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The Watsons Go to Birmingham--1963 [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Juvenile Fiction)
  • Author:  Curtis, Christopher Paul
  • Author:  Curtis, Christopher Paul
  • ISBN-10:  0440414121
  • ISBN-10:  0440414121
  • ISBN-13:  9780440414124
  • ISBN-13:  9780440414124
  • Publisher:  Yearling
  • Publisher:  Yearling
  • Pages:  224
  • Pages:  224
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-May-1997
  • Pub Date:  01-May-1997
  • SKU:  0440414121-11-MING
  • SKU:  0440414121-11-MING
  • Item ID: 100017921
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
  • Transit time: Up to 5 business days
  • Delivery by: Oct 28 to Oct 30
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.

The Newberyand Coretta Scott King Honoree about the Weird Watsons of Flint, Michigan—from Christopher Paul Curtis, author of Bud, Not Buddy, a Newbery Medal and Coretta Scott Award Winner.

Enter the hilarious world of ten-year-old Kenny and his family, the Weird Watsons of Flint, Michigan. There's Momma, Dad, little sister Joetta, and brother Byron, who's thirteen and an official juvenile delinquent.

When Byron gets to be too much trouble, they head South to Birmingham to visit Grandma, the one person who can shape him up. And they happen to be in Birmingham when Grandma's church is blown up.

AN ALA TOP TEN BEST BOOK
AN ALA NOTABLE CHILDREN'S BOOK
AN IRA YOUNG ADULT'S CHOICE
ANEW YORK TIMESBOOK REVIEW BEST BOOK
NAMED TO MULTIPLE STATE AWARD LISTS

Every so often a book becomes a modern classic almost as soon as it arrives on bookshelves. That happened in the mid-'90s when Christopher Paul Curtis released his first book, The Watsons Go to Birmingham — 1963.  —NPRChristopher Paul Curtis was born in Flint, Michigan, and grew up there.Bud, Not Buddy, his second novel, winner of the 2000 Newbery Medal and the Coretta Scott King Author Award, is available in a Delacorte hardcover edition.And You Wonder Why We Get Called the Weird Watsons
It was one of those super-duper-cold Saturdays. One of those days that when you breathed out your breath kind of hung frozen in the air like a hunk of smoke and you could walk along and look exactly like a train blowing out big, fat, white puffs of smoke.

It was so cold that if you were stupid enough to go outside your eyes would automatically blink a thousand times all by themselves, probably so the juice inside of them wouldn't freeze up. It was so cold that if you spit, the slob would be an ice cube before it hit the ground. It was about a zillion degrees below zero.

It was even cold insidelƒ1

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