Johnny and the Dead (Johnny Maxwell Trilogy #2) by Terry Pratchett

From the Publisher

The town council wants to sell the cemetery, and its inhabitants aren't about to take that lying down! Johnny is the only one who can see the outraged ghosts, and the previously alive need his help to save their home and their history. Johnny didn't mean to become the voice for the lifeless, but if he doesn't speak up, who will?

Publishers Weekly

In Terry Pratchett's sequel to Only You Can Save Mankind, Johnny and the Dead, 12-year-old Johnny and his friends are hanging around a graveyard when the hero begins to see ghosts-and uncovers the local government's plans to sell the site for development. Johnny and his schoolmates' mission to save the cemetery provides ample opportunity for the author's signature wit. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

KLIATT

To quote the review of the hardcover in KLIATT, January 2006: Johnny, a 12-year-old British boy, discovers he can see and hear things others can't—the dead people in the local cemetery, for instance. However, a company named United Amalgamated Consolidated Holdings plans to erect an office building on that very spot, and when the dead find out about this scheme they are highly affronted. And the more Johnny finds out about these people and their history, including the local soldiers who marched off to WW I together and died together, the more affronted Johnny becomes, too. It's up to him and his offbeat friends, Wobbler, Bigmac, and Yo-less, to help save the cemetery, and that's what they bravely set out to do. This sequel to Only You Can Save Mankind shares characters with that book but it can stand alone. Pratchett, known for his Discworld fantasy series as well as for YA novels like The Wee Free Men, tells this unusual ghost story mostly in dialog, and funny dialog at that. A new treat for Pratchett fans, and fun for any fantasy lover.

Jane Harrington - Children's Literature

The second book in "The Johnny Maxwell Trilogy" gets off to a good start ("Johnny never knew for certain why he started seeing the dead . . . ") but quickly becomes a surprisingly poor read from the prolific author of Discworld, and the "Bromeliad Trilogy." The story loosely revolves around twelve-year-old Johnny and his fight to keep a cemetery from being destroyed, though most of the pages are devoted to other happenings that are not well-connected to this central theme. Attempts at parody and humor sometimes work—as in many of the conversations between Johnny and the "post-life citizens"—but most fall flat, or are too dated or too tied to the author's own (British) culture. There is a level of crassness, too, that borders on offensive, as in this description which seems intended to show what social misfits Johnny's friends are: "And then there was Johnny, and Wobbler, and Bigmac, who said he was the last of the well hard skin-heads but was actually a skinny kid with short hair and flat feet and asthma who had difficulty even walking in Doc Martens, and there was Yo-less, who was technically black." Young readers on this side of the pond are very apt to consider that racial remark a slur— and probably will not have a clue what "well hard skin-heads" and "Doc Martens" are. Brit-lit can be great fun, but there clearly could have been a heavier editorial hand in the Americanization of this book. Overall, a disappointing offering from such an experienced writer. 2006 (orig. 1993), HarperCollins, and Ages 8 to 12.

Timothy Capehart - VOYA

Fresh from saving the Scree-Wee race in Only You Can Save Mankind (HarperCollins, 2005), twelve-year-old Brit Johnny Maxwell is back and taking on a more terrestrial problem. He has started seeing the dead in Blackbury Cemetery. His friends think that he is nuts. Alderman Thomas Bowler, one of the aforementioned living-impaired, thinks Johnny sees the dead only because he is too lazy not to. The town council has sold the cemetery to United Amalgamated Consolidated Holdings who plan to build on it. "Trying times" in Johnny's family have progressed beyond shouting and through Being Sensible About Things and on to splitting up, so home life offers little help or comfort. Johnny is the only one who can speak for the dead. He does his best with the mostly reluctant help of his friends Wobbler, Yo-less, and Bigmac. While Johnny works to alert the living to the plight of the passed-on, the Breath-challenged test the bounds of their formerly constricted world. He succeeds in his task but realizes, as the dead move on to their various ideas of afterlife, that he was saving the cemetery for the living all along. Shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal when it appeared in Britain in 1993, this second volume in the Johnny Maxwell trilogy is part creepy fantasy and part dryly hilarious adolescent adventure with a core message about the importance of personal and community history. Fans of the first Maxwell outing or of Pratchett's Tiffany Aching Discworld books will be in heaven. Those new to Pratchett's work who do not feel gypped by the new slightly-more-scary-than-its-contents cover may be converted. The trilogy also provides the basis for a 1995 miniseries available only in the U.K. VOYA CODES:5Q 4P M J (Hard to imagine it being any better written; Broad general YA appeal; Middle School, defined as grades 6 to 8; Junior High, defined as grades 7 to 9). 2006 (orig. 1993), HarperCollins, 224p., and PLB Ages 11 to 15.

Paula Rohrlick - KLIATT

Johnny, a 12-year-old British boy, discovers he can see and hear things others can't--the dead people in the local cemetery, for instance. However, a company named United Amalgamated Consolidated Holdings plans to erect an office building on that very spot, and when the dead find out about this scheme they are highly affronted. And the more Johnny finds out about these people and their history, including the local soldiers who marched off to WW I together and died together, the more affronted Johnny becomes, too. It's up to him and his offbeat friends, Wobbler, Bigmac, and Yo-less, to help save the cemetery, and that's what they bravely set out to do. This sequel to Only You Can Save Mankind shares characters with that book but it can stand alone. Pratchett, known for his Discworld fantasy series as well as for YA novels like The Wee Free Men, tells this unusual ghost story mostly in dialog, and funny dialog at that. A new treat for Pratchett fans, and fun for any fantasy lover. (The Johnny Maxwell Trilogy, Book 2). KLIATT Codes: JS--Recommended for junior and senior high school students. 2006 (orig. 1993), HarperCollins, 224p., and Lib. bdg: Ages 12 to 18.

School Library Journal

Gr 5-7-In this sequel to Only You Can Save Mankind (HarperCollins, 2005), 12-year-old Johnny discovers that he can see, hear, and communicate with spirits in the town cemetery. The cemetery, the only spot of unblighted land in the town, is about to be bulldozed and developed by a large corporation, so Johnny and his friends set about trying to save it (and its denizens) from destruction. Unfortunately, no one particularly famous was ever buried there, so the boys' publicity plan seems doomed-until the dead take things into their own innovative and rebellious hands, and Johnny finds the courage to take a stand against all odds. Fans of Gregory Maguire's books will appreciate the tongue-in-cheek tone and wry humor, and the quarrelsome yet friendly chatter among the dead spirits is reminiscent of Eva Ibbotson's titles. The plot (kids versus big corporation, a la Carl Hiassen) is tied up rather too neatly, but that's beside the point. Readers will take immense pleasure in the jokes, some broad and some subtle and dry, that come sailing at them from all sides. This book stands alone easily, but after reading it, kids will want the first one.-Eva Mitnick, Los Angeles Public Library Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Fresh from leading the ScreeWee fleet across hostile game space and back to their own territory, Johnny Maxwell returns to champion a more local group of beings in need: the dead denizens of the local cemetery, slated for redevelopment into Modern Purpose-Designed Offices by United Amalgamated Consolidated Holdings. Pratchett's cry against the needlessly tragic rejection of communities and their histories is just as passionate as was his cry against war in Only You Can Save Mankind (2004). Johnny allows himself to be conscripted by the dead, whom only he can see. They are an agreeable assortment of sweetly loony characters including a former Alderman, a suffragist, a socialist and an inventor, who, along with the rest of their fellows, represent the collective history and culture of Blackbury. If the narrative turns a bit preachy at times, kids will nevertheless find themselves won over by both the dead and Johnny's basic sense of decency. Humor and honest pathos play off each other to make for an emotionally balanced whole, one whose resolution will be as satisfying to readers as it is to Johnny. (Fiction 10-14)

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Johnny and the Dead (SNY)
Chapter One

Wobbler Johnson, who was technically Johnny's best friend, said it was because he was nuts.

But Yo-less, who read medical books, said it was probably because he couldn't focus his mind like normal people. Normal people just ignored almost everything that was going on around them, so that they could concentrate on important things like, well, getting up, going to the lavatory, and getting on with their lives. Whereas Johnny just opened his eyes in the morning and the whole universe hit him in the face.

Wobbler said this sounded like "nuts" to him.

Whatever it was called, what it meant was this: Johnny saw things other people didn't.

Like the dead people hanging around in the cemetery.

The Alderman — at least the old Alderman — was a bit snobby about most of the rest of the dead, even about Mr. Vicenti, who had a huge black marble grave with angels and a photograph of Mr. Vicenti (1897...1958) looking not at all dead behind a little window. The Alderman said Mr. Vicenti had been a Capo di Monte in the Mafia.

Mr. Vicenti told Johnny that, on the contrary, he had spent his entire life being a wholesale novelty salesman, amateur escapologist, and children's entertainer, which in a number of important respects was as exactly like not being in the Mafia as it waspossible to get.

But all this was later. After he'd gotten to know the dead a lot better. After the raising of the ghost of the Ford Capri.

Johnny really discovered the cemetery after he'd started living at Granddad's. This was Phase Three of Trying Times, after the shouting, which had been bad, and the Being Sensible About Things (which had been worse; people are better at shouting). Now his dad was getting a new job somewhere on the other side of the country. There was a vague feeling that it might all work out, now that people had stopped trying to be sensible. On the whole, he tried not to think about it.

He'd started using the path along the canal instead of going home on the bus, and had found that if you climbed over the place where the wall had fallen down, and then went around behind the crematorium, you could cut off half the journey.

The graves went right up to the canal's edge.

It was one of those old cemeteries you got owls and foxes in and sometimes, in the Sunday papers, people going on about Our Victorian Heritage, although they didn't go on about this one because it was the wrong kind of heritage, being too far from London.

Wobbler said it was spooky and sometimes went home the long way, but Johnny was disappointed that it wasn't spookier. Once you sort of put out of your mind what it was — once you forgot about all the skeletons underground, grinning away in the dark — it was quite friendly. Birds sang. All the traffic sounded a long way off. It was peaceful.

He'd had to check a few things, though. Some of the older graves had big stone boxes on top of them, and in the wilder parts these had cracked and even fallen open. He'd had a look inside, just in case.

It had been sort of disappointing to find nothing there.

And then there were the mausoleums. These were much bigger and had doors in them, like little houses. They looked a bit like garden sheds with extra angels. The angels were generally more lifelike than you'd expect, especially one near the entrance who looked as though he'd just remembered that he should have gone to the toilet before he left heaven.

The two boys walked through the cemetery now, kicking up the drifts of fallen leaves.

"It's Halloween next week," said Wobbler. "I'm having a party. You have to come as something horrible. Don't bother to find a disguise."

"Thanks," said Johnny.

"You notice how there's a lot more Halloween stuff in the shops these days?" said Wobbler.

"It's because of Bonfire Night," said Johnny. "Too many people were blowing themselves up with fireworks, so they invented Halloween, where you just wear masks and stuff."

"Mrs. Nugent says all that sort of thing is tampering with the occult," said Wobbler. Mrs. Nugent was the Johnsons' next-door neighbor, and known to be unreasonable on subjects like Madonna played at full volume at three a.m.

"Probably it is," said Johnny.

"She says witches are abroad on Halloween," said Wobbler.

"What?" Johnny's forehead wrinkled. "Like . . . Marjorca and places?"

"Suppose so," said Wobbler.

"Makes . . . sense, I suppose. They probably get special out-of-season bargains, being old ladies," said Johnny. "My aunt can go anywhere on the buses for almost nothing, and she's not even a witch."

"Don't see why Mrs. Nugent is worried, then," said Wobbler. "It ought to be a lot safer around here, with all the witches on vacation."

They passed a very ornate mausoleum, which even had little stained-glass windows. It was hard to imagine who'd want to see in, but then, it was even harder to imagine who'd want to look out.

"Shouldn't like to be on the same plane as 'em," said Wobbler, who'd been thinking hard. "Just think, p'raps you can only afford to go on vacation in the autumn, and you get on the plane, and there's all these old witches going abroad."

"Singing 'Here we go, here we go, here we go'?" said Johnny. "But I bet you'd get really good service in the hotel."

"Yeah."

"Funny, really," said Johnny.

"What?"

"I saw a thing in a book once," said Johnny, "about these people in Mexico or somewhere, where they all go down to the cemetery for a big fiesta at Halloween every year. Like they don't see why people should be left out of things just because they're dead."

"Yuck. A picnic? In the actual cemetery?"

"Yes."

"Reckon you'd get green glowing hands pushing up through the earth and swiping the sandwiches?"

"Don't think so. Anyway . . . they don't eat sandwiches in Mexico. They eat tort . . . something."

Read a Sample Chapter

Johnny and the Dead

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Chapter One

Johnny never knew for certain why he started seeing the dead. The Alderman said it was probably because he was too lazy not to. Most people's minds don't let them see things that might upset them, he said. The Alderman said he should know if anyone did, because he'd spent his whole life (1822–1906) not seeing things.

Wobbler Johnson, who was technically Johnny's best friend, said it was because he was nuts.

But Yo-less, who read medical books, said it was probably because he couldn't focus his mind like normal people. Normal people just ignored almost everything that was going on around them, so that they could concentrate on important things like, well, getting up, going to the lavatory, and getting on with their lives. Whereas Johnny just opened his eyes in the morning and the whole universe hit him in the face.

Wobbler said this sounded like "nuts" to him.

Whatever it was called, what it meant was this: Johnny saw things other people didn't.

Like the dead people hanging around in the cemetery.

The Alderman -- at least the old Alderman -- was a bit snobby about most of the rest of the dead, even about Mr. Vicenti, who had a huge black marble grave with angels and a photograph of Mr. Vicenti (1897–1958) looking not at all deadbehind a little window. The Alderman said Mr. Vicenti had been a Capo di Monte in the Mafia.

Mr. Vicenti told Johnny that, on the contrary, he had spent his entire life being a wholesale novelty salesman, amateur escapologist, and children's entertainer, which in a number of important respects was as exactly like not being in the Mafia as it was possible to get.

But all this was later. After he'd gotten to know the dead a lot better. After the raising of the ghost of the Ford Capri.

Johnny really discovered the cemetery after he'd started living at Granddad's. This was Phase Three of Trying Times, after the shouting, which had been bad, and the Being Sensible About Things (which had been worse; people are better at shouting). Now his dad was getting a new job somewhere on the other side of the country. There was a vague feeling that it might all work out, now that people had stopped trying to be sensible. On the whole, he tried not to think about it.

He'd started using the path along the canal instead of going home on the bus, and had found that if you climbed over the place where the wall had fallen down, and then went around behind the crematorium, you could cut off half the journey.

The graves went right up to the canal's edge.

It was one of those old cemeteries you got owls and foxes in and sometimes, in the Sunday papers, people going on about Our Victorian Heritage, although they didn't go on about this one because it was the wrong kind of heritage, being too far from London.

Wobbler said it was spooky and sometimes went home the long way, but Johnny was disappointed that it wasn't spookier. Once you sort of put out of your mind what it was -- once you forgot about all the skeletons underground, grinning away in the dark -- it was quite friendly. Birds sang. All the traffic sounded a long way off. It was peaceful.

He'd had to check a few things, though. Some of the older graves had big stone boxes on top of them, and in the wilder parts these had cracked and even fallen open. He'd had a look inside, just in case.

It had been sort of disappointing to find nothing there.

And then there were the mausoleums. These were much bigger and had doors in them, like little houses. They looked a bit like garden sheds with extra angels. The angels were generally more lifelike than you'd expect, especially one near the entrance who looked as though he'd just remembered that he should have gone to the toilet before he left heaven.

The two boys walked through the cemetery now, kicking up the drifts of fallen leaves.

"It's Halloween next week," said Wobbler. "I'm having a party. You have to come as something horrible. Don't bother to find a disguise."

"Thanks," said Johnny.

"You notice how there's a lot more Halloween stuff in the shops these days?" said Wobbler.

"It's because of Bonfire Night," said Johnny. "Too many people were blowing themselves up with fireworks, so they invented Halloween, where you just wear masks and stuff."

"Mrs. Nugent says all that sort of thing is tampering with the occult," said Wobbler. Mrs. Nugent was the Johnsons' next-door neighbor, and known to be unreasonable on subjects like Madonna played at full volume at three a.m.

"Probably it is," said Johnny.

"She says witches are abroad on Halloween," said Wobbler.

"What?" Johnny's forehead wrinkled. "Like . . . Marjorca and places?"

"Suppose so," said Wobbler.

"Makes . . . sense, I suppose. They probably get special out-of-season bargains, being old ladies," said Johnny. "My aunt can go anywhere on the buses for almost nothing, and she's not even a witch."

"Don't see why Mrs. Nugent is worried, then," said Wobbler. "It ought to be a lot safer around here, with all the witches on vacation."

They passed a very ornate mausoleum, which even had little stained-glass windows. It was hard to imagine who'd want to see in, but then, it was even harder to imagine who'd want to look out.

"Shouldn't like to be on the same plane as 'em," said Wobbler, who'd been thinking hard. "Just think, p'raps you can only afford to go on vacation in the autumn, and you get on the plane, and there's all these old witches going abroad."

"Singing ‘Here we go, here we go, here we go'?" said Johnny. "But I bet you'd get really good service in the hotel."

"Yeah."

"Funny, really," said Johnny.

"What?"

"I saw a thing in a book once," said Johnny, "about these people in Mexico or somewhere, where they all go down to the cemetery for a big fiesta at Halloween every year. Like they don't see why people should be left out of things just because they're dead."

"Yuck. A picnic? In the actual cemetery?"

"Yes."

"Reckon you'd get green glowing hands pushing up through the earth and swiping the sandwiches?"

"Don't think so. Anyway . . . they don't eat sandwiches in Mexico. They eat tort . . . something."

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