juvenile and way too small. Constable Lee and her partner hadn't given us time to change. "I'd like to call my lawyer," I said. "Let me guess--you got that from TV, too." "Yes." "Do you have a lawyer?" "No. But legally I'm allowed one, right?" "Except you don't need one. You haven't done anything wrong." "So I could just leave?" "I suppose. But where would you go?" I thought about Dylan. And Winnie. Then I remembered that I'd told them I never wanted to see them again. "When will they be done talking to Astrid?" "Soon, I'm sure." She stared at me, clicking her pen, open, shut, open, shut. "Mind if I ask why you don't call her Mom?" "She says it's too hierarchical." I scanned the huge room, full of desks and a handful of people, for the hundredth time. For the hundredth time, I didn't spot Astrid. It'll be okay, I thought-messaged her, because she's always telling me she'll receive anything I send her. I don't believe that anymore, but under the circumstances, it was worth a shot. "For the record," I said to Constable Lee, "Astrid is a great parent." "Good to know." She tapped on her keyboard. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?" "Okay." "Let's start with your full name." "Felix Fredrik Knutsson." She typed it into her computer. "Age?" "Thirteen. Well, almost. Twelve and three-quarters." "Mom's full name?" "Astrid Anna Knutsson." "Address?" I looked down at my feet. I wore my rubber boots, no socks; there hadn't been time to search for a pair. Constable Lee leaned toward me. Her shoulders were rounded. She did not have good posture. "When we answered your call tonight, Felix, it did appear as if you were both living there." Oh, how I longed for my mom. She would have a plausible-sounding explanation. But I'm not like her. I'm not a natural-born stretcher of the truth. So I continued to stare at the floor. Constable Lee started typing, even though I hadn't said a word. "Felix," she said gently, "you can talk to me. . . ." "I'm hungry." "Of course. I should have asked." She pushed herself up from her desk and hitched her pants up around her belly. "We're talking vending machine snacks. Hope that's okay. Any allergies? Any preferences?" "No allergies. No preferences. Although I am partial to anything cheese-flavored." Constable Lee walked across the big room. I glanced around. A couple of cops were at their desks. One was reading Popular Mechanics and another was dozing. I swiveled Constable Lee's computer screen toward me. It was an official-looking report. Name: Felix Fredrik Knutsson Age: 12 Parent/Guardian: Astrid Anna Knutsson Address: NFA I'm pretty good at figuring out acronyms, and this one, given the context, came to me almost right away. No fixed address. I felt a ripple of dread. Astrid had warned me over and over: "No one can find out where we live." Until tonight, I'd broken the rule only once. Our cover was blown. I tried to tell myself it wasn't my fault. I'd had no choice; I had to call the cops. If I hadn't, who knows what would have happened? Still. The bad guys got away. And who was at the police station? The innocent victims. Us. Two bags of Cheezies landed on the desk in front of me, along with a can of Coke. "Aren't we a nosy parker," Constable Lee said as she swiveled the computer screen back. "No one can agree on the origin of that expression," I said. "Some people think it came from an archbishop in the fifteen hundreds named Parker, who asked too many questions. Other people think that's hooey, since the phrase didn't appear till the end of the nineteenth century." I knew I was rambling, but I couldn't help it. "You are a font of knowledge." "My mom says I store facts like a squirrel stores nuts." Constable Lee tore open a bag of chips and popped one into her mouth. "Now. You have to believe me when I say I'm here to help." I wanted to believe her. But I kept thinking of my mom, who snorted like a pig whenever a police car drove past. Who liked to say "Never trust the Man." "Which man?" I'd asked when I was younger. "The Man. It's an expression. It means any man or woman who's in a position of authority." So all I said to Constable Lee was "Thanks. But we don't need any help." "Really?" "Really. We'll be moving very soon." "Yeah? Where?" "I don't know yet. But I'm coming into some money. The only question is how much." "An inheritance?" "No." "Selling some valuables?" "No." "Robbing a bank?" "Very funny. No." "So where's this money coming from?" "A game show." "Well, now I'm intrigued. Tell me more." "About the show?" Constable Lee put her feet up on her desk. "About everything." I studied her face. My P.O.O. told me she was a decent person. Maybe if she knew the truth, she would see that we'd done nothing wrong. So I poured a bunch of Cheezies down my throat. Then I told Constable Lee the whole truth and nothing but. Excerpted from No Fixed Address by Susin Nielsen-Fernlund 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.
