In his dreams, Sam Miracle is a gunslinger in the Wild West, tracking down his sister’s kidnappers. In his dreams he’s a hero, or a failure, depending on who you ask. In his dreams he dies every time.

But Sam’s about to realize that reality isn’t what he thought, and his dreams aren’t dreams at all.

They’re memories. Memories of countless past lives, all of which have been turned back by a time traveler’s clock…

Outlaws of Time by N.D. Wilson

Doc Holliday. The Tinman. Rattles.

The Wild West is full of fearsome outlaws, enforcing their will through ruthlessness and gunpowder. But none comes close to El Buitre, the Vulture, an outlaw with a dangerous power—the ability to bend time to his will. Faster than any other man, able to repeat events endlessly till he achieves perfect results, El Buitre is seemingly unstoppable.

But one day, in the dusty streets of San Francisco, a young boy will shoot him down. A boy named Samuel Miracle.

So naturally, El Buitre sends his goons through time to kill the Miracle boy first.

The only problem?

Samuel Miracle won’t stay dead.

Father Tiempo is a time-travelling priest who refuses to let El Buitre win. He’ll keep reversing Sam’s deaths until Sam can kill El Buitre, or El Buitre finishes them both off once and for all.

From dusty train stations in Arizona to post-apocalyptic Seattle, Sam’s journey will transform him from a scared kid to a selfless hero.

Fast-paced and incredibly creative, Outlaws of Time is one of the most memorable series from my childhood, and it’s still a series I love to read again and again.

A couple of quick caveats:

The series is sold as a trilogy, but the main story wraps up in book two and book three feels more like a spin-off book following different characters in the same story world. And frankly, the third book isn’t that good. If you loved the first two it’s worth giving a read, but don’t go in with high expectations.

Also, since reading N.D. Wilson’s books I’ve learned that the Wilson family is somewhat controversial. I love N.D. Wilson’s novels, but my endorsement of them does not mean I endorse all the views of the Wilson family.

Core Themes:

N.D. Wilson’s books are not for the faint of heart.

El Buitre is quite a ruthless villain, and some of the monsters in his cohort are pretty creepy. Sam The hero of this story, Sam Miracle, isn’t exactly harmless either.

Halfway through the first book, Sam is equipped with a secret weapon that is both awesome and a little bit horrifying. Manuelito, the Navajo healer who gives him this weapon, points out to Sam that every hero “needs to be part nightmare”.

“Moses turned a river to blood and called down the Angel of Death. Samson tore a lion open with his bare hands and killed hundreds with a donkey bone. When the world was young, my father Naayee Neizghani bound lightning to an arrow and crawled deep into the dark caves below our feet to kill the Horned Monster alone. He was the greater nightmare…”

“If you are fire,” Manuelito says, “you need not fear the dark.”

That’s N.D. Wilson’s vision in Outlaws of Time: of living with such selfless, courageous heroism that the forces of darkness in the world tremble.

When I think of heroism, I tend to think of compassion, mercy, and sacrificial love. I tend to think of setting aside personal safety and suffering harm for the sake of others.

And all those elements are here on display in Outlaws of Time. Sam is motivated by selfless love for others and struggles to know how to live that well (especially when it comes to making decisions between saving loved ones and saving all humanity).

But this series gives a more holistic view of heroism than just looking at compassion and mercy. This series also addresses the fact that protecting the oppressed sometimes means standing up to evil and fighting for justice.

True heroism should strike fear into servants of evil.

But why put these themes into kid’s books? Surely books about facing darkness and sacrificial heroism can wait till they’re older?

I believe that ages ten to fourteen are some of our most formative years. That’s the time of life when we decide what sort of people we want to be and shape our views of what courage and heroism looks like.

And I know that growing up on books like these was incredibly formative for me.

Sure, I’ve never had to face time-walking villains bent on world dominance. But I have had to stand firm in my convictions in the face of opposition. I have had to know how to love well in a world full of hate. And books like Outlaws of Time have equipped me well for these moments.

As C.S. Lewis aptly puts it, “Since it is so likely that children will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise, you are making their destiny not brighter but darker.”

Content Warnings:

Death/Violence:

• These books lean heavily into Wild West tropes, complete with intense gunfights and high body counts. However, many deaths aren’t permanent, since time travelers can repeatedly reverse events, and the violence is not graphically described.

• El Buitre threatens to cut out Sam’s heart, since this is the only way to kill him permanently.

Dark Magic/Spiritual elements:

• It is implied that El Buitre obtained his time-traveling powers through dark magic associated with Aztec gods.

• In book two, two disturbing beings from Aztec mythology are introduced who have the power to travel through people’s dreams. Wilson doesn’t go into much detail about them, but they are alternately referred to as “monsters” and “demons.”

• In book three, there is a scene set during the historical conflict between the Mexica and the Spanish that includes brief imagery of Aztec ritual sacrifice.

• In book two, El Buitre raises up an army of “skin-walkers”: people who can shapeshift into disturbing half-human, half-animal creatures.

Christian/Biblical Elements:

• One of the central characters is a priest who has been given the ability to travel through time in order to accomplish God’s will.

• The books contain numerous Biblical references (many of which are quite subtle).

• In book two, the Angel of Death appears several times as a side character in the form of a young boy named Ghost.

Recommended for:

Ages ten and up, especially for kids who love fast-paced fantasy or sci-fi stories and can handle some intensity.

These books are weird at times, scary at others. But every kid I’ve known who’s read them has loved them, and I’ve seen these books give young readers greater boldness to face the darkness of our world with the light.

As N.D. Wilson puts it in his nonfiction book Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl:

“Do not fear the shadowy places. You will never be the first one there. Another went ahead and down until He came out the other side.”

Stranded in the desert after a plane crash, a pilot meets a mysterious child who asks him to draw a sheep… and then quietly begins to undo everything the pilot thinks he knows about adulthood, love, and what truly matters.

The Little Prince (or Le Petit Prince) by Antoine De Saint-Exupéry

I first read this book three years ago and was deeply moved. Rereading it this week, I was struck not only by its beauty, but also by how unusual the story actually is.

The story follows a child from a tiny planet who travels through space, meeting solitary adults on their own planets before he finally arrives on Earth, where he speaks with roses, tames a fox, and befriends a stranded pilot.

Despite its strangeness, I think it’s a valuable book, because of how it asks meaningful questions that challenge its readers to think more deeply and see the world with more attentiveness.

Core Themes:

The Little Prince explores what happens when a child, untouched by adult cynicism, confronts a grown man with questions about love, responsibility, and loneliness. Through simple encounters and gentle language, the book exposes how easily adults trade relationships for routines, wonder for usefulness, and meaning for efficiency.

A central idea of the story is that love creates responsibility, and that to care for something is to be changed by it. The book speaks movingly about devotion, sacrifice, and the ache of loving something fragile.

At the same time, The Little Prince leaves some of its deepest questions unresolved. Its ending, in particular, can feel unsettling because it frames loss and death as gentle and almost desirable. There’s a hint at hope for life and restoration beyond death, but ultimately, the book’s conclusions on life and death feel ambiguous and up to interpretation.

Because of this, The Little Prince works best as a conversation book, not a worldview-forming one. It invites reflection more than conclusions, asking readers to sit with beauty, sadness, and longing without tying everything up neatly.

That may be why it affected me so deeply. The book takes childhood seriously, not as something silly or naïve, but as a posture of attentiveness and love that the world slowly erodes.

Content Notes:

• The prince mentions flowers and sheep existing for “millions of years,” which clashes with the young-Earth worldview many Christians (including myself) hold to.

• The prince briefly meets a drunkard who drinks to forget his shame.

• Adults are often shown as foolish, overly focused on business, and missing the wonder around them.

• [Spoilers] At the end, a character allows a venomous snake to bite him so he can “return to his home planet.” Both the character and the narrator insist this is not death, and his body is gone the following morning.

Recommended for:

Readers ages 8+. Parents may want to read along with kids under 11 and talk through the themes together.

Despite how strange it is at times, The Little Prince has stayed with me because of one simple truth:

“What is essential is invisible to the eye.”

Or as another great writer put it:

“The things that are seen are temporary, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” (2 Cor 4:18)

Now he lives in a small apartment in Oklahoma with an abusive step-dad and a mom who has to work tirelessly to support the family. Now he’s known as Daniel. Now he’s teased and bullied and feels out of place.

But he’s not just a refugee kid from the other side of the world. He’s a person just like you and I. He has a story to tell, if only you will choose to listen.

Everything Sad is Untrue by Daniel Nayeri

“For my class project, I would like to present the 1,001 Nights, which will unconfuse you about some very important things.”

Once upon a time, there was a ruthless king who, every morning, killed his bride and remarried. That is, until he married Scheherazade, a brilliant storyteller who wove story into story, always leaving one unfinished so the king would spare her to hear what happened next.

Patterned after the 1,001 Nights, Everything Sad is Untrue is told non-linearly, weaving together countless threads of memory and mythology and family history into a patchwork Persian rug. And like Scheherazade, Daniel Nayeri never gives us the ending of one story until he’s captured our attention with another.

You, reader, can choose to listen, or you can put this book back on the shelf and silence him.

But be warned. If you choose to read this book, it may make you cry. And it may just become your new favorite book.

Core Themes:

Everything Sad is Untrue is a true story.

But what is “true,” really?

Repeatedly throughout this book, Khosrou speaks about myths and memories, about truths and untruths. And repeatedly he asks, “What is most deeply true about a person?”

Is it your memories? (But what happens when those are faulty?)

Is it your history and culture? (But what happens when these are ripped away and you’re transplanted in an unfamiliar continent?)

Is it what you eat, or what you poop?

Or is it “everything sad” in your life?

The people you trusted, who betrayed you? The uncertainty of who you really are? The times you hoped for something only to have it snatched away?

While reading Everything Sad is Untrue recently, my mom took to calling it simply “Everything is Sad”. Because it is a very sad book. The book touches on all sorts of heavy topics: racism, abuse, persecution for faith, and more.

But Daniel Nayeri doesn’t leave the reader there.

Ultimately, he argues, the sad things are not most deeply true. There’s something more, something beyond the suffering. And that’s what this book is all about, about understanding the cost of joy, and about the hope that can look beyond the “rivers of blood” to the beauty on the other side.

“Hope. The anticipation that the God who listens in love will one day speak justice. The hope that some final fantasy will come to pass that will make everything sad untrue. Unpainful.”

One of the things I love most about this book is the perspective Daniel Nayeri takes. Writing from the viewpoint of his twelve-year-old self, Khosrou doesn’t have all the answers to everything. He asks a lot of big questions about God and faith and Islam and Christianity, but he never preaches or tries to convince us of his beliefs.

Instead, he shows us his mom, Sima Nayeri. Shows us her unstoppable faith in the face of persecution. Shows us how she modelled the love of Christ, laying down her own safety every day to protect her children from her husband’s abuse.

She’s the hero of this book. Every time I read Everything Sad is Untrue, she helps me see (and love) Christ more.

This book was not written for a Christian audience (and it is beloved by readers of many different worldviews), but faith is integral to the message of this book.

Because, as Khosrou puts it, “What you believe about the future will change how you live in the present.”

Content Notes:

Everything Sad is Untrue is “not beholden to Western modes of storytelling”. That goes for the way it’s told, but also for the sort of content he’s willing to address. Unlike traditional Western stories, it’s not cleaned up of all potentially objectionable content just because it’s written for kids. Daniel Nayeri is honest and specific about the hard things in his life. Because of this, I recommend previewing this book before handing it to your kid.

This is not an exhaustive list, but potentially objectionable content includes:

• Frequent depictions of injuries (often resulting from bullying), including several vividly described scenes involving blood.

• Animal death and slaughter (including a hunting scene and the slaughter of a bull.)

• Racism and ethnic prejudice

• Persecution and implied torture

• Khosrou’s step-dad is physically abusive.

• References to adultery. Brief reference to Khosrou’s step-dad watching R-rated movies containing nudity.

• The book shows a lot of different types of “Christians” (some who live out genuine Christ-like love; others who are manipulative, racist, or otherwise disgenuine in their faith).

• A couple of “poop stories” (stories of bathroom mishaps related to differences in American and Persian toilets) as well as occasional comments about poop and butts.

• Infrequent mild language

Recommended for:

Kids ages 12 and up (especially those ready for a heavier read). I also highly recommend this book to adult readers. While this book was published as a children’s book, I think adults may benefit from it even more than younger readers.

So grab a box of tissues, brew a mug of Cardamom tea, and settle back for a journey to Persia and Oklahoma and the land beyond the rivers of blood, where everything sad will finally come untrue.

Everything Sad is Untrue is a difficult book, but a deeply hopeful one. And that’s why I think it is so worth reading.

But the Igibys live under the rule of a nameless evil (named Gnag) from across the Dark Sea of Darkness. When an unfortunate encounter draws the attention of Gnag’s monstrous minions to the Igiby family, Janner’s task of protecting his siblings becomes much more difficult than he ever expected.

Little does Janner know, the Igiby children are not just random victims. Gnag has been searching for them for years… and now he has finally found them.

The Wingfeather Saga by Andrew Peterson

The Wingfeather Saga begins as a crazy adventure full of wacky names and strange creatures, but as the story unfolds, the silliness gives way to something much deeper: a story about grief, sacrifice, courage, and the choice to love even when love hurts.

Written by singer-songwriter Andrew Peterson, the books are artistically rich on multiple levels, filled with quirky artwork and creative poetry, and featuring artist-warriors who use words and song to battle their foes.

I would argue that The Wingfeather Saga is perhaps the most wholesome and kid-friendly fantasy series I’ve come across since The Chronicles of Narnia.

Core Themes (Minor spoilers ahead):

Janner Igiby and his siblings discover that they are secretly royal heirs to the lost kingdom of Anniera. Unlike most kingdoms, the Annieran crown passes to the second-born child, while the eldest becomes the “Throne Warden,” sworn to protect the ruler with their life.

At first, Janner is relieved that he won’t have to be king. But over time, he discovers that protecting someone you love can be just as difficult as leading them.

As the series unfolds, the Igiby siblings each face darkness in different ways. They wrestle with fear, temptation, grief, jealousy, and the question of what it means to remain faithful when the people you love make painful choices.

Despite being framed as a thrilling (and often delightfully quirky) fantasy adventure, The Wingfeather Saga is ultimately a story about sacrificial love. It’s about brothers who refuse to give up on each other, a family that remains loyal through unimaginable hardship, and the hope that even deep brokenness is not beyond redemption. Along the way, Peterson explores courage, community, beauty in suffering, and the cost of choosing love over fear.

Content Notes:

• Fantasy peril and frequent threat of death.

• Mild fantasy violence (swordfights, battles, etc.), never described graphically.

• Child labour/slavery (a minor subplot involves children forced to work in a weapon factory.)

• Monsters and some scary imagery.

• Dark magic (including the creation of human-animal hybrid monsters; not described in detail).

• Occasional gross humour (references to candles made of “snotwax,” etc.)

Recommended for:

Kids ages 8 and up. Older kids will likely enjoy this series a lot as well.

As a kid, The Wingfeather Saga made me want to be a Throne Warden, someone who would protect my younger siblings. As I’ve grown, I’ve realized that calling extends beyond siblings. I still want to be a Throne Warden to anyone entrusted to my care.

My hope is that it will inspire a new generation of readers to become protectors too.

May it one day be said of them, and of us, as it was said of one great Throne Warden:

“He never left his brother’s side. He loved him to the end.”

Aunt Lula has generously loaned Badger the use of her brownstone row house for his Important Rock Work. He is on the precipice of an Important Rock Discovery…

And then Skunk arrives.

Skunk, who disturbs the peace with box-flattening, rocket potatoes, and chicken whistles. Badger’s going to have to learn to live with his new roommate—or find a way to get rid of him.

Skunk & Badger by Amy Timberlake

Skunk & Badger is a simple but charming story. It’s packed with quirky and delightful details: scientific facts about rocks and minerals, mouthwatering descriptions of Skunk’s cooking, and a lot of chickens.

Illustrated by my favorite artist, Jon Klassen, the book includes several full-page full-colour illustrations as well as many lovely black and white sketches.

Best of all, Skunk & Badger is suitable for all ages.

Core Themes:

As you probably guessed, Skunk & Badger is a story about two opposite personalities learning to get along and realizing just how much they can learn from each other.

While this isn’t a new message, it is a timeless one, and it’s valuable for kids to be thinking about from a young age.

Ultimately, this book is not just about judging a book by its cover (or a skunk by his stripes), though that is part of it. This story is about how to move forward from relationships where you have hurt one another. It’s about reconciliation, loyalty, and forgiveness.

And along the way, the book touches on a host of related themes. For instance, the book explores the balance of work and relationships (and what their role ought to be to one another). And halfway through the story, there’s a scene where the characters discuss Henry V by William Shakespeare and the idea that gentleness is more powerful than cruelty.

Content Notes:

None.

Recommended for:

All ages, but especially kids aged 7-10. Also chickens. Highly recommended for chickens.

Today’s question is:

Should adults read children’s books? And if so, why?

My answer is yes. (Surprise surprise.)

As C.S. Lewis put it, “A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.”

I think he was right.

Here’s why.

1. Great stories are never just for a specific age group.

Look at books like Narnia, Anne of Green Gables, Alice in Wonderland, and The Hobbit. While these books are all technically “children’s books”, they’re enjoyed by countless readers of all ages every year.

That’s because great stories are great stories. Period. No matter the age of the target audience.

2. They help us understand and love kids better.

We all have kids in our lives. And we all can benefit from being reminded what the world feels like when you’re ten.

One of the best ways to empathize with the kids around us is to read a well-written children’s story and spend some time in their shoes.

3. They give you common ground.

If you’ve read the books kids around you are reading, conversations become easier and richer. This is a great way to deepen the relationships with the kids in your life.

4. Children’s books tend to preserve hope and wonder.

We live in a day and age where growing up seems to be synonymous with growing more cynical. Many stories for adults assume that maturity means abandoning wonder, hope, or the possibility of redemption.

Children’s books often resist this tendency. The best of them don’t shy away from death, pain, loss, or injustice, but they also refuse to believe that those things get the final word. Even in their darkest moments, they leave room for courage, beauty, friendship, and hope.

That’s something readers of every age need.

If I had to name the three most impactful books I’ve encountered as an adult, two of them would be children’s books, A Monster Calls and Everything Sad Is Untrue.

In my experience, “growing up” hasn’t made the best children’s books any less powerful.

A note on balance:

I do not think adults should read children’s books exclusively.

I’m a big advocate for reading broadly and with balance. While I do read far more children’s books than most adults, they still only make up about a quarter of what I read. But they’re such a valuable portion of my reading.

If you’re looking for an example of someone who takes children’s literature seriously as an adult reader, I’d love to introduce you to my favourite Substack, "A Seat by the Fire" by Karissa Chmil.

In each post, Karissa explores a topic or idea raised by a book she’s read.

Sometimes these are books written for adults, like The Silmarillion or Till We Have Faces.

But just as often, she discusses children’s books, books like Redwall, A Bridge to Terabithia, and Little Women. This is one of my favourite of her posts, and it’s as good a place to start reading as any:

A Seat by the Fire

The Wisdom of Winnie the Pooh

It’s nearly eleven pm as I type this, and a cup of tea is keeping me company as I try to write. I am, alas, a night owl by habit but not by nature, and I have no profound thoughts begging to be written at this time of night…

Read more

2 years ago · 27 likes · 12 comments · Karissa Chmil

Do you still read children’s books? Why or why not?

Let me know in the comments if you have any thoughts to add to this discussion!

And stay tuned for the next book recommendation, coming in two weeks!

Ever since his mother’s health started failing, Conor has had a recurring nightmare. A nightmare with wind and darkness and a monster.

Then one night, just after midnight, a monster arrives at his window. But it’s not the one from his nightmare. It’s a beast as ancient and wild as the earth itself, and it has come to tell Conor O’Malley three stories.

“And then,” says the monster, “you will tell me a fourth. And it will be the truth.”

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness (inspired by Siobhan Dowd)

I’ve read A Monster Calls more times than I can count, and it still leaves me deeply moved every time. In many ways, it’s the book that inspired this Substack, because the idea of stories helping prepare kids for the world’s hardships is so central to this novel.

Conor O’Malley’s story is told with a rare restraint: spare, efficient prose that makes every word count, paired with Jim Kay’s dark, evocative illustrations. I’m convinced it will stand as a classic of children’s literature.

Core Themes:

This is a story about grief, but also about the power of stories to prepare us for a broken world.

What sets A Monster Calls apart from many books about loss is that it isn’t focused on grief after death. Instead, it dwells in the uncertainty, fear, and pain that come before, exploring the quiet unravelling that accompanies impending loss.

In that way, the novel mirrors the stories the monster tells Conor; layered, morally complex, and resistant to easy lessons. Rather than offering comfort through tidy answers, it invites readers into a deeper, more honest understanding of suffering.

Since first reading this book, I’ve carried a greater empathy for those who are grieving. A Monster Calls sharpened my awareness of suffering around me and shaped my desire to be someone who listens well and offers comfort rather than explanations.

That may seem like a heavy burden to place on a child, but I think it’s one they’ll ultimately be grateful for. I’m definitely glad that I was invited to process grief and death through stories like this one before encountering them firsthand.

Content Notes:

A Monster Calls does not offer tidy, black-and-white moral lessons, but instead explores grief in all its emotional messiness.

As Conor processes his fear and anger, he sometimes acts in destructive or hurtful ways, and the adults around him, trying to respond with compassion, do not always correct him. At one point, his mother tells him, “If you need to break things, then break them good and hard,” not as a moral endorsement, but as an expression of how overwhelming grief can be.

Rather than passing judgment on these moments, the book invites readers to understand how out of control loss can feel when someone you love is slipping away.

Additional content notes include:

• Brief references to characters sleeping together outside marriage (within one of the monster’s stories)

• A witch portrayed neutrally and a selfish pastor portrayed as a villain (also within a story)

• one use each of “dammit” and “arse,” two uses of “hell,” and five uses of “God” as an exclamation

Recommended for:

Readers ages 10+, especially kids ready for a serious, emotionally heavy story. This works especially well as a read-aloud, thanks to Patrick Ness’s concise storytelling style.

The movie version is also very well done, but I don’t recommend watching it until after reading the book, as it omits some details that are crucial to understanding Conor’s internal struggle.

It was a warm evening in May.

Near the Threarah’s warren, a blackbird sang tranquilly. Dandelions bobbed in patchy grass. Rabbits dotted the hillside, feeding in peace.

There was no sign of elil, the thousand enemies of rabbitkind. No sign of danger at all.

But Hazel’s runt brother Fiver has an inexplicable feeling of doom, and Fiver’s premonitions have been known to come true.

“I can feel the danger like a wire around my neck—like a wire—!”

What could it mean? And what is Hazel to do about it? No other rabbits will believe the babbling of a half-crazed runt.

By the gate outside the meadow, a sign stands creaking in the wind, written in human letters, unreadable to rabbit eyes:

“This ideally situated estate, comprising six acres of excellent building land, is to be developed with high-class modern residences by Sutch & Martin, Ltd, or Newbury, Berks.”

Watership Down by Richard Adams

“Books aren’t fun when you’re assigned them for school.” — one of my catechism students

Back in grade school, I shared that sentiment. That is, until I was assigned to read Watership Down.

A five-hundred-page tome written back in the 1900s? It sounded boring.

And talking rabbits? That wasn’t really my thing.

It took me a bit to warm up to the writing style and slower-paced plot, but once I did, I fell head over heels for this extraordinary story.

Unlike most talking animal books, these rabbits don’t wear clothes or use their hands like paws. In fact, aside from their ability to talk, they act and reason like real rabbits would.

Despite this, there is still something familiar about each of these characters.

Hazel, the struggling leader. Bigwig, the brash but loyal warrior. Fiver, the prophet doomed to deliver ill omens to those who refuse to hear. There are echoes of countless older stories within this story, lending it a rich, mythic tone.

Core Themes

Most strongly, Watership Down reminds me of Pilgrim’s Progress, Homer’s The Odyssey, and the Biblical story of the exodus.

This is because this story, like each of those, follows a band of travellers who set out from the comforts of a “City of Destruction” in an act of blind faith, crossing dangerous terrain in search of a lasting home where they and their children after them can prosper. Like the heroes of these stories of old, Hazel and his band of travellers face frequent trials and temptations to turn aside from their goal.

But the story doesn’t end with them reaching their “promised land”. From there, the reader follows the rabbits’ epic struggle to establish a healthy warren—and protect it from a vicious new threat unlike anything they’ve ever faced before.

Watership Down is a tale of perseverance, of looking past present trials to the future hope of a true and lasting home.

What I find fascinating is how the rabbits choose to inspire perseverance.

They do so through stories. Stories of the legendary rabbit hero El-ahrairah, full of courage and trickery. Stories that fix the rabbits’ eyes on their shared goal of a home for themselves and their children.

This is the power of good storytelling, and it’s why I’m so passionate about sharing well-told stories with your kids. And I don’t mean just blindly handing books to your kids. I mean actually reading alongside them and discussing the story with them as you go.

If you want to read a book alongside your kid, Watership Down is a great place to start.

Content Notes:

• Frequent peril and death

• Blood/injury descriptions

• Violence between animals

• Oppression/authoritarian control

• References to mating. The mythical rabbit hero El-ahrairah is said to have many wives.

• The ability to trick and deceive enemies is a valued quality among rabbits

• According to rabbit folklore, the world was created by the sun, who they call Frith

Recommended For:

Kids ages 10+ (unless they’re reading with an adult).

Watership Down was first conceived as a story for Richard Adams to tell to his daughters in the car. His girls contributed pieces here and there, and together they created an epic saga of rabbits fighting for their home.

After I first read it, I recommended it to my dad. He didn’t read often those days, so it meant a lot to me that he took the time to read it. Not surprisingly, he loved it just as much as I do.

That’s because Watership Down isn’t just a children’s story. It’s a story for anyone who’s on their own journey of looking for a true and lasting home.

And it’s a story that’s best shared.

“Ship ashore before morn.”

In a quiet Dorset fishing village, dark secrets lie just beneath the surface. As a storm drives a ship toward ruin in the bay, young John Trenchard discovers a crack in the ground of the old church cemetery, and with it, a world of smugglers, treachery, and hidden treasure.

Moonfleet by J. Meade Falkner

In my mom’s home growing up, the running joke was that her dad (my opa) was always telling her and her sisters they should read Moonfleet. They assumed it must be a dry, boring book and always avoided it.

Until they were married and moved out and someone actually tried it. It turned out that Moonfleet wasn’t dry or boring at all. In fact, it was just the opposite.

From daring shipwrecks to tense manhunts, the story overflows with suspense, danger, and drama. Falkner’s dramatic storytelling brings Dorset’s moonlit beaches, shadowy caves, and storm-lashed nights vividly to life. Because the book was published in 1898, its language can be more challenging, but it’s by no means slow-paced.

I loved it as a kid, and I think other adventurous readers will too.

Core Themes:

John Trenchard’s journey is as much about moral growth as it is about treasure. Facing stormy seas, shadowy smugglers, and the lure of a priceless diamond, he wrestles with temptation, fear, and guilt at every turn.

The story shows the sharp consequences of greed, contrasted with the quiet rewards of generosity, honesty, and selflessness. In particular, there is a beautiful moment of true sacrificial love in the ending that stuck with me for a long time after reading the book. This is a book that will entertain, enrich, and challenge your child.

Content Notes:

• Smuggling is central to the plot and is portrayed as normal (and even somewhat acceptable) for that place and time.

• Characters drink alcohol, never to the point of drunkenness

• Mild violence: a few characters die, but nothing is graphically described.

• Peril and suspense: shipwrecks, manhunts, and tense chases create moments of intensity. There are some eerie scenes involving a graveyard.

• Religion: It’s set in an era when Christianity was cultural. Faith and Scripture are both discussed frequently throughout the book.

• Historical context: occasional references to slavery and outdated racial language or stereotypes reflective of the era.

• Old-fashioned swears and expressions, e.g., “by the devil.”

Recommended for:

Readers ages 10+ who enjoy a good adventure and don’t mind an older, more poetic writing style. Moonfleet rewards patience with rich settings and timeless themes.

Thus begins the woeful tale of the Baudelaire orphans, three charming siblings who are magnets for misfortune.

After receiving dreadful news one day on the beach, the children fall into the clutches of a horrible villain bent on stealing their fortune, and must use all their ingenuity to escape his schemes.

A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket

Impact is a hard thing to measure, but I’d venture to say that no author has shaped me more than Lemony Snicket (which is ironic, considering he’s not even a real person.)

Growing up, this thirteen-book series shaped my personality in some big ways.

It’s where my love of the classics began, thanks to its parody of Gothic fiction and its endless literary references.

It helped form my convictions about whether the ends justify the means, pushed me away from trying to be “cool,” and instead stirred a desire to live for justice and virtue.

Perhaps most importantly, it taught me empathy for people living under the weight of a broken world.

Despite the heaviness of the subject matter, each of the thirteen books is a fast, entertaining read, full of humour, action, and mystery. The series is subtly educational too, as Snicket regularly pauses to define words and unpack literary references in ways that are playful and accessible for kids.

The first four books can feel a bit repetitive, but don’t let that put you off. From book five onward, the series grows increasingly complex and compelling, and that early repetition pays off by setting up some excellent twists later on. Books twelve and thirteen are among my favourite Middle-Grade novels ever written.

Core Themes:

Many of the books in A Series of Unfortunate Events serve as satirical critiques of Western society: trends and fashion, the justice system, media, and modern entertainment. But beneath the satire, the series grapples with surprisingly weighty themes.

At its core, this is a story about grief: grief in the face of death, grief over lost childhood innocence, and grief at the wicked way of the world. Amid the humour and zany peril, Snicket returns again and again to the truth that our world isn’t how it should be. It’s broken.

And yet, even in a world crowded with self-seeking people, truth and goodness endure. Though few and far between, noble people still exist, willing to seek justice even when it costs them.

What makes the series especially powerful is its honesty about moral complexity.

Early on, the lines seem clear: Olaf is evil, the Baudelaires are good. But as the story unfolds, Snicket peels back those assumptions. Even the most heroic characters are capable of wrongdoing, and even the most wicked villains were once as well-intentioned as the Baudelaires themselves.

This never excuses evil, but it allows the series to wrestle seriously with questions like, “Where is the line between good and evil?” and “Do the ends ever justify the means?”

The series doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does invite young readers to think deeply about the world and their place within it.

Content Notes:

• Ongoing peril toward children, including threats involving poison, hypnosis, dangerous animals, and physical harm

• Non-graphic depictions of violence and death involving adults

• Characters engage in lying and criminal behavior, often under coercion, and wrestle with the moral consequences

• Sideshow/carnival imagery involving people with physical deformities

• Portrayals of morally broken adult relationships (not presented as good or admirable)

• An evil guardian attempts to manipulate his underage foster daughter into marriage

• An odd, non-sexual scene involving a woman wearing a makeshift “bikini” (described vaguely and played for absurdity)

• In a list of absurd possibilities, it’s mentioned that a female character could become your “mother, aunt, wife, or even husband.”

• One minor character is described as the “person of indeterminate gender” (no suggestion of being transgender, just that the gender is unclear)

• God’s name is taken in vain a couple of times across the series

Recommended for:

Readers aged 8+. For readers under 10, I recommend that an adult read along with them to help them think through what’s going on in the story.

Be warned, though, Lemony Snicket doesn’t tie everything up neatly in the ending. We live in a complex and messy world, and his books reflect that (in a kid-appropriate manner).

“If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book.” — Lemony Snicket

With all due respect,

Joseph Brink

This is what Selena Lucy Landry is told when she comes to live with the large Martin family on a tiny island in Lake Superior.

“We have inspectors and visitors who come to our lighthouse, and we must always be ready for them.”

But shipshape has never exactly been Lucy’s style.

Between her runaway imagination, her “allergy to water”, and her obsessive quest to find a priceless necklace from a shipwreck, Lucy soon accidentally stirs up all sorts of trouble for her new family.

And then the lighthouse inspector comes…

The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry by Anna Rose Johnson

I’ve always loved lighthouses, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. There’s something so charming about these watchful towers, especially when they’re on an island, cut off from the rest of the world by the wild, frothing sea.

Set in 1912, The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry offers a fascinating glimpse into the world of lighthouse keepers on Lake Superior. Anna Rose Johnson’s attention to historical accuracy shines through in her descriptions of lighthouse life, as well as her portrayal of the French-Ojibwe experience at that time, drawn from the author’s own Ojibwe/Anishinaabe background.

Core Themes:

The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry is a story about belonging and family, as well as the responsibilities that come with being accepted into a home or community.

In her efforts to fit into the Martin family, Lucy attempts to help out in ways that, when paired with her wild imagination, often turn out disastrously. But even as she seeks to help (and make up for her failed attempts at helping), Lucy doesn’t truly understand the role of service and selflessness in family life.

“It takes courage to be a keeper. It takes not only intelligence but bravery, and the soul of a lifesaver,” Mrs. Martin says to Lucy, halfway through the book. “You have to value other people above yourself if you want to live at a lighthouse.”

Lucy finds this idea baffling.

Value other people above yourself? But if you don’t look out for yourself, who will?

As the story goes on, Lucy begins to learn you can’t earn acceptance through things like helping out with chores. In fact, you can’t earn it at all. It’s a gift, but like all the best things in life, it comes with responsibilities.

Real family life, Lucy learns, looks like being invested in one another’s lives and being willing to face your fears (and possibly even risk your life) for each other. It’s a bit like being crewmates on a ship, working together to stay on course and safely navigate treacherous waters.

Content Notes:

• Lucy frequently makes things up, however it’s unclear if she’s actually trying to deceive or just exercising her imagination.

• Church and the Bible are referenced a couple of times in a positive light.

Recommended for:

Readers ages 7-12, especially those drawn to quiet, heartwarming stories. Some readers may find the book’s wrap-up a trifle idealistic, but readers who enjoy happily-ever-afters will find a lot to love here.

If you enjoy The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry, I’m sure you’ll also love Anna Rose Johnson’s other novels, The Star That Always Stays and The Blossoming Summer. Each is set during the early 1900s and explores different aspects of life as Ojibwe kids in the Great Lakes area.

Then Steve has a dream. A dream where a strange, blurry being made of light offers to “fix” the baby. But she’ll need his help…

The Nest by Kenneth Oppel

This book was a lucky find.

I saw it in the library, noticed it was illustrated by Jon Klassen (one of my favourite artists), and picked it up for the artwork alone. The following evening, I proceeded to read it in a single sitting. The art is great, but the story is even better.

It’s hard to say a lot about it without giving spoilers, but I will warn you, The Nest is one of the strangest Middle-Grade novels I’ve read. It has been described as reading “like a fever dream,” and that’s not far off.

Core Themes:

In many regards, The Nest is a very basic story. It’s almost entirely contained to a single setting and sticks to a small cast of characters. But beneath the straightforward storyline and deceptively simple prose, it wrestles with big themes such as perfection vs imperfection, sacrificial courage, and familial love.

Like many kids today, Steve finds himself plagued by anxiety-related struggles. I really appreciate how Kenneth Oppel handles this aspect of the book; neither over-emphasizing nor simplifying these struggles, but looking realistically at how they would affect a kid in this situation.

Ultimately, though, the themes of anxiety, imperfection, and family are secondary to this book’s central question: What makes a life worth saving?

It’s a big question for a children’s book, but one that shapes how kids view vulnerability, disability, and the value of human life. This is the kind of story that quietly forms a child’s conscience rather than lecturing it.

Though written for kids, this is a book many adult readers find themselves thinking about long after. As author Maggie Stiefvater has observed, The Nest insists nothing is perfect, yet somehow manages to be just that.

Content Notes:

• Creepy/unsettling atmosphere

• Insect-related horror (wasps, swarms, stings)

• A dream sequence involving a child being impaled by a giant wasp stinger (non-graphic)

• Ongoing threat of death involving a baby

• A brief mention of a character not believing in God

Recommended for:

Readers ages 9+ who enjoy eerie, unsettling stories and can handle some intensity, particularly involving insects.

If you end up sharing The Nest with a young reader, I’d love to hear what they think of Steve’s choice in the story, and what they would have done in his shoes.

I’ll be sharing more powerful Middle-Grade stories soon!

My life was shaped by stories.

In The Lord of the Rings, I discovered the impact of quiet perseverance; in Anne of Green Gables, the beauty of the natural world; in Coraline, the shape of courage. Dickens illustrated the dangers of greed and the life-changing power of generosity, and Lemony Snicket taught me that the “end doesn’t justify the means” (and how difficult that is to live out.)

But to simplify any one of these books to a single takeaway is to strip them of their emotional weight. What makes each of these authors and stories so timeless is the way they wrestle honestly with the complexity of our world.

These stories don’t shy away from darkness, but they don’t forget the light either.

Compared to most people, I’ve lived a charmed life. I’ve never lost a parent or sibling. I’ve never suffered abuse. I’ve never faced major health challenges.

But I’ve still encountered the world’s darkness. I’ve wrestled with deep-rooted sins. I’ve lost friends. I’ve watched people I care about battle crippling anxiety.

Yet, no matter how dark the world got, I was never alone.

I had my family.

I had my faith.

And I had stories, stories that did not pretend the world was simple.

Stories that acknowledged fear, grief, betrayal, and doubt, yet still pointed through them toward beauty, courage, and hope.

I believe stories are one of the best ways to prepare kids for the real world.

But not all books do this well. Some avoid darkness altogether. Others acknowledge it but offer feel-good fixes that fall apart in real life.

Over the past five years, I’ve read nearly three hundred books for kids aged 9-13, searching for the stories that do it right, stories that face the world honestly while holding onto hope.

Equipping Kids Through Stories exists to share those books.

Each issue highlights one standout novel and explores:

• Key themes

• What kind of reader it’s best suited for

• Any potentially objectionable content

As C.S. Lewis said, “A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.”

With that in mind, every book I recommend is one I’ve benefited from as an adult (though many were childhood favourites too).

If you care about raising courageous readers in a complicated world, I hope you’ll join me, because good stories can do far more than simply entertain.

They can broaden our perspectives.

They can teach us courage.

And they can show us what it looks like to never surrender hope.

This biweekly Substack highlights meaningful Middle-Grade novels that don’t ignore darkness, but move through it toward courage, goodness, and hope.

Each issue explores key themes, ideal readers, and any potential objectionable content parents may want to know about.

Launching April 2.

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