Books that tell me what people wear, what they eat, and how they spend their time have delighted me since I first began to read, so perhaps this is why I love The Happiness of Kati. Like The Wind in the Willows and The Little House in the Big Woods, this small novel about a small Thai girl and her family has enlarged my world by describing a different way of living.

And yet in the descriptions of a rural Thai childhood, there are hints given at the beginning of each chapter that there is a sorrowful mystery at the heart of Kati’s seemingly idyllic life, and when that mystery is divulged, the story carries the weight of loss and sorrow.

As the jacket flap informs readers, Jane Vejjajiva is the daughter of a doctor who researches Lou Gehrig’s disease (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), and this knowledge informs much of her story. In addition to this, Jane Vejjajiva was born with cerebral palsy, building a career as a writer, translator and publisher, traveling and studying abroad, and living a life filled with accomplishment and challenges. When she writes about disease and disability, she is well acquainted with these subjects, and depicts them without sentimemtality or mawkishness.

I am always struck when I read this book by the sensitive and skillful treatment of themes not usually found in middle-grade fiction in the United States. What do you think? Is this a book you would share with your child, your classroom? Tell us why–or why not!

When a man recently went to a bookstore in search of his book group’s latest selection, he never dreamed that a clerk would question who the book was for, nor did he expect an unsolicited analysis of his character. Yet that’s what happened to one purchaser of Aryn Kyle’s novel, The God of Animals, when the woman who waited on him asked who he was buying the book for, and when learning it was for the customer himself, informed him that men who read “women’s fiction” were “sensitive.”

The customer was understandably unsettled by this encounter, which he later discussed on National Public Radio’s program, The Bryant Park Project. As a bookseller for many years, and as a parent of two sons, I’m perplexed and unsettled by this story as well, on a couple of different levels.

Even if we ignore the fact that The God of Animals is an amazing novel about the modern-day American West, in which one of the central relationships is that between a father and daughter, and is a book that should never be limited to readers of only one gender, the assumption that there are “men’s books” and “women’s books” and never the twain shall meet is one that is alien to any bookstore I have ever known. Yet at the same time, as a children’s bookseller, I often heard, and have espoused myself, the point of view that “girls will read books about boys but boys will rarely read books about girls.”

There are of course exceptions–I’ve yet to find any child who will not devour Roald Dahl’s Matilda, and Philip Pullman’s Golden Compass trilogy seems to have met few gender-based barriers. Yet I’ve learned from bitter experience that offering a boy Harriet the Spy or my all-time favorite Mistress Masham’s Repose often will evoke the disappointed response, “Oh, it’s about a girl.”

When my sons were small, they loved the adventures of Dorothy in the land of Oz or of Alice whether she was in Wonderland or through the looking glass as much as they did Peter Pan or Rat, Mole and Toad in The Wind in the Willows. And certainly Marjorie’s Brothers One and Two seem to enjoy books about females as well as males.

So when and how does this divergence in taste occur? Or do we just assume that it will occur and turn it into a self-fulfilling prophesy? In your experience, do boys avoid books in which girls take the leading role? If so, how can we broaden that point of view? And what would have become of J.K Rowling if she had written about Harriet Potter?