Silent To The Bone - Hardcover

Konigsburg, E.L.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0689836015 ISBN 13: 9780689836015

Publisher: Atheneum, 2000

Synopsis

When Branwell refuses to speak after his half-sister Nikki is injured, people begin to wonder if he had anything to do with it, yet Connor, his best friend, knows better and starts probing to find out who was really responsible.

About this title

About the Author

E. L. Konigsburg is the only author to have won the Newbery Medal and be runner-up in the same year. In 1968 From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler won the Newbery Medal and Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth was named Newbery Honor Book. Almost thirty years later she won the Newbery Medal once again for The View From Saturday. She has also written and illustrated three picture books: Samuel Todd's Book of Great Colors, Samuel Todd's Book of Great Inventions, and Amy Elizabeth Explores Bloomingdale's. In 2000 she wrote Silent to the Bone, which was named a New York Times Notable Book and an ALA Best Book for Young Adults, among many other honors.

After completing her degree at Carnegie Mellon University, Ms. Konigsburg did graduate work in organic chemistry at the University of Pittsburgh. For several years she taught science at a private girls' school. When the third of her three children started kindergarten, she began to write. She now lives on the beach in North Florida.

Reviews

"Part detective and suspense story, this multilayered novel is much more, touching on themes of communication, relationships in blended families, being different, friendship, adolescence, and shame."
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.

HWith this impeccably crafted novel two-time Newbery Medalist Konigsburg (The View from Saturday) again demonstrates her keen insight into the needs and tastes of a middle-grade audience. Here she ventures into what seemsDfor herDunusually dark territory. The story begins with a transcript of a 911 phone call. The caller himself (shortly afterward identified as 13-year-old Branwell Zamborska) appears silent, then a young British woman (an au pair) takes the phone and says that a six-month baby is unconscious: "He dropped her." As the comatose baby undergoes hospitalization, Branwell is struck mute and brought to a county facility for disturbed youths while prosecutors weigh charges against him. Young readers, unlikely to recall Louise Woodward and the Eappens, will be rapt as Konigsburg slowly unravels the true circumstances of the baby's accident and of Branwell's silence. Connor, Branwell's best friend, narrates and serves as detective, ingeniously finding a way to prise clues out of Branwell and piece them together. He enlists the help of his 20-something half-sister Margaret, one of those brilliant, slightly cryptic and idiosyncratic heroines Konigsburg fashions so well. In her classic style, the author inlays the plot with intriguing facts that prove significant (e.g., a Frenchman paralyzed completely except for his left eye "wrote" a book by having a friend recite the alphabet, then blinking when she came to the letter he needed). Along the way, Konigsburg also investigates the dynamics of step-families, preadolescent sexuality and other knotty subjectsDthe extraordinary achievement here is that she joins every element so seamlessly in the service of her gripping story. Ages 10-14. (Oct.)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Did the British nanny do it? She says it was 13-year-old Branwell who dropped his baby sister, Nikki, and he's the prime suspect. Why has he been struck dumb? What does he know? Is his silence a weapon? Is it survivor guilt? Shame? Konigsburg gets behind today's tabloid headlines with a compelling mystery that is also a moving story of family, friendship, and seduction. The story is told by Branwell's best friend, Connor, who visits the Juvenile Detention Center and tries to get Branwell to communicate by blinking his eyes at letters and flash cards. Like Branwell, Connor is also part of a tense stepfamily, where he feels abandoned by a parent's remarriage. And Connor has another link with the accused: he understands his friend's attraction to the sexy babysitter, Vivian, especially when he learns that she has a habit of leaving the bathroom door open when she takes a bath. Everything makes you want to go back and reread the story, not only to think about the clues and suspects you missed the first time around (What exactly does the tape of the 911 call reveal?) but also for the wit and insight, the farce, and the gentleness of the telling. As in Laurie Halse Anderson's Printz Honor Book, Speak (1999), the mutism is an eloquent part of the narrative. Like his silent friend, Connor comes to know the power of keeping quiet, that "the cruelest lies are often told in silence." Hazel Rochman
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One: Days One, Two, & Three

It is easy to pinpoint the minute when my friend Branwell began his silence. It was Wednesday, November 25, 2:43 p.m., Eastern Standard Time. It was there -- or, I guess you could say not there -- on the tape of the 911 call.

Operator: Epiphany 911. Hobson speaking.

SILENCE.

Operator: Epiphany 911. Hobson. May I help you?

SILENCE. [Voices are heard in the background.]

Operator: Anyone there?

A woman's voice [screaming in the background]: Tell them. Tell them.

Operator: Ma'am, I can't hear you. [then louder] Please come to the phone.

A woman's voice [still in the background, but louder now]: Tell them. [then, screaming as the voice approaches] For God's sake, Branwell. [the voice gets louder] TELL THEM.

SILENCE.

Operator: Please speak into the phone.

A woman's voice [heard more clearly]: TELL THEM. NOW, BRAN. TELL THEM NOW.

SILENCE.

A woman's voice with a British accent [heard clearly]: Here! Take her! For God's sake, at least take her! [then, speaking directly into the phone] It's the baby. She won't wake up.

Operator: Stay on the phone.

British Accent [frightened]: The baby won't wake up.

Operator: Stay on the line. We're transferring you to Fire and Rescue.

Male Voice: Epiphany Fire and Rescue. Davidson. What is the nature of your emergency?

British Accent: The baby won't wake up.

Male Voice: What is your exact location?

British Accent: 198 Tower Hill Road. Help, please. It's the baby.

Male Voice: Help is on the way, ma'am. What happened?

British Accent: He dropped her. She won't wake up.

Male Voice: Is she having difficulty breathing?

British Accent [panicky now]: Yes. Her breathing is all strange.

Male Voice: How old is the baby, ma'am?

British Accent: Almost six months.

Male Voice: Is there a history of asthma or heart trouble?

British Accent: No, no. He dropped her, I tell you.

LOUD BANGING IS HEARD.

British Accent [into the phone]: They're here. Thank God. They're here. [then just before the connection is broken] For God's sake, Branwell, MOVE. Open the door.

The SILENCES were Branwell's. He is my friend.

The baby was Nicole -- called Nikki -- Branwell's half sister.

The British accent was Vivian Shawcurt, the baby-sitter.

In the ambulance en route to the hospital, Vivian sat up front with the driver, who was also a paramedic. He asked her what had happened. She told him that she had put the baby down for her afternoon nap and had gone to her room. After talking to a friend on the phone, she had started to read and must have dozed off. When the paramedic asked her what time that was, she had to confess that she did not know. The next thing she remembered being awakened by Branwell's screaming for her. Something was wrong with the baby. When she came into the nursery, she saw Branwell shaking Nikki, trying to get her to wake up. She guessed that the baby went unconscious when he dropped her. She started to do CPR and told Branwell to call 911. He did, but when the operator came on the line, he seemed paralyzed. He would not give her the information she needed. He would not speak at all.

Meanwhile the paramedic who rode with the baby in the ambulance was following the ABC's for resuscitation -- airway, breathing, and circulation. Once inside the trauma center at Clarion County Hospital, Nikki was put on a respirator and wrapped in blankets. It was important to keep her warm. A CAT scan was taken of her head, which showed that her injuries could cause her brain to swell. When the brain swells, it pushes against the skull, and that squeezes the blood vessels that supply the brain. If the supply of blood to the brain is pinched off, the brain cannot get oxygen, and it dies.

The doctor drilled a hole in Nikki's skull and put in a small tube -- no thicker than a strand of spaghetti -- to drain excess fluid from her brain to lower the pressure. Nikki did not open her eyes.

Later that afternoon, a police car arrived at 198 Tower Hill Road and took Branwell to the Clarion County Juvenile Behavioral Center. He said nothing. Nothing to the doctors. Nothing to his father, to his stepmother. Calling to Vivian was the last that Branwell had spoken. He had not uttered a sound since dialing 911.

Dr. Zamborska, Branwell's father, asked me to visit him at the Behavioral Center and see if I could get him to talk. I am Connor, Connor Kane, and -- except for the past six weeks or so -- Branwell and I had always been best friends.

When Dr. Z called me, he reported that the pressure in Nikki's skull was dropping, and that was a good sign, but, he cautioned, she was still in a coma. She was in critical condition, and there was no way of knowing what the outcome would be.

I was not allowed to see Branwell until Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. On that first visit to the Behavioral Center and on all the visits that followed, I had to stop at a reception desk and sign in. There I would empty my pockets and, when I had my backpack with me, I would have to open it as well. If I had nothing that could cause harm to Branwell or could let him cause harm to someone else (I never did), I was allowed to put it all back and take it with me.

That first time the guard brought Branwell into the visitors' room, he looked awful. His hair was greasy and uncombed, and he was so pale that the orange jumpsuit he wore cast an apricot glow up from his chin just as his red hair seemed to cast the same eerie glow across his forehead. He shuffled as he walked toward me. I saw that his shoes had no laces. I guessed they had taken them from him.

Branwell is tall for his age -- I am not -- and when he sat across the table from me, I had to look up to make eye contact, which was not easy. His eyeglasses were so badly smudged that his blue eyes appeared almost gray. It was not at all like him to be uncombed and to have his glasses smeared like that. I guessed the smudges were to keep him from seeing out, just as his silence was to keep him from speaking out.

On that first awful, awkward visit, a uniformed guard stood leaning against the wall, watching us. There was no one else in the visitors' room, and I was the only one talking, so everything I said, every sound I made, seemed to echo off the walls. I felt so responsible for getting Branwell to talk that I asked him a bunch of dumb questions. Like: What happened? And: Was there anything he wanted to tell me? He, of course, didn't utter a sound. Zombielike, he slowly, slowly, slowly shook his head once, twice, three times. This was not the Branwell I knew, and yet, strangely, it was.

Dr. Zamborska had asked me to visit Bran because he figured that I probably knew Branwell better than anyone else in Epiphany -- except for himself. And because we had always seemed to have a lot to say to each other. We both loved to talk, but Branwell loved it more. He loved words. He had about five words for things that most people had only one word for, and could use four of five in a single sentence. Dr. Z probably figured that if anyone could get Bran to talk, it would be me. Talk was like the vitamins of our friendship: Large daily doses kept it healthy.

But when Dr. Z had asked me to visit Branwell, he didn't know that about six weeks before that 911 call something had changed between us. I didn't know what caused it, and I didn't exactly know how to describe it. We had not had a fight or even a quarrel, but ever since Monday, Columbus Day, October 12, something that had always been between us no longer was. We still walked to the school bus stop together, we still got off at the same stop, and we still talked. But Branwell never seemed to start a conversation anymore. He not only had less time for me, he also had less to say to me, which, in terms of our friendship, was pretty much the same thing. He seemed to have something hidden.

We had both turned thirteen within three weeks of each other, and at first I wondered if he was entering a new phase of development three weeks ahead of me. Was something happening to him that would happen to me three weeks later? Had he started to shave? I looked real close. He hadn't. (I was relieved.) Had he become a moody teenager, and would I become one in three more weeks? Three weeks passed, and I didn't. Then six weeks passed -- the six weeks between Columbus Day and that 911 call -- and I still had not caught the moodiness that was deepening in my friend. And I still did not know what was happening to Bran.

After that first strange, clouded visit, I decided that if I was going back (and I knew that I would), nothing good was going to come out of my visits unless I forgot about our estrangement, forgot about having an assignment from Dr. Z, and acted like the old friend I was.

* * *

Once on our way to the school bus stop in the days when Branwell was still starting conversations, he asked me a famous question: "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?" When he asked me, I couldn't answer and neither could he, but when I left him that first Friday of his long silence, I thought that Branwell could answer it. On that day and for all the days that followed when he made no sound, my friend Branwell was screaming on the inside. And no one heard.

Except me.

So when Branwell at last broke his silence, I was there. I was the first to hear him speak. He spoke to me because even before I knew the details, I believed in him. I knew that Branwell did not hurt that baby.

I won't say what his first words were until I explain what I heard during the time he said nothing.

Copyright © 2000 by E. L. Konigsburg

Edition details

• Publisher: Atheneum
• Publication date: 2000
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0689836015
• ISBN 13: 9780689836015
• Binding: Hardcover
• Illustrator: Konigsburg E.L.
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 272