My Big Mouth: Davis Delaware’s Quest to Belong
Middle-grade readers meet Davis Delaware, a ninth-grader who is not actually from Delaware, who moves to a new town with his dad after his mother’s death. He wants to start fresh, make a few friends, doodle in his notebook, and most of all blend in. The move tests his resolve as he navigates a new school, unfamiliar hallways, and the quiet ache of loss that follows him. He clings to little rituals—a quick sketch in the margins of a notebook, a favorite song on his headphones, a ritual of packing the same lunch tray, a wish to disappear into the background when the day grows too loud. The town itself feels like a character, with smiling storefronts, a playground that hums with rumors, and teachers who remember every kid by their doodles on the desk. The narrative follows his plan to fit in without losing himself, delivering a story that balances hopeful ambition with the tenderness of a fresh start. It invites readers to share in the awkward excitement of moving on, keeping the mood light even when the subject matter weighs a bit.
As Davis, Edwin, and Molly brainstorm a plan to blend in, they form a band that becomes more than a hobby. The idea of performing shifts from a quiet dream to a public moment, drawing attention from friends and strangers alike. The trio discovers that creativity can make them visible in a chorus of opinions, and visibility brings challenges they didn’t anticipate. Rehearsals spill into after-school hours, filled with shaky harmonies, earnest lyrics, and the exhilaration of being heard. Yet with the music comes trouble. Butcher, the school bully, also wants Molly and turns up the pressure, turning Davis’s days into a string of small humiliations and purposeful missteps. The tension grows as Davis and his friends realize that talent is only part of the battle; the larger test is courage—finding the strength to stand up when the crowd closes in and to protect what they are building together. The rhythm of the plot blends humor with tension, and the songs veer between playful and pointed, echoing the band’s evolving confidence.
Supporting characters add color to the town. Ivan Brink resembles a vampire and faints on cue, while Furry, an aging saxophonist with a hidden dream, embodies the town’s oddball charm. The illustrations feel like pages torn from Davis’s own notebook, complete with doodles, arrows, and fragments of lyrics that dance alongside the prose. This visual language makes the setting feel tangible and invites readers to skim through the imagery while reading the emotions behind the sketches. The town’s oddities serve as mirrors for the trio’s growth, reminding readers that a place can feel strange yet kind at the same time. The result is a lively, immersive experience where humor and humanity live side by side.
The central arc remains gentle rather than cinematic. Davis does not rush into a dramatic confrontation with Butcher; instead, he grows through singing, writing, and choosing not to escalate every issue. The band may sound imperfect, but the imperfect music reflects real life—moments when things don’t click and jokes don’t land, yet the effort remains earnest and endearing. A teacher recognizing Davis’s poetry as among the class’s best brings a small triumph that stays intimate rather than sensational. The narrative favors authenticity over a fairy-t Tale ending, offering a grounded conclusion that respects the pace of adolescence and the uneven, hopeful process of settling into a new place. For readers who crave rapid resolutions, this approach may feel steady; for those who value character-driven humor and heart, the book delivers a satisfying, approachable experience.
In the end, the book lands as an agreeable comic tale with plenty of warmth. It serves up laughs, music, and a sense of belonging that grows slowly, inviting readers to linger on doodles, lyrics, and the tiny victories that define growing up in a new town. The tone blends whimsy with warmth, turning a story about moving and finding your footing into something memorable and enduring. It isn’t aiming for a dramatic crescendo; it offers a humane portrait of adolescence and the quiet victories of starting over. The final rating reads 3/5.