When I was an adventurous middle grade reader I wound up in the adult SFF section of the library. Although this shaped my lifelong reading and writing habits it was probably not the best idea. Luckily, the precocious middle graders of today have more options. Including The Magical Imperfect by Chris Baron.

Set against the backdrop of the 1989 San Francisco earthquake and concurrent World Series this novel in verse follows young Etan, a Jewish boy with selective mutism, and his budding friendship with Malia a Filipino girl who is home schooled due to severe eczema. The fast paced plot is a moving yet easy to read introduction to poetry for young readers. Throw in a magical jar of clay rumored to be the remains of a Golem and you have a story that parents and middle graders can enjoy together.

I connected with this book on so many levels.

The Jew in me was drawn to the vivid descriptions of Shabbat dinners in which Etan’s grandfather gathers with old friends that immigrated to the U.S. with him on angel island. Not everyone sitting around the table was Jewish, but their shared experiences made them family nonetheless. This is the environment I strive to recreate at my own table, where all are welcome regardless of level of observance.

The allergy sufferer in me wanted to try and alleviate Malia’s eczema with the new medications currently on the market. Much the way Etan wants to use his magical clay to heal him. However, the story resists using magic as an easy “fix” for medical issues. Instead, they both learn that true healing comes from within and that physical illness should not hold Malia back. Malia does not need her eczema to be healed in order to fulfill her dream of singing or to attend school.

She needs a friend. So does he.

That lesson hit particularly hard in this time of remote schooling and quarantine. Before coronavirus made it unsafe, I enjoyed hosting shabbat dinners like the one Etan and Malia plan in the book. It was meaningful to have the people I cared for, Jewish or not, sitting around my table. The laughter, the food, the stories. That was shabbat for me. It has been hard without it. I found that feeling again in the pages of this book.

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