The DiCamillo brand of "not nice"
Kate DiCamillo has a reputation for writing books that feel like a warm hug, but that’s a bit of a misunderstanding. As some critics have noted, she doesn’t actually write "nice" stories. She writes honest ones. In this book, she takes Louisiana Elefante—a character we first met in Raymie Nightingale—and puts her through the emotional wringer.
The story kicks off with a midnight flight that feels more like a kidnapping than a vacation. If your kid is used to high-octane fantasy or diary-style slapstick, the pacing here might feel slow. But for the reader who likes to sit with a character and really understand what makes them tick, Louisiana is a goldmine. She’s observant, cynical in a way that only a kid who has been let down by adults can be, and remarkably resilient.
Dealing with the "Granny" factor
The biggest point of friction for a parent will be Granny. She isn't the baking-cookies type. She’s erratic, potentially dealing with significant mental health issues, and her "middle-of-the-night ideas" are genuinely unsettling.
The book handles this with a light touch, never giving Granny a clinical diagnosis, which actually makes it more relatable for a child. Kids don't usually see "bipolar disorder" or "early-onset dementia"; they see a grown-up who is acting scary and unpredictable. DiCamillo captures that specific brand of childhood powerlessness. If your kid has experienced family instability or has a "complicated" relative, this book will resonate deeply. It validates the idea that you can love someone while also being absolutely furious at their choices.
If your kid liked Raymie Nightingale
While this is technically a sequel, it functions perfectly as a standalone. However, if your child already has an investment in the "Three Rancheros" (Louisiana, Raymie, and Beverly), the separation at the beginning of this book will hit like a ton of bricks.
The style is vintage DiCamillo: short chapters and punchy sentences. It’s a great pick for "strong but reluctant" readers. The vocabulary isn't the hurdle; it’s the emotional complexity. Common Sense Media notes the book's educational value and great messages, but the real draw is the "walrus-like" minister and the boy with a crow on his shoulder. These quirky, slightly surreal details keep the story from sinking into pure melodrama.
The "Goodbyes" conversation
Louisiana spends a lot of the book worried she is "destined only for goodbyes." It’s a heavy theme for a middle-grade novel, but it’s balanced by the concept of chosen family. The people she meets in Georgia—the motel owner, the minister—become the safety net her actual family can't provide.
If you’re looking for a way to talk about transition, moving, or even the end of a friendship, this is your entry point. It’s a "slim, handsome novel about grace," as one reviewer put it, and it manages to find a hopeful ending without lying to the reader about how hard the world can be. It’s substance over fluff, every single time.
