Telephone of the Tree

February 12, 2024
McGhee (Dear Brother) injects a speculative twist to this tender tale about death and grief. Most of the trees on 10-year-old Ayla’s block were “planted to celebrate new babies.” Ayla and her best friend Kiri always reveled in their connections to their trees—a river birch and white pine, respectively—caring for them and spending time nestled within their branches, encouraging each other to “dream big.” When Kiri suddenly disappears, Ayla convinces herself that Kiri will be home for their 11th birthday in three weeks. Then an old-fashioned telephone mysteriously appears in Ayla’s tree, and her astute grandfather
suggests that “maybe it’s there just in case you want to call someone,” an idea that Ayla rejects, though it seems to bring comfort to others in the community: five-year-old neighbor Gentleman calls his deceased gecko, and a grieving husband phones his late wife. As Kiri’s birthday draws near, Ayla grows tired of resisting the shattering truth behind their disappearance. Employing spare, sensory language, McGhee explores the painful negative space created by loss and the devastation of a friendship cut short, as well as the healing found in moving forward while remembering that “there’s more... so much more.” Characters are described as having varying skin tones. Ages 8–12. Agent: Sara Crowe, Sara Crowe Literary.

February 15, 2024
Grades 3-6 The old-fashioned rotary phone just appeared one day in Ayla's tree, the river birch her parents planted when she was born. Something told her that it was magic, that it would let a person talk to anyone they wanted to--but she wasn't about to pick up the receiver, despite desperately missing her best friend, Kiri. No, she will wait to talk to them when they finally come home. For much of the story, Ayla is firmly in the denial phase of the grieving process, making her an unreliable narrator, but McGhee provides readers with enough clues to piece together the reason for Kiri's absence before the moment Ayla is able to voice the truth. Ayla and Kiri's shared love of trees shapes the narrative in ways literal and figurative, most poignantly in trees' abilities to communicate over great distances and filter nutrients to a tree in need. Inspired by Itaru Sasaki's phone booth in Japan, where people can symbolically call deceased loved ones, McGhee lays bare the powerful emotions entangled with loss while demonstrating the strength found in community.

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April 1, 2024
The sudden loss of her closest friend leaves a child clinging desperately to memories and connections. Deep in denial, Ayla is sure that though her lifelong bestie "went away," Kiri (who used they/them pronouns) will be back in time for their 11th birthday. But, as gradually becomes clear, "went away" means more than just a temporary absence. Cast in half-page prose poems, this grief journal sensitively tracks Ayla's hard progress from "Kiri left" to an acknowledgment of what really happened to Kiri and, past that, to a tentative understanding that Kiri will always be present in the negative spaces that, as in a drawing, make everything else "full of color and shape and life." Rather than trot in a therapist or some other mouthpiece for wise counseling, the author gives her protagonist subtler (and more believably effective) help reaching that insight--most notably parents who give her space rather than unwanted advice, and her grandfather's old telephone. Placed in the tree that was planted at her birth, the phone draws passersby to make therapeutic "calls" to missed family members, including (by one 5-year-old scene stealer) a beloved deceased pet. Readers feeling Ayla's profound sense of loss will be relieved when she finds a way to live with it. Physical descriptions are minimal, but hints in the text suggest that Ayla and her family are people of color. Raw and sad but lit with occasional glints of humor and ending, as it should, on a rising note. (Fiction. 10-12)

COPYRIGHT(2024) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

July 1, 2024
In a first-person narrative, ten-year-old Ayla relates her special connection to her best friend, Kiri, beginning when they first reached out to each other as infants. Together they develop a keen interest in trees: caring for them, learning about them, and aspiring to be more tree-like. Their neighborhood plants trees to celebrate new babies, including a birch for Ayla and a pine for Kiri. With a hint of foreshadowing, Ayla notes that trees are also planted to remember those who have died. Her loose, dreamy narrative dances around current details, but she eventually confides she misses Kiri, insisting that her friend will be back soon. Meanwhile, an old telephone appears in her birch tree. Ayla finds it magical but refuses to attempt a call, though other people who have lost loved ones begin using it as a mechanism to talk to them. Ayla divulges small incidents and observations like a trail of breadcrumbs, allowing readers to piece together what she herself cannot admit: Kiri is not coming home. Ayla's voice as she comes to terms with what has happened, combined with the care and understanding of those supporting her while she grieves, create an intensely emotional reading experience. Interlaced throughout, the parallel world of the trees, with their mysterious methods of communicating and working together, provides a noble community model. An author's note pays tribute to Itaru Sasakai's phone booth in Japan, where people find comfort talking to those they have lost on an unconnected rotary phone. Julie Roach

(Copyright 2024 by The Horn Book, Incorporated, Boston. All rights reserved.)

September 13, 2024

Gr 5 Up-Best friends Ayla and Kiri love the trees that were planted in their neighborhood the year they were born. Kiri loves the white pine, while Ayla prefers her river birch. They spend hours climbing the branches, sending special signals, and imagining themselves as trees, tall and strong. Early in the story, readers learn that Kiri is gone. But where did they go and when will they come back? Everyone misses them, especially Ayla. One day, a strange thing appears in Ayla's tree: an old rotary phone, not connected to any wires or cables. People start using the phone to talk to those who are gone. Ayla wants no part of it though, and whenever anyone starts to talk about what happened to Kiri, she hums and sings to herself to block out what they are saying. With the passing of each very short chapter (no more than one page), readers learn through Ayla's voice why Kiri is gone. Award-winning writer McGhee has penned another memorable story. Ayla's narration beautifully captures the grieving process from the perspective of a child and the characters who surround her are supportive and caring. Beautiful pencil drawings enhance the plot, and the author even includes a few facts about trees as part of the story. The use of "they" pronouns when referring to Kiri makes the story more inclusive for all readers. VERDICT A lovely book for children (and even adults) who may be grieving; this will grab readers' hearts.-Anne Jung-Mathews

Copyright 2024 School Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

July 1, 2024
In a first-person narrative, ten-year-old Ayla relates her special connection to her best friend, Kiri, beginning when they first reached out to each other as infants. Together they develop a keen interest in trees: caring for them, learning about them, and aspiring to be more tree-like. Their neighborhood plants trees to celebrate new babies, including a birch for Ayla and a pine for Kiri. With a hint of foreshadowing, Ayla notes that trees are also planted to remember those who have died. Her loose, dreamy narrative dances around current details, but she eventually confides she misses Kiri, insisting that her friend will be back soon. Meanwhile, an old telephone appears in her birch tree. Ayla finds it magical but refuses to attempt a call, though other people who have lost loved ones begin using it as a mechanism to talk to them. Ayla divulges small incidents and observations like a trail of breadcrumbs, allowing readers to piece together what she herself cannot admit: Kiri is not coming home. Ayla's voice as she comes to terms with what has happened, combined with the care and understanding of those supporting her while she grieves, create an intensely emotional reading experience. Interlaced throughout, the parallel world of the trees, with their mysterious methods of communicating and working together, provides a noble community model. An author's note pays tribute to Itaru Sasakai's phone booth in Japan, where people find comfort talking to those they have lost on an unconnected rotary phone.

(Copyright 2024 by The Horn Book, Incorporated, Boston. All rights reserved.)