This is a loving time machine. Written in 1905, it drops you into the hot summer of boyhood, the last summer before everything changes. You are the narrator, and your friends are waiting: Fat Day, Hen Schmidt, Billy Lunt. Together, you form the North Stars, a baseball team with dreams of glory against the Second-street kids. The prose has the gentle rhythm of memory, recalling the particular magic of those long afternoons when a game felt like war and a home run meant everything. There's an innocence here that feels almost sacred now, simple pleasures like the circus coming to town, the weight of a leather glove, the particular way friendships formed when every boy was your brother. Sabin captures something essential about that threshold between childhood's endless summers and the grown-up world waiting just beyond. It's a book for anyone who remembers what it felt like to be ten years old and believe that nothing could ever really hurt them.
