{"product_id":"death-in-the-jungle-isbn-9780593480076","title":"Death in the Jungle","description":"\u003cb\u003eHow did Jim Jones, the leader of Peoples Temple, convince more than 900 of his followers to commit \"revolutionary suicide\" by drinking cyanide-laced punch? From a master of narrative nonfiction comes a chilling chronicle of one of the most notorious cults in American history.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA YALSA EXCELLENCE IN NONFICTION WINNER • A SCBWI GOLDEN KITE AWARD FINALIST • ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR: \u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly, BookPage, Horn Book, Booklist, The Bulletin of The Center for Children's Books, School Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUsing riveting first-person accounts, award-winning author Candace Fleming reveals the makings of a monster: from Jones’s humble origins as a child of the Depression… to his founding of a group whose idealistic promises of equality and justice attracted thousands of followers… to his relocation of Temple headquarters from California to an unsettled territory in Guyana, South America, which he dubbed \"Jonestown”… to his transformation of Peoples Temple into a nefarious experiment in mind-control. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd Fleming heart-stoppingly depicts Jones’s final act, persuading his followers to swallow fatal doses of cyanide—to “drink the kool-aid,” as it became known—as a test of their ultimate devotion. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHere is a sweeping story that traces, step by step, the ways in which one man slowly indoctrinated, then murdered, 900 innocent, well- meaning people. And how a few members, Jones' own son included, stood up to him... but not before it was too late.★ \"Extraordinary and \u003cb\u003eilluminating\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"\u003cb\u003eTeens fascinated by cults will find plenty of that here\u003c\/b\u003e, but they’ll also come away with a more nuanced understanding of a highly sensationalized historical event.\" —\u003ci\u003eBooklist,\u003c\/i\u003e starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"\u003cb\u003eRiveting\u003c\/b\u003e.... this fascinating and disturbing work will help readers 'recognize the destructive groups in their own midst.'\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly,\u003c\/i\u003e starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"\u003cb\u003e[A]n engrossing exploration\u003c\/b\u003e of just how easily good intentions can drag people down the wrong path if led by a charismatic speaker with a skill for manipulation.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe Bulletin,\u003c\/i\u003e starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"Fleming’s writing is riveting....\u003cb\u003eGripping and wrenching\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal,\u003c\/i\u003e starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"It’s a testament to Fleming’s storytelling prowess that \u003cb\u003ethe book becomes more and more compelling \u003c\/b\u003edespite our knowledge of the outcome.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book,\u003c\/i\u003e starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"Fleming spares few of the horrific details, while filling her account with \u003cb\u003emesmerizing yet respectful insights\u003c\/b\u003e. Photographs are included (although not of the bodies)....lessons about the dangers of groupthink, mind control and misinformation remain all too relevant.\" —\u003ci\u003eBookPage,\u003c\/i\u003e starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"Candace Fleming documents with the tension of a thriller the history of an infamous 20th century cult while maintaining a sense of humanity that \u003cb\u003econveys immense empathy for its victims\u003c\/b\u003e....a gripping and disturbing nonfiction narrative.\" —\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness,\u003c\/i\u003e starred reviewCandace Fleming is the prolific and versatile award-winning author of many books for children and young adults. \u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal \u003c\/i\u003epraised her most recent title, \u003ci\u003eMurder Among Friends\u003c\/i\u003e, which received four starred reviews, as a \"chilling page-turner.\" Her previous book \u003ci\u003eThe Rise and Fall of Charles Lindbergh\u003c\/i\u003e received six starred reviews, was a \u003ci\u003eKirkus, PW, Booklist,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSLJ \u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of the Year, and was hailed by the \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e as a “fascinating chronicle.” Candace’s\u003ci\u003e The Family Romanov \u003c\/i\u003ealso received six starred reviews, won the \u003ci\u003eBoston Globe-Horn Book\u003c\/i\u003e Award for Nonfiction and the \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e Book Prize, and was recognized as a Sibert Nonfiction Honor Book. Her many acclaimed picture books include \u003ci\u003eGiant Squid\u003c\/i\u003e, a Sibert Honor Book. Visit her on the web at candacefleming.com.\u003cb\u003eChapter One\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One Weird Kid\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first time Jim Jones asked followers to play dead was on an autumn night in 1941.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The ten-­year-­old urged the other boys to come on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They hesitated. Jimmy Jones wasn’t a friend. Not really. Sure, they hung around with him, but they didn’t like him. He was bossy and controlling. And he always got his way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But there was something magnetic about him, too. Somehow, he coaxed them into doing things they knew they shouldn’t.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Take the previous week, for example. They’d been playing in the loft over the Joneses’ garage when Jimmy persuaded them to walk out on the rafters. They’d be like tightrope walkers in the circus, he’d said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His playmates went first, slowly and in single file because the rafters were so narrow. Jimmy sidled out behind them. One of the boys looked down. It was a long way to the floor, at least ten feet. He tried to back off the rafter, but Jimmy wouldn’t budge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Move back!” the boy yelled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I can’t move,” declared Jimmy. “The Angel of Death is holding me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For several long moments the boys teetered precariously on the rafters. They begged him to move. All the while Jimmy watched them with “a weird look on his face,” recalled one of the boys. Then, finally, he claimed the angel had released him. They all inched their way back to safety.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Afterward, the boys agreed: Jimmy Jones was nuts. They swore never to play with him again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And yet, just days later, they were sneaking out with him. His gifts of persuasion had once again been impossible to ignore. Beneath a harvest moon they followed their leader across the small town of Lynn, Indiana. No one noticed the little group. In those days most of Lynn’s citizens went to bed early.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It didn’t take long for the group to reach the warehouse on the edge of town. The boys stopped. What were they doing here? Jimmy sprinted to the warehouse door. It was unlocked. He beckoned the others to follow. They could trust him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Trust? None of the others trusted Jimmy. Still, one by one, they slipped into the warehouse. Slowly, their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and they saw what was inside: coffins, dozens of them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jimmy opened the lid of one and climbed in. He insisted the others do the same. He instructed them to just lie there. That way, they might find out what it was like to be dead. He wiggled into position, arranged his hands across his chest, and closed his eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was too much for his companions. Yelping with fear, they bolted from the warehouse, leaving Jimmy behind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He lay there alone, absorbed in morbid revelry. What happened to you after you died? What did it feel like? And how would it feel if your soul was raised from the dead?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The boy didn’t find any answers that night. But he kept going back to the coffins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Despite Jimmy’s magnetism, the other boys never returned with him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e--\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e James Warren Jones had few memories of his parents’ farm near tiny Crete, Indiana. Born on May 13, 1931, he was just three years old when the Great Depression bankrupted his parents. The financial loss sent his father, a physically disabled and unemployed World War I veteran nicknamed Big Jim, over the edge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On the day the bank foreclosed, Big Jim beat his fists on the floor. “I’ve gone as far as I can go!” he cried.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “You go ahead and cry,” Jimmy’s mother, Lynetta, replied, “but I’ll whip this if it’s the last thing I ever do.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Moving her family to the slightly larger town of Lynn, just five miles away, she rented a cheap house and found work at the glass factory. She wasn’t the only working mother in that sleepy little town. The Depression had forced plenty of women into the role of breadwinner. But she was by far the most unconventional. In those days people in Lynn did little more than earn a living, raise their children, and go to church on both Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings. Since there weren’t any African Americans, Catholics, or Jews living within the town limits, there wasn’t any reason for the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan to appear with their hoods and fiery crosses. (Around that time 30 percent of all native-­born white men in Indiana were KKK members.) Alcoholic drinks were not sold within the town limits, and dancing, which many considered immoral, was prohibited at the high school. Crime was rare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Into this conservative Christian community barreled Lynetta Jones. She cursed in public, wore trousers, and puffed on hand-­rolled cigarettes. It was eyebrow-­raising behavior, especially for a  woman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her worst transgression, at least in the eyes of Lynn’s citizens, was not attending church, and the town boasted six of them. There were the Nazarenes and the Methodists, the Disciples of Christ, the Baptists, the Quakers, and the Pentecostals. As in the rest of the state, evangelical Protestantism reigned. It was commonly believed that those who were not in a pew every Sunday were on the road to eternal damnation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lynetta Jones thought it all poppycock. It seemed ridiculous to her that some spirit in the sky decided who got into heaven. Those folks who went to church were, in her opinion, mindless dupes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e While Lynetta worked and Big Jim sat wheezing and in pain by the front window, their little boy wandered all over town, alone and unsupervised. Sometimes he was half-­naked. Sometimes he scampered along the sidewalks gnawing on the sandwich Lynetta had left for his lunch. He loved animals, perhaps because they gave him unconditional affection, and he could often be found playing with the neighbors’ cats and dogs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The town’s homemakers clucked about the neglected child. Was he going hungry? When was the last time he’d had a bath? Had anyone taught him the Lord’s Prayer? They invited him into their homes, cleaned him up, and fed him. Jimmy—­not yet five years old—­quickly learned how to say or do whatever was necessary to get what he wanted. He had an instinctual ability to quickly surmise what was important to someone, and he could convince that person that he felt the same (even if he didn’t). He swore to each woman that \u003ci\u003ehers\u003c\/i\u003e was the best pie, or biscuit, or cookie. He acted polite and grateful. He played on their sympathies, spinning false tales about his father’s cruel and terrifying behavior. Having sussed out a homemaker’s interest—­needlepoint, gardening, baking—­he claimed to share her enthusiasm. Each woman felt she had a special bond with Jimmy Jones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Little Jimmy was simply trying to survive. “Manipulation was not a conscious thing for him,” his son Stephan would later claim. But because of these early experiences, the act of manipulation became second nature, an ingrained part of his personality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Across the street from the Jones family lived Myrtle Kennedy. Myrtle was dedicated to God. She led prayer meetings, organized church potlucks, and taught Sunday school at the Nazarene church, where her husband, Orville was pastor. With a glad heart, she followed the Nazarenes’ strict rules: no dancing, no card playing, no short sleeves or short skirts. Like many of the other ladies in town, she felt sorry for little Jimmy Jones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One morning while Myrtle stood in the grocer’s line, she heard a neighbor talking about the child. Jimmy, now seven, had been playing on the tracks when a train came along. He’d almost been run over, exclaimed the woman. The wheels had actually grazed his cheek. The neighbor saw it as another example of Lynetta Jones’s carelessness as a mother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Myrtle, however, took it as a sign from God. The Lord, she believed, had saved the boy so she could take him under her wing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Now whenever she saw Jimmy out wandering, she called him in for cookies or pie. She learned his favorite meals—­macaroni and cheese, and grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup—­and made them for him. Soon he went to Myrtle’s home every day. Sometimes he even slept there overnight. Lynetta didn’t care. It kept the boy out of her hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She might have been more concerned if she knew her son called Myrtle “Mom.” The title pleased Myrtle, who had no children of her own. She saw herself as Jimmy’s spiritual mother. And she set out to save his soul by reading to him from the Bible. The boy—­bright and always eager to please—­soon quoted scripture back to her. She was charmed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Eventually, Myrtle got up the nerve to ask Lynetta if she could take the boy to church.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What could it hurt? decided Lynetta. She figured Jimmy was too smart to fall for all that church baloney. Besides, without the kid around on Sunday, she could put up her feet and drink a forbidden beer or two.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That first Sunday morning in the Nazarene church felt like a homecoming to Jimmy. People welcomed him warmly. Ladies patted his round cheeks with the soft tips of their white-­gloved fingers. Men thumped his scrawny back congenially. Everyone said it was good to see him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He slid into a pew beside Myrtle. An organ began to soulfully play, a signal that the service was about to begin. The air smelled of perfume and hair pomade.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But it was the preacher who transfixed Jimmy—­his shiny satin robe, his booming voice and fiery words. He commanded everyone’s attention. The entire congregation sat riveted. And they did e\u003ci\u003everything\u003c\/i\u003e the preacher told them to do—­stand, sit, open their hymnals, pray. Jimmy suddenly wanted to be just like that preacher. Respected. Admired. The center of attention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After that, Jimmy could hardly wait for Sunday. He memorized everything he heard at church. Within weeks he could repeat hymns, prayers, and lengthy Bible verses verbatim. His ability dazzled Myrtle. What a whip-­smart, marvelously gifted boy she’d been called to save. He was going to make a fine member of the Nazarene church.","brand":"Anne Schwartz Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233077997797,"sku":"NP9780593480076","price":22.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593480076.jpg?v=1767724899","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/death-in-the-jungle-isbn-9780593480076","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}