White Bird: A Novel: Based on the Graphic Novel (Wonder) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

R.J. Palacio is the author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Wonder, which has sold over 15 million copies worldwide. The book's message inspired the Choose Kind movement and has been embraced by readers around the world, with the book published in over 50 languages. Wonder was made into a blockbuster movie starring Julia Roberts, Owen Wilson, and Jacob Tremblay. 
 
Palacio’s other acclaimed books include 365 Days of Wonder: Mr. Browne’s Book of Precepts, Auggie & Me: Three Wonder Stories, the picture book We’re All Wonders, and her new novel Pony, an instant New York Times bestseller and named one of the best books of the year by the Wall Street Journal.
 
Palacio lives in Brooklyn with her husband, two sons, and two dogs. 

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Chapter One

1930s, France

“Sara? Sara, are you ready to go?”

I spun around in an exasperated circle, watching the skirt of my new dress flare out. “Papa, how can you ask that? I’ve been ready for hours,” I told him.

“Hours?” He raised a dubious eyebrow.

I nodded. “Yes, hours. Can we go now?”

“In a moment, when your mother is ready. Where’s your coat and hat?” asked Papa.

I groaned dramatically. “It’s spring, Papa. I don’t need my coat and hat.”

Papa put on his own coat and hat, then folded his arms across his chest. “My dear girl, I am a man of science. The calendar may say it is spring, but look outside and you’ll see that the trees are telling a different story.”

“The trees say I’m fine without my coat and hat,” I informed him.

“Your mother says otherwise, and that’s final,” said Maman, joining us in the front hall. She looked so chic in her red wool coat and matching hat that I abandoned my protest and put mine on, too.

“Fine. Can we go now?” I asked, twirling again for her to admire me. She kissed me on the head, and we set off for the market, the three of us, arm in arm.

This was our family tradition on weekend mornings. We would go for a brisk walk together and do our grocery shopping. I always insisted on walking in the middle. I felt safe and snug between the two of them. I also liked imagining the three of us as a sandwich: my tall, elegant papa and my pretty, sophisticated maman were the two sides of une baguette, and I was un petit morceau de fromage nestled between them.

“Bonjour, Dr. Blum! Bonjour, Mme. Blum!” our friends and neighbors would call out as we passed them in the streets. I liked noticing the way the people in our town looked at us. That’s Dr. Blum, I would imagine them telling visitors. He’s an extremely talented surgeon. And his wife is brilliant as well. She teaches at the university! And she was one of the first women in our village to graduate with an advanced degree in mathematics. Aren’t they a handsome couple? That’s their daughter, Sara. A lovely child. She plays piano and has many friends and--

“Sara?”

“Hmm?” I looked up, flustered.

Maman gave me a bemused smile and wagged her finger. “Were you daydreaming again?”

“No! I-- Well, maybe,” I admitted.

“It’s not a crime,” Papa assured me. “If anything, it is a sign of intellect. You have a curious mind, Sara. Just like your mother.”

“I think the daydreaming part comes from your father,” said Maman.

We continued on our way. As we did, Papa quietly took my right hand. Soon, Maman slipped her hand into my left. I watched hopefully for a knowing glance to pass across my parents’ faces. Sure enough . . .

“Un . . . deux . . . trois!” they called, swinging my arms rhythmically before lifting me off my feet. I hopped at just the right moment to take flight, springing into the air. Maman laughed. “You’re getting too big for this, Sara,” she chided me.

“Never!” I protested, smiling back. I knew there was some truth in what she said--I wasn’t a baby anymore. But I still liked to play, and I wasn’t ready to give up our little games. I snatched a loaf of bread from her market basket and dashed off with it, holding the baguette aloft and hoping for a chase.

“Come back here!” called Papa. But he didn’t run after me immediately. I could see him whispering to Maman, his brow furrowed. My mother nodded gravely at whatever he was saying, then whispered something back. I wondered what they were talking about. Perhaps Maman thought I shouldn’t be running around in my new dress? Or maybe what looked like concern was simply the two of them trying to keep a secret from me. I did have a birthday coming up in May--could they be figuring out the perfect gift?

I studied them, heads together, and made a mental note to keep an eye out for other clues. That wouldn’t be hard to do, because I loved watching them. Theirs was a great love, but also a meeting of the minds. While doctors all over the world sought Papa’s advice on important medical matters, his most trusted confidante was not someone in the medical profession--it was Maman.

Within a few minutes, Papa raced after me, all signs of whatever had been preoccupying him forgotten. I shrieked with excitement, ducking to hide behind a tree. Both of us kept darting out and laughing, our chase continuing merrily until Papa triumphantly reclaimed the baguette.

As Papa caught his breath, I seized the moment to follow up on an idea I had had earlier. “Papa, you said it’s spring, yes? Can we go to the forest for a picnic?”

“Not quite yet, my little bird,” he told me, his eyes sparkling. “But soon, I promise.”

The Mernuit forest, near our home, was a dark and scary place, especially for us children. There were legends, going back centuries, about giant wolves that roamed the woods. Elderly people in my village were quick to warn me and my friends not to linger near the woods after dark, on account of wolves. To hear them tell it, these terrifying beasts would slip out unnoticed with the fog, prey on their victims, and leave as silently as they came. I didn’t know whether to believe this or not, but I came to view the forest as an ominous place much of the time.

Except in springtime, when something magical happened in the forest. Going to see it was another family tradition--one I looked forward to every year.

A few days later, I asked Papa for a picnic in the woods again. And again, and again, and again, until the day I got the answer I was hoping for.

“Let’s ask your maman,” he said, smiling. It was finally time.

We packed up a lunch basket. Nothing fancy--just some sandwiches, red wine for my parents, lemonade for me, and some fruit. Maman carefully folded a sky-blue picnic blanket with an embroidered border of pink roses. Then we walked deeper and deeper into the forest. The woods were less terrifying in the light of day, especially with both of my parents beside me. But I still kept a careful eye out for ferocious beasts, just in case.

Happily, the sight that greeted us was not a menacing bank of fog. Or a hungry wolf.

“Bluebells!” I cried, running into the purple vale as if greeting an old friend. The entire forest floor was in bloom, bursting forth in bright blue and violet hues. While my parents set out the picnic, I danced around in the glade. It was beautiful and fragrant beyond my wildest dreams.

“It’s magical here,” I announced to Maman when I finally was able to tear myself away from playing princess among the fairy flowers. I collapsed in a happy heap next to her on the blanket.

“It certainly feels that way,” she allowed. Her mathematical mind was often reluctant to acknowledge circumstances that could not be scientifically validated.

“It is,” I insisted stubbornly.

“She’s right, you know, Rose,” said my papa, topping off my mother’s wineglass. I grinned with pleasure that he was taking my side. “Bluebells aren’t usually found this far south. Clearly these flowers were brought here by fairy magic. There’s simply no logical explanation.”

“Ha! I knew it,” I cried triumphantly.

Maman took a sip, raising her free hand in mock defeat. Then she set down her glass and sighed, gazing at me...