{"product_id":"bamboo-people-isbn-9781580893299","title":"Bamboo People","description":"\u003cb\u003eTop Ten ALA Best Fiction for Young Adults\u003cbr\u003e Junior Library Guild Selection\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eStarred Reviews in \u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBookPage\u003c\/i\u003e’s “Top Ten Middle Grade Novels”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA refugee and child soldier challenge the rules of war in this coming-of-age novel set against the political and military backdrop of modern-day Burma\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eBang! A side door bursts open.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e Soldiers pour into the room. They’re shouting and waving rifles.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e I shield my head with my arms. It was a lie! I think, my mind racing.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e Girls and boys alike are screaming. The soldiers prod and herd some of us together and push the rest apart as if we're cows or goats.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e Their leader, though, is a middle-aged man. He’s moving slowly, intently, not dashing around like the others. “Take the boys only, Win Min,” I overhear him telling a tall, gangly soldier. “Make them obey.”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChiko isn’t a fighter by nature. He’s a book-loving Burmese boy whose father, a doctor, is in prison for resisting the government. Tu Reh, on the other hand, wants to fight for freedom after watching Burmese soldiers destroy his Karenni family’s home and bamboo fields. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Chiko is forced into the Burmese army and subsequently injured on a mission, the boys’ lives intersect. Timidity becomes courage and anger becomes compassion as both boys discover that everything is not as it seems. Mitali Perkins delivers a touching story about hopes, dreams, and the choices that define who we are.\u003cb\u003eMitali Perkins\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of several novels for children, including \u003ci\u003eSecret Keeper\u003c\/i\u003e, The First Daughter series, \u003ci\u003eRickshaw Girl\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eMonsoon Summer\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Not So Star-Spangled Life of Sunita Sen\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in California.\u003ci\u003e            Teachers wanted. Applicants must take examination in person. Salaries start at—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e             “Chiko, come inside!” Mother calls through the screen door, her voice low and urgent. \u003cbr\u003e             On the road behind our house, horns toot, sirens blare, and bicycle rickshaws crowd the streets. A high cement wall and a barrier of bamboo muffle the noise, making our garden seem as private as a monastery. But it isn’t. I could be spotted from the houses nearby, and spies are everywhere. They would betray even an old neighbor for extra ration cards.\u003cbr\u003e             I scan the rest of the announcement quickly, my heart racing.\u003cbr\u003e             “Chiko! \u003ci\u003eNow!\u003c\/i\u003e” Mother startles the flock of green parakeets perched on the birdbath, and they fly away.\u003cbr\u003e             I fold the newspaper around \u003ci\u003eA Tale of Two Cities\u003c\/i\u003e and head for the house. I want to tell Mother about the call for teachers in the paper, but it seems like she’s getting more anxious by the day. So am I, even though I wish I didn’t have to admit that. I’m tired of hiding, of worrying, and worst of all, of remembering again and again the day the soldiers came for Father. Remembering how I’ve failed him.\u003cbr\u003e             “You shouldn’t be reading out there,” Mother tells me, peering out through the screen after latching the door behind me.\u003cbr\u003e             I take a deep breath and push my glasses back. It’s now or never. “No harm in reading the government newspaper. There’s a notice—”\u003cbr\u003e             But she’s not listening. “We’ll talk about that later, Chiko. How could you take one of your father’s books outside? Do you want to end up in prison, too?”\u003cbr\u003e             She’s right—I shouldn’t have brought the book out there. The government gets suspicious when a Burmese boy reads English books. But I don’t answer her questions. What can I say? That it already feels like I’m in prison? I take the novel out of the newspaper. The worn cloth cover is still warm from the sunshine. “Read widely, Chiko,” Father used to say. “Great doctors must understand human nature in order to heal.”\u003cbr\u003e             “Hide it right now, Chiko,” Mother says sharply. “Wait. Let me draw the blinds.”\u003cbr\u003e             The dim room grows even darker. I reach behind the large painting of a white elephant, and we hear the familiar click. The painting swings open silently, like a well-oiled door. Hidden behind it is the cabinet Father built to conceal his battered black medical bag, books, and papers.\u003cbr\u003e             The books are in the same order as he left them, and I slip \u003ci\u003eA Tale of Two Cities\u003c\/i\u003e into place. There are a dozen medical and college textbooks, but we also own the complete works of Shakespeare, a book about Buddha’s teachings, the Christian Holy Bible, a few slim volumes of British poetry, an illustrated Oxford dictionary, some Burmese books (like the Jakata tales and verses by Thakin Kodaw Hmaing and Tin Moe), novels by Indian and Russian writers like Rabindranath Tagore and Fyodor Dostoevsky,\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eThe Arabian Nights\u003c\/i\u003e, and a set of books by Charles Dickens. These are our family treasures—faded, tattered, and well read.\u003cbr\u003e             I’m one of the few boys in town who can read and write in Burmese and English. It’s only because of Father. Schools around here close down so often it’s hard to learn, but I studied at home.\u003cbr\u003e             Father’s favorite books explain the secrets and mysteries of the human body, from bones to blood to cells to nerves. I always loved stories the best—books about heroes and quests and adventures, books where everything turns out fine in the end. I tried to pretend to be interested in science, but Father wasn’t fooled; he used the novels as prizes after we studied science.\u003cbr\u003e             It’s no use remembering the good times we had. I think I miss the sound of him the most. His voice—reading, talking, or laughing—steadied the house like a heartbeat. These days I only hear the conversation of Mother and her friends. If this keeps up, my own voice might reverse itself and start sounding high and sweet again.\u003cbr\u003e             I remember the last time I heard Father speak—almost four months ago. “Take care of your mother, Chiko!” he shouted as six or seven army officers shoved him into a van.\u003cbr\u003e             “I will, Father!” I answered, hoping he heard.\u003cbr\u003e             But have I kept that promise? No! All I’ve done is hide, and that’s not good enough with our money running out. And it’s terrible to go without news of him. The same thought keeps both Mother and me awake at night, even though we never say it to each other. \u003ci\u003eIs he alive?\u003c\/i\u003e","brand":"Charlesbridge","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302548263141,"sku":"NP9781580893299","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781580893299.jpg?v=1767722151","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/bamboo-people-isbn-9781580893299","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}