"There is a joy...in creating surprising insight into a character. The characters in my books become, for me, good friends, extended family members, or the brothers and sisters I never had. Books affect lives, especially children's lives, because children have a genuine belief in the truth of stories, the ultimate gift for the writer. It's a shared gift—from writer to reader and back again." —Patricia MacLachlan "You know what?" Willa had said to her father. "If you put all the letters of the alphabet in a box, there is every story ever written. Every story possible." —Unclaimed Treasures, P. 18 Life is pedestrian for twelve-year-old Willa Pinkerton; as least, that's how she sees it. Her father is a college writing professor, the father of the boy next door (Horace Morris) is a talented artist, and the rest of the gaps fill in naturally with a quirky cast of characters most girls don't grow up influenced by, but these parts of her life are all too familiar for Willa to regard as extraordinary. Her mother is safely through the majority of her current pregnancy without significant health concern, but the anticipation of accepting a new sibling into the world doesn't feel extraordinary to Willa. Babies are born every day, every minute, just as frequently as people cross paths with a special someone and decide they've fallen in love. But the tempests of romantic entanglement feel far more interesting to Willa than the common experience of expecting a baby, though both are born of love. Willa is looking for a reason to throw herself head over heels into the feeling of first love, and she soon finds it in the dashing figure of her newest neighbor, Matthew, an artist. Matthew's son, Horace, meets Willa and her twin brother Nicky first, but it's Matthew who grabs Willa's fancy. His wife is off elsewhere seeking her fortune, a phrase never precisely elaborated on, leaving Willa to indulge her infatuation with Matthew more seriously, but also to observe the absence of a mother and see what it can do to a family when a parent puts doing something "extraordinary" above the needs of their child and spouse. Will this alter Willa's vision of what it means to be more than ordinary? Willa's heart quickens when Matthew invites her to sit for a few weeks for a portrait that needs finishing, a picture he started to draw of Winnie, his wife, but now needs another model to complete. Willa fantasizes of the languid rapture of true love as written about in the stories that spill from the desk in her father's study, tales of young men and women with stars in their eyes as they satiate their innermost desires in mutual embrace. Her father's college students have such a way with words, Willa thinks. She lingers on what it would be like for Matthew to gaze dreamily into her eyes, telling her she means the world and more to him, and for her to eloquently return his adoration. As the portrait nears completion, Willa longs to confess to Matthew that she sees him as much more than the father of a friend, but is he capable of returning her feelings when his wife is still out there? Willa continues to be frustrated with her inability to draw a clear line between the ordinary and extraordinary in life so she can pursue the latter, but her stint as Matthew's model will clear up some of those questions, and point her in the direction of answers to the rest. Love, kindness, and sacrifice are of nobler purpose than Willa ever understood in her starstruck fantasies. A girl on the periphery of another family's life can have a longterm impact on their ability to move forward after a season of struggle, but only if she learns when to step in and when, hurt as it might, to step aside. It may be Willa's most eccentric neighbor, Old Pepper, who best defines the difference between the norm and the super-norm: "Maybe...the answer is that ordinary and extraordinary are the same thing. Morning light? The smell of grass? Who you are and what you think and how you live?" When one ceases trying to build a perfect life in favor of piecing together a simple, satisfying existence from the broken bits and pieces the world has left unclaimed, it can turn out to be an extraordinary life after all. Unclaimed treasures are apt to be the best kind, dusty jewels that need only a loving buff and polish to restore their natural luster. Then they're no longer unclaimed, and neither is the one who found them. How could Willa have guessed that nothing more than that is necessary to be extraordinary? "Things are seldom as they seem. You must do better than just look." —Unclaimed Treasures, P. 43 One of my favorite parts of the book is Willa's mother's explanation of why it wasn't hard for her to give up a potential dancing career after Willa and Nicky were born. That ambition mattered a great deal to their mother before, but once she cradled her baby son and daughter in her arms, everything but her love for them faded into the background. She didn't sacrifice her dancing because she didn't think she could succeed, or because she'd lost interest or didn't believe she was worthy of pursuing an interest that was only about herself. She gave up dancing despite the fact that it was worth excelling at, and she was worth the investment. A sacrifice without value is no sacrifice at all, but relinquishing her professional aspirations to take care of her children cost Willa's mother something dear. There was just never any question in her mind that they were worth letting go of her dancing career, and much, much more. May we all have someone (or two) in our lives for whom we would unblinkingly sacrifice our shot at being extraordinary. I've read books by Patricia MacLachlan that touched me more than Unclaimed Treasures, but it's a nice story, and I appreciate it. The tone of the narrative is pleasant and gentle, and the characters are warm and wise, even (perhaps especially) the young ones. Unclaimed Treasures isn't likely to ever be as well-known as Sarah, Plain and Tall or All the Places to Love, but it will have its fans. You might become one of them if you give it a read.
