I am thrilled to be hosting a spot
on the SOLIMAR: THE SWORD OF THE MONARCHS by Pam Muñoz Ryan Blog Tour hosted
by Rockstar
Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!
About The Book:
Author: Pam Muñoz Ryan
Pub. Date: February 15, 2022
Publisher: Disney-Hyperion
Formats: Hardcover, eBook, Audiobook
Pages: 272
Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, Audible,
B&N, iBooks, Kobo, TBD, Bookshop.org
Middle-grade fans of Pam Muñoz Ryan’s Esperanza Rising, will find a new Mexican heroine to love in Solimar and a fresh, magical story!
On the brink of her Quinceañera, and her official coronation, Solimar visits
the oyamel forest to sit among the monarch butterflies. There, the sun pierces
through a sword-shaped crevice in a boulder, which shines on her and sends the
butterflies humming and swirling around her.
After the magical frenzy, she realizes she's been given a gift―and a burden:
she can predict the near future! She has also become a protector of the young
and weak butterflies. This alone would be a huge responsibility, but tragedy
strikes when a neighboring king invades while her father and brother and many
others are away. The remaining villagers are taken hostage―all except Solimar.
Can this princess-to-be save her family, the kingdom, and the future of the
monarch butterflies from a greedy and dangerous king?
Written for ages 8 to 12 by the Newbery Honor Medal winner of the highly
acclaimed novel Echo.
Excerpt:
ONE
The Arrival
Once, a rich
and glorious Mexico stretched from the isthmus of the middle Americas to the
northern red wood forests, and as far east as the bayous. Within this
vast land, one of twelve provincial kingdoms—San Gregorio—lay
nestled in a highland valley bordered by thousands of oyamel fir
trees.
Solimar
Guadalupe, almost out of breath, ran toward the forest, hoping she wasn’t
too late. In one hand, she clutched a rebozo, the tails of the long linen
shawl trailing behind her. In the other, she held a crown of flowers that
she’d just finished weaving from pink dahlias, a swag of ivy, and
ribbons.
When she’d
heard the news that the arrival was imminent, she dashed from the garden,
calling to her grandmother, “Abuela, they’re coming! I will meet you at
the creek!”
Lázaro, a
resplendent quetzal, flew alongside her, whistling and cooing.
“Yes,
Lázaro,” she told the bird. “I’m sure. A spotter in the tower saw the
first wave headed this way and sent me a message.”
Lázaro
darted back in the direction from which they’d come, chittering loudly,
his long tail feathers in a wild flutter. “Oh for heaven’s sake! Don’t scold
me. I’m not completely without a chaperone. Abuela will be along soon.
Besides, you know how she dawdles. And I don’t want to miss the
spectacle!” Solimar shaded her eyes and looked up. In the distance, a dark veil
surged and rippled.
She hurried
along a footpath leading to a wide creek and stopped at the water’s edge.
On the far bank, the oyamel firs towered. “There—the sacred place!”
Like
everyone in the kingdom, Solimar believed that the ancestors of the
monarch butterflies inhabited the oyamel forest, and that year after
year, their spirits lured a new generation of butterflies to this spot to rest
during their migrations. In San Gregorio, the forest and the monarchs
were revered and protected.
For as long
as Solimar could remember she had come to the woods to greet the first
wave of butterflies on their journey.
She was
forbidden to come alone or to cross the creek, which was riddled with
rocky outcroppings and notorious currents. Everyone in the kingdom feared
the rushing water that often dragged a wayfarer downstream.
Even so,
she’d always wanted to sit in the midst of the butterflies as they
arrived. She couldn’t do that on this side of the water. Solimar
paced. “You know, Lázaro, I’m not a little girl anymore. I shouldn’t have
to wait for a chaperone. Besides . . .” She placed her crown of dahlias
on her head and straightened her shoulders. “I’ll need to be courageous
some day. Why not start today? I give myself permission.” Lázaro
shook his head.
Solimar tied
her rebozo around her waist and leaped. She landed on a rock surrounded
by swirling water and wobbled back and forth. “Whoa . . .” With both arms
outstretched, she found her balance.
Frantic,
Lázaro flapped his wings in warning and chirruped. “You don’t have to be such a
mother hen!” she said, jump ing stone to stone, each one larger than the last.
“Just a few more . . .” She hopped to a cluster of boulders
midstream. On the tallest, decades of gushing water had created a
tapered crevice through-and-through the stone.
“Look,
Lázaro. The gap in this rock is the image of a sword! And the pommel at
the top of the hilt is a porthole.” She peered into the oval opening and
saw a cameo of the forest on the other side. “I can fit my hand through
to steady myself.
It’s the
perfect holding on place.” She swung to the other side of the boulder,
lowering herself onto a rock submerged in the water.
The bird
tugged on her skirt.
“So what if
my boots get a little wet? There’s no going back now.” She gingerly took
a few more steps until she reached the far bank.
Scrambling
to a shady spot between two trees, Solimar considered the tall firs and
muttered, “I’d climb them if I could reach the lowest branches and if I
was wearing trousers.” Instead, she sat cross-legged on the forest floor.
She untied the rebozo, flipped it over her shoulders, and straightened
her crown.
Above, a
kaleidoscope of butterflies quivered.
Lázaro flew
to her side and burrowed beneath the drape of the rebozo.
Her dark
brown eyes wide with awe, she grinned and her cheeks dimpled. “It’s
happening. . . .”
As the
monarchs descended, the flutter of thousands of wings pitter-pattered
like gentle rain. They landed on branches, swarmed around the oyamel
firs, or drifted to the creek to drink, the water trembling from the
beating of wings.
She sat as
still as she could. As one after another perched upon her, Solimar’s
heart raced. She lifted a finger and several rested on it. This close,
she could see the shimmering scales on their wings. “Buenas tardes.
Welcome to San Gregorio. I want to reassure you that my family and I will
do everything in our power to protect the forest so you’ll always have
a home. It’s a solemn promise.”
Lázaro
peeked from beneath the folds of the rebozo. “Come out and greet them,”
encouraged Solimar. A butterfly landed on Lázaro’s head.
Dozens
covered Solimar. One landed on her face. The light touch felt like the
tickling of feathers. When she giggled, the monarch burst upward, then
slowly settled upon her again.
Lázaro
inched forward and perched on her knee. He lifted one wing, then the
other, and held still until the butterflies fluttered down to roost on
him, too.
“Isn’t it
amazing that the butterflies, who have never been here before, arrive
season after season at the same spot as their ancestors? Is it the magnetic
pull of the earth, or the position of the sun as the scientists suggest?
Or, do the spirits of their fathers and mothers whisper directions to
them in a dream? Is it some magical intuition that allows them to know
what lies ahead? Any way you think about it, Lázaro, it’s a
miracle!”
Lázaro, now
completely covered in butterflies, made a high-pitched warble, and his
new friends took flight. “You’re right. It’s also a mystery. Still, I wish I
knew what came next. Imagine always knowing in your heart which
way to turn and what life had in store for you around the next
corner.” As Solimar carefully stood, Lázaro flew to a nearby
branch.
She held the
ends of the rebozo outstretched so that the fabric hung beneath her arms.
The butterflies remained attached, even as a final trail of stragglers
slowly drifted down and landed on the rebozo, too.
“I have
giant wings made of butterflies.”
As Solimar
slowly turned in a circle, a sunbeam pierced through the swordlike
crevice in the boulder in the creek, spotlighting her. She tilted her
face toward the warmth and, for a moment, closed her eyes.
A rhythmic
humming surrounded her. Her eyes flew open, looking for who might be
nearby. Yet there was no one. Where was the sound coming from? Was it the
wind? Was it the monarchs? Or just her imagination? She laughed.
“Lázaro, is it just me? Or did you hear ancient chanting, too?”
Lázaro
shurgged and preened.
She closed
her eyes again, and the chorus continued. For some reason though, she
wasn’t afraid. Instead, she was mesmerized and swayed to the pulsing
beat.
A swarm of
monarchs descended and swirled around her—a blur of black, orange, and coral—creating
an iridescent mist, as if she was swaddled in the softest and lightest
blanket. For a moment, resounding peace enveloped her and she
smiled. The song persisted, though, and grew louder and louder
until it reached a crescendo of haunting voices. Her heart pounded.
Startled, she dropped the rebozo.
The sound
ceased. The mist unfurled and cleared. Glittery specks lingered in the
air like suspended jewels. “What just happened?” asked Solimar.
Lázaro
twittered.
“Yes . . .
peculiar.” Solimar picked up the rebozo and frowned. “One side looks as
if the butterfly wings are embedded in the fabric . . . and they’re
shimmering.”
Lázaro flew
closer to examine it. He grabbed a corner with his beak and shook.
Nothing happened.
Solimar
hurried to the water and rinsed one end of the rebozo. “It won’t come
off.”
She glanced
across the creek. “Abuela mustn’t find me over here.” Solimar squeezed
the water from the rebozo, folded the fabric in half with the iridescence
on the inside, and tied it around her waist. Carefully, she made her way
back across the creek.
When she
reached the opposite bank, bushes rustled nearby. She quickly sat on a boulder,
as if she’d been patiently waiting there all along.
Lázaro
perched on her shoulder.
She
whispered, “I don’t need to mention this to anyone. With any luck, the
shimmering will fade quickly and no one will be the wiser.”
About Pam Muñoz Ryan:
Pam Muñoz
Ryan is a New York Times best-selling author and U.S. nominee
for the international Hans Christian Andersen Award. She has written over forty
books, including Esperanza Rising, Becoming Naomi León, Riding
Freedom, Paint the Wind, The Dreamer, and Echo,
a Newbery Honor book and the recipient of the Kirkus Prize. She is the author
recipient of the National Education Association’s Human and Civil Rights Award,
the Virginia Hamilton Literary Award for Multicultural Literature, and is twice
the recipient of the Pura Belpré Medal and the Willa Cather Award. Other honors
include the PEN USA Award, the Américas Award, the Boston Globe-Horn Book
Honor, and the Orbis Pictus Award. She was born and raised in Bakersfield,
California, but now lives near San Diego with her family. Many of her stories
reflect her half-Mexican heritage.
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub
Giveaway Details:
3 winners will receive a finished copy of SOLIMAR: THE SWORD OF THE MONARCHS, US Only.
a Rafflecopter giveawayTour
Schedule:
Week
One:
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2/1/2022 |
Excerpt |
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2/2/2022 |
Excerpt |
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2/3/2022 |
Excerpt |
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2/4/2022 |
Excerpt |
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2/5/2022 |
Excerpt |
Week Two:
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2/6/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/7/2022 |
Review |
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2/8/2022 |
Excerpt |
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2/9/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/10/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/11/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/12/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
Week Three:
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2/13/2022 |
Review |
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2/14/2022 |
Review |
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2/15/2022 |
IG
Spotlight |
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2/16/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/17/2022 |
IG
Spotlight |
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2/18/2022 |
Review |
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2/19/2022 |
Review |
Week Four:
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2/20/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/21/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/22/2022 |
Review |
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2/23/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/24/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/25/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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2/26/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
Week Five:
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2/27/2022 |
Review |
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2/28/2022 |
Review/IG
Post |
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