![]() ![]() ![]() As the reader progresses through Krosoczka’s coming-of-age, the reasons for such instability unfold as Krosoczka discovers them: small tastes of truth peppered through the years that accumulate over time, filling in his memory’s blanks and revealing the whole story. Eventually, his grandparents (affectionately referred to as Joe and Shirl by Krosoczka) take him in, and he matures with only sporadic glimpses of his mother, who bounces between boyfriends, treatment centers, and halfway houses. The entire book is colorless save for occasional blotches of burnt orange, producing obscure, dream-like vignettes. ![]() Think Joesph Arthur with Rufus Wainwright’s emotionalism and Pete Yorn’s pop instincts. HOUSTON CHRONICLE Val Emmich is too smart to be either too emo or too sensitive. Krosoczka, a best-selling author and illustrator, can only tell as much as his memory allows, but the slices we get of his childhood are exceptionally realistic. Val Emmich is a New Jersey kid with a whopping falsetto and restless soul that takes him into such random territory as indie disco numbers and angsty punk anthems. From there, the teenager becomes our narrator and traces his family history, beginning with his grandparents’ love story in the 1940s and moving forward chronologically, until Krosoczka himself is a small child, living alone with his young, single mother. Hey, Kiddo opens on a 17-year-old Krosoczka, reserved and introspective, driving through a cemetery with his grandfather, discussing love and death and family. ![]()
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