Kevin Major St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada E-Mail

The House of Wooden Santas
ISBN: 0-88995-166-7, Red Deer College Press, $29.95

	The Story:	The problem, Jesse believes, started a few months ago, when his mother decided they should leave the city where he grew up and move to a small seaside village. Rent would be cheaper and his mom could do her wood carving to make a living. Now Jesse has left behind friends and hockey. Not only is he bored, but there's a boy at his new school whose teasing hurts to the bone. To make matters worse, it's the second day of December, and if his mom can't sell enough carvings to pay the rent, who knows if they'll even have a Christmas. How could moving to this place possibly work out? For Jesse, the answer comes in the most surprising way - as surprising as the newly carved Santa his mom brings to him each day. The House of Wooden Santas is a deeply felt story about belief in oneself and others, and belief in the spirit of the season. It is magical and contemporary and traces the days of December like an advent calendar.
Reviews	"Quill and Quire":	"…(a) beautifully illustrated Christmas tale…there is magic in this book…Major has a knack, as a writer, to find that golden centre in his characters and their story…"
	CBC This Morning Book Panel	"An amazing book, a beautiful book, and I just think it is going to be a treasure that will last for a long time."
	Toronto Star	"A perfect marriage of text and art... Rarely do the two partners forge a union as strongly as they do in The House of Wooden Santas. George's carved Santas, gloriously photographed by Ned Pratt... will engage the whole family."
Awards		Mr. Christie Award Ann Conner-Brimer Award
Excerpt		There was just Jesse and his mother. But Jesse's mother had lost her job. She searched for months without finding another, and so she decided they should move out of the city to some place where it wasn't so expensive to live. "No way," Jesse had said to her. But her mind was made up. She sold off a pile of furniture and toys, and all the hockey equipment Jesse had outgrown. She packed up the old car and drove three hours on the highway, and down a side road another hour, until they reached the house she had read about in the ad. The landlady, Mrs. Wentzell, met them at the front gate. She was a silver-haired woman with earrings that dangled like crazy, and a terrier in her arms that never stopped yapping. "It's my daughter's house really," Mrs. Wentzell said. "They had to move away." Jesse's mother was looking at the ocean beyond the house. "So beautiful," she sighed. Jesse grunted. "Yeah. Right. Big deal." Mrs. Wentzell's eyes narrowed in on Jesse. "My granddaughter is about your age. She loved it here." When Mrs. Wentzell wasn't looking, Jesse sneered at the dog. The dog bared its pointed little teeth and growled. "Ivan!" Mrs. Wentzell clamped the jaws of the dog shut with her hand. "Ivan the Terrier," muttered Jesse to himself. "Mighta known."