Eunice Boeve

Excerpts from readers of The Summer of the Crow:

I just finished reading your book for the second time. Your descriptions are so vivid. I lived through those times and your description of the Depression and dust storms of the 30s is surely accurate.
The Great Depression, polio, family relationships, bootlegging, alcoholism, hunger, despair, autism, bullying, and love: you truly covered it all in your new book, The Summer of the Crow. It is a wonderful book! Thanks for writing such a marvelous account of the Great Depression. Every character came to life in the book. I did not live during the Depression, but I’ve heard many stories of the hardships. You told the story well.
I really enjoyed it (The Summer of the Crow). Not only is it a good story, but there is so much to learn about the Depression, the Dust Bowl days, prohibition, autism, and riding the rails. It is a whole different world for kids today... and a painless way to learn about one of the yesterdays. I’m going to see if some of my grandkids won’t put it on their summer reading list.
One of the most delightful stories I’ve read in a very long time. Keep up the good work.
What a fascinating story, superb writing, well-drawn characters, and a plot with the right amount of pacing and plenty of tension! I really admire your work. Thanks for the great read.
I really enjoyed The Summer of the Crow and am recommending it to my friends and especially to my twelve year old daughter. I just wanted to drop you a note and say thank you and I look forward to reading more of your works.
The Summer of the Crow is a terrific book which touches on many YA themes and which always keeps the reader guessing what he or she is going to learn about the characters next. Keep up the good books!
Excerpt:

They all but fell out of the boxcar, Eddie going down on his knees and Brady staggering a few feet before he could get his balance.

"There has to be water here somewhere," Brady said, squinting into the sun as he looked up and down the tracks. "There'll be some at the depot and it must be ahead a little ways." But would someone see them? Maybe the railroad detectives? The bulls?

Brady focused his gaze on the town. It looked like a big town. It had to be Topeka. There had to be water here somewhere. Then he saw the line of grayish green. Trees. He blinked and looked again. They were still there. He reached out and gripped Eddie's arm.

"Trees," he said pointing a shaking finger. Trees. Just over there. There must be a creek or a river for trees to be growing. And a camp. That old hobo, Grandpa Bud had in jail, said the camps were by water.

They crossed several tracks and came out on a street. A car horn blared at them, but they kept moving forward, their eyes fastened on the trees. The sun beat down, its heat waves shimmering before them as they stumbled along.

Blackie, flying overhead a few feet, landing and taking off again, suddenly lifted up in the air and headed straight for the stand of trees. The boys began a weaving, stumbling run.

At the edge of the trees, they stopped short. The place was alive with people. Little camps were set up everywhere and around them men and women and children sat or moved about. Scraps of conversation filled the air. One woman, stirring a steaming kettle set over a fire, ran a bare forearm across her sweaty face and peered up at them. "You boys all right?" she asked.

"Water," Brady croaked, feeling tears gather in his eyes. How could he possibly make tears? "Water," he croaked again as beside him Eddie fell to his knees, his head falling forward into the dirt.

Then the woman was beside them, tipping a cup of water to Brady's lips. He gulped a swallow and she moved the cup to Eddie. Squatting, she lifted his head and cupping her hand under his chin poured the rest of the water in his mouth and over his face.

"Joe," she called, twisting around in her squatted position. "Come help me!"

Before he blacked out, Brady saw a thin, dark-haired man move toward them. When he came to, he was lying flat on the ground and the woman was wiping his face with a wet rag.

He struggled to sit up and the woman moved back to give him room. "Feeling better?" she asked.

He nodded and looked at Eddie, sitting beside him, his face as pale as his white-blond hair.

"I expect you boys are hungry," the woman said. "We don't have much, but you are welcome to what we have."

The odors from the steaming kettle set over the fire brought a rush of saliva to Brady's mouth. Swallowing, he looked around, noticing for the first time two solemn-faced, ragged children, a boy and a girl. They peered shyly at him and Eddie. Brady thought their brown eyes looked too big for their small, thin faces.

The girl held something in a soiled blanket. Brady thought it was a doll until it moved in the little girl's arms and made a soft, mewing cry like a kitten.

Brady turned from the children and the baby and looked up at the parents. Looked at their gaunt, tired, worry-lined faces, and his hand went into his pocket. "We can pay," he said and was rewarded by the sudden flash of joy in the woman's eyes.