Illustrated by Brooke Kerrigan
As soon as her schoolday begins, Sophie’s rich and mercurial imagination lands her in an ever-deepening quagmire of trouble, and her escapades keep us riveted to the page. We can see the images in her head as she imagines them; we can feel the doubts and insecurities of an eight-year-old in her thoughts and the choices she makes. As an adult reader, I spent most of the book seeing those choices simultaneously through Sophie’s eyes and those of the adults around her. This double-vision gave me pause: is this what’s possibly going on inside the head of a child behaving in bizarre and seemingly random ways? Eileen Holland has me convinced that it is.
But before I continue with how that is so, I’d like to make an unconnected observation about the title.
Sophie’s best friend Brayden tells her “Someone should give you a trophy, Sophie, for the goofiest ideas ever.” Quite the compliment. But another little urchin in the class taunts: “Sophie Trophy! That’s what I’m going to call you from now on!” (2). The adult in me says: Still a compliment, actually, young dude. But of course that is not how kids take these things. His taunting irks the protagonists but isn’t the major focus of the story, and in the end Sophie calls him on it:
“Stop calling me that, Jordy.”
“Why? It’s funny.”
“Not if you say it to be mean.”
Simple. To the point. Still something a child would say. It really brings home the important message that “it’s only funny if it’s funny to everyone.” A very small part of the narrative, yet it resonates so strongly…
But back to the actual story.
It all begins when Jordy lets Bradley’s pet spider out of its jar and the teacher freaks out. Arachnophobia is no joke, and the children recognize it as a problem that they have upset their beloved teacher. Sophie’s “spider-scientist face” (5) is replaced by a “worried-girl look” (8), but the damage has been done. The plot flows from here like a rube-goldberg device; each of Sophie’s responses understandably misinterpreted by her teach and principal, because a “butterfly-tummy squiggly” Sophie is (again, understandably) not the most articulate. It all works out in the end, and we are left with a “happy-heart feeling” (88).
Holland’s compound adjectives really help us feel like we are inside Sophie’s head, and the vivid stories Sophie makes up about her world are both scattered and intensely detailed. She sees Africa through the lens of a pencil hole drilled through an eraser, “like using Dad’s special camera” (40). The spring in the click-pen she dismantles becomes a pogo-stick, as she imagines herself “hopping through the schoolyard. Sproing! Sproing! Sproing!”
Kids would stop playing soccer. They’d come to see her from every corner of the playground. “There goes Sophie,” they’d say, “she saved Miss Ruby from a spider.” (48)
Invariably, the real world comes crashing back in. The movement from imagination to reality is like a joyously bubbling stream of consciousness, and despite the problems Sophie’s distractedness causes, we are left in no doubt that there’s nothing wrong with being the way she is.