The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt Holling Hoodhood is really in for it. Hes just started seventh grade with Mrs. Baker, a teacher he knows is out to get him. Why else would she make him read Shakespeare ... outside of class? FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Gary D. Schmidt was awarded a Newbery Honor in 2008 for "The Wednesday Wars," the story of the seventh-grader Holling Hoodhood from suburban Long Island in 1967 who is stuck spending his Wednesday afternoons with his teacher Mrs. Baker . . . who is clearly trying to kill him with Shakespeare. As time rolls on, Shakespeare starts to grow on Holling, and even when he's not playing the yellow-tighted role of the fairy Ariel, he can't help but hurl the occasional Elizabethan insult. Laugh-out-loud scenes involving overfed escaped classroom rats and chalk-dusted cream puffs mix seamlessly with more poignant moments, some related to the Vietnam War. Holling is courageous, funny, and unique, and readers will love seeing him evolve beyond the expectations of others to become his own fabulous self.Awards: 2008 Newbery Honor Book, 2008 ALA Notable Children's Book, 2008 ALA Best Book for Young Adults, 2007 Booklist Editors' Choice, 2007 National Parenting Publications Book Award, 2007 New York Public Library 100 Titles for Reading and Sharing, 2007 Book Sense Award Finalist Back Cover Learn the skills and acquire the intuition to assess the theoretical limitations of computer programming Offering an accessible approach to the topic, Theory of Computation focuses on the metatheory of computing and the theoretical boundaries between what various computational models can do and not do-from the most general model, the URM (Unbounded Register Machines), to the finite automaton. A wealth of programming-like examples and easy-to-follow explanations build the general theory gradually, which guides readers through the modeling and mathematical analysis of computational phenomena and provides insights on what makes things tick and also what restrains the ability of computational processes. Recognizing the importance of acquired practical experience, the book begins with the metatheory of general purpose computer programs, using URMs as a straightforward, technology-independent model of modern high-level programming languages while also exploring the restrictions of the URM language. Once readers gain an understanding of computability theory-including the primitive recursive functions-the author presents automata and languages, covering the regular and context-free languages as well as the machines that recognize these languages. Several advanced topics such as reducibilities, the recursion theorem, complexity theory, and Cooks theorem are also discussed. Features of the book include: A review of basic discrete mathematics, covering logic and induction while omitting specialized combinatorial topics A thorough development of the modeling and mathematical analysis of computational phenomena, providing a solid foundation of un-computability The connection between un-computability and un-provability: G Author Biography Gary D. Schmidt is the bestselling author of Okay For Now, the Newbery Honor and Printz Honor book Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy, and the Newbery Honor book The Wednesday Wars. He is a professor of English at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Review "[An] entertaining and nuanced novel.... There are laugh-out-loud moments that leaven the many poignant ones." Prizes Commended for John Newbery Medal 2008. Review Quote "Schmidt, whose LIZZIE BRIGHT AND THE BUCKMINSTER BOY won both Printz and Newbery Honors, delivers another winner...deeply satisfying." Publishers Weekly, Starred "Schmidt ... [gets] to the emotional heart of every scene without overstatement ... another virtuoso turn by the author of LIZZIE BRIGHT." Kirkus Reviews, Starred "Schmidt...makes the implausible believable and the everyday momentous...a gentle, hopeful, moving story." Booklist, ALA, Starred Review "Schmidt rises above the novels conventions to create memorable and believable characters." Horn Book, Starred "[An] entertaining and nuanced novel.... There are laugh-out-loud moments that leaven the many poignant ones." School Library Journal "An accessible, humorous school story, and at the same time, an insightful coming-of-age tale." Bookpage "Fans of ... LIZZIE BRIGHT AND THE BUCKMINSTER BOY may be pleasantly surprised to see Schmidts lighter, even sillier side." Bulletin of the Center for Childrens Books Excerpt from Book September Of all the kids in the seventh grade at Camillo Junior High, there was one kid that Mrs. Baker hated with heat whiter than the sun. Me. And let me tell you, it wasnt for anything Id done. If it had been Doug Swieteck that Mrs. Baker hated, it would have made sense. Doug Swieteck once made up a list of 410 ways to get a teacher to hate you. It began with "Spray deodorant in all her desk drawers" and got worse as it went along. A whole lot worse. I think that things became illegal around Number 167. You dont want to know what Number 400 was, and you really dont want to know what Number 410 was. But Ill tell you this much: They were the kinds of things that sent kids to juvenile detention homes in upstate New York, so far away that you never saw them again. Doug Swieteck tried Number 6 on Mrs. Sidman last year. It was something about Wrigley gum and the teachers water fountain (which was just outside the teachers lounge) and the Polynesian Fruit Blend hair coloring that Mrs. Sidman used. It worked, and streams of juice the color of mangoes stained her face for the rest of the day, and the next day, and the next day--until, I suppose, those skin cells wore off. Doug Swieteck was suspended for two whole weeks. Just before he left, he said that next year he was going to try Number 166 to see how much time that would get him. The day before Doug Swieteck came back, our principal reported during Morning Announcements that Mrs. Sidman had accepted "voluntary reassignment to the Main Administrative Office." We were all supposed to congratulate her on the new post. But it was hard to congratulate her because she almost never peeked out of the Main Administrative Office. Even when she had to be the playground monitor during recess, she mostly kept away from us. If you did get close, shed whip out a plastic rain hat and pull it on. Its hard to congratulate someone whos holding a plastic rain hat over her Polynesian Fruit Blend-colored hair. See? Thats the kind of stuff that gets teachers to hate you. But the thing was, I never did any of that stuff. Never. I even stayed as far away from Doug Swieteck as I could, so if he did decide to try Number 166 on anyone, I wouldnt get blamed for standing nearby. But it didnt matter. Mrs. Baker hated me. She hated me a whole lot worse than Mrs. Sidman hated Doug Swieteck. I knew it on Monday, the first day of seventh grade, when she called the class roll--which told you not only who was in the class but also where everyone lived. If your last name ended in "berg" or "zog" or "stein," you lived on the north side. If your last name ended in "elli" or "ini" or "o," you lived on the south side. Lee Avenue cut right between them, and if you walked out of Camillo Junior High and followed Lee Avenue across Main Street, past MacCleans Drug Store, Goldmans Best Bakery, and the Five & Ten-Cent Store, through another block and past the Free Public Library, and down one more block, youd come to my house--which my father had figured out was right smack in the middle of town. Not on the north side. Not on the south side. Just somewhere in between. "Its the Perfect House," he said. But perfect or not, it was hard living in between. On Saturday morning, everyone north of us was at Temple Beth-El. Late on Saturday afternoon, everyone south of us was at mass at Saint Adelberts--which had gone modern and figured that it didnt need to wake parishioners up early. But on Sunday morning--early--my family was at Saint Andrew Presbyterian Church listening to Pastor McClellan, who was old enough to have known Moses. This meant that out of the whole weekend there was only Sunday afternoon left over for full baseball teams. This hadnt been too much of a disaster up until now. But last summer, Ben Cummings moved to Connecticut so his father could work in Groton, and Ian MacAlister moved to Biloxi so his father could be a chaplain at the base there instead of the pastor at Saint Andrews--which is why we ended up with Pastor McClellan, who could have called Isaiah a personal friend, too. So being a Presbyterian was now a disaster. Especially on Wednesday afternoons when, at 1:45 sharp, half of my class went to Hebrew School at Temple Beth-El, and, at 1:55, the other half went to Catechism at Saint Adelberts. This left behind just the Presbyterians--of which there had been three, and now there was one. Me. I think Mrs. Baker suspected this when she came to my name on the class roll. Her voice got kind of crackly, like there was a secret code in the static underneath it. "Holling Hoodhood," she said. "Here." I raised my hand. "Hoodhood." "Yes." Mrs. Baker sat on the edge of her desk. This should have sent me some kind of message, since teacherss areeeent supposed to sit on the edge of their desks on the first day of classes. Theres a rule about that. "Hoodhood," she said quietly. She thought for a moment. "Does your family attend Temple Beth-El?" she said. I shook my head. "Saint Adelberts, then?" She asked this kind of hopefully. I shook my head again. "So on Wednesday afternoon you attend neither Hebrew School nor Catechism." I nodded. "You are here with me." "I guess," I said. Mrs. Baker looked hard at me. I think she rolled her eyes. "Since the mutilation of "to guess" into an intransitive verb is a crime against the language, perhaps you might wish a full sentence to avoid prosecution---something such as, I guess that Wednesday afternoons will be busy after all." Thats when I knew that she hated me. This look came over her face like the sun had winked out and was not going to shine again until June. And probably thats the same look that came over my face, since I felt the way you feel just before you throw up--cold and sweaty at the same time, and your stomachs doing things that stomachs arent supposed to do, and youre wishing--youre really wishing--that the ham and cheese and broccoli omelet that your mother made for you for the first day of school had been Cheerios, like you really wanted, because they come up a whole lot easier, and not yellow. If Mrs. Baker was feeling like she was going to throw up too, she didnt show it. She looked down at the class roll. "Mai Thi Huong," she called. She looked up to find Mai This raised hand, and nodded. But before she looked down, Mrs. Baker looked at me again, and this time her eyes really did roll. Then she looked down again at the roll. "Daniel Hupfer," she called, and she looked up to find Dannys raised hand, and then she turned to look at me again. "Meryl Lee Kowalski," she called. She found Meryl Lees hand, and looked at me again. She did this every time she looked up to find somebodys hand. She was watching me because she hated my guts. I walked back to the Perfect House slowly that afternoon. I could always tell when I got there without looking up, because the sidewalk changed. Suddenly, all the cement squares were perfectly white, and none of them had a single crack. Not one. This was also true of the cement squares of the walkway leading up to the Perfect House, which were bordered by perfectly matching azalea bushes, all the same height, alternating between pink and white blossoms. The cement squares and azaleas stopped at the perfect stoop--three steps, like every other stoop on the block--and then youre up to the two-story colonial, with two windows on each side, and two dormers on the second floor. It was like every other house on the block, except neater, because my father had it painted perfectly white every other year, except for the fake aluminum shutters, which were painted black, and the aluminum screen door, which gleamed dully and never, ever squeaked when you opened it. Inside, I dropped my books on the stairs. "Mom," I called. I thought about getting something to eat. A Twinkie, maybe. Then chocolate milk that had more chocolate than milk. And then another Twinkie. After all that sugar, I figured Id be able to come up with something on how to live with Mrs. Baker for nine months. Either that or I wouldnt care anymore. "Mom," I called again. I walked past the Perfect Living Room, where no one ever sat because all the seat cushions were covered in stiff, clear plastic. You could walk in there and think that everything was for sale, it was so perfect. The carpet looked like it had never been walked on--which it almost hadnt--and the baby grand by the window looked like it had never been played--which it hadnt, since none of us could. But if anyone had ever walked in and plinked a key or sniffed the artificial tropical flowers or straightened a tie in the gleaming mirror, they sure would have been impressed at the perfect life of an architect from Hoodhood and Associates. My mother was in the kitchen, fanning air out the open window and putting out a cigarette, because I wasnt supposed to know that she smoked, and if I did know, I wasnt supposed to say anything, and I really wasnt supposed to tell my father. And thats when it came to me, even before the Twinkie. I needed to have an ally in the war against Mrs. Baker. "How was your first day?" my mother said. "Mom," I said, "Mrs. Baker hates my guts." "Mrs. Baker doesnt hate your guts." She stopped fanning and closed the window. "Yes, she does." "Mrs. Baker hardly knows you." "Mom, its not like you have to know someone well to hate their guts. You dont sit around and have a long conversation and then decide whether or not to hate their guts. You just do. And she does." "Im sure that Mrs. Baker is a fine person, and she certainly does not hate your guts." How do parents get to Details ISBN054723760X Author Gary D. Schmidt Pages 264 Language English ISBN-10 054723760X ISBN-13 9780547237602 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Year 2009 Publication Date 2009-05-31 Short Title WEDNESDAY WARS Imprint Clarion Books Place of Publication Boston Country of Publication United States Residence Alto, MI, US Affiliation Calvin College Publisher Houghton Mifflin Audience Age 10-12 Audience Children/Juvenile UK Release Date 2009-05-18 Imprint US Clarion Books Publisher US HarperCollins We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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