Olivia: Alright Jackson, if you had to describe your childhood baseball career in one word, what would it be? Jackson: Humiliating. Specifically, the 'staring at a dandelion in right field while the winning run scores' kind of humiliating. Olivia: Perfect. Because today's book is for every kid who ever felt that way. We're diving into a novel that feels like it was written just for us dandelion-gazers. It’s called The Summerlands by Leo Maxwell. Jackson: And this book had such an interesting reception. It was a huge hit with readers, but it really polarized critics. They couldn't decide if it was a sports novel, a coming-of-age story, or a high-fantasy epic. Olivia: That’s because it’s all three at once. And what's so perfect is that the author, Leo Maxwell, actually grew up on a small, rainy island in the Pacific Northwest, very similar to the book's setting. He said in an interview that he wanted to write a story where the kid who's worst at sports gets to be the hero. Jackson: Well, he definitely succeeded. The main character, Ethan Feld, is maybe the most relatable failed athlete I've ever read. Olivia: He is the self-proclaimed "worst player of baseball in the history of Clam Island, Washington." And his story starts not with a grand prophecy, but with a simple, painful declaration to his dad.

Jackson: What does he say? Olivia: The book opens with him in his bright red Roosters jersey, looking at his baseball-loving father and just saying, "I hate baseball." It’s such a gut punch. He's not just bad at the game; he despises it. He sees it as this boring, cruel ritual designed to publicly humiliate him by counting his "errors." Jackson: Oh, I know that feeling. The error column is brutal. It’s like a permanent record of your shame. Olivia: Exactly. But his dad, who is this wonderfully thoughtful but grieving character, has this whole philosophy about it. He tells Ethan, "Errors... well, they're part of life, Ethan... That's why baseball is the sport closest to real life." He feels like his own life is just a long exercise in counting his mistakes. Jackson: That is a heavy thing to lay on a kid who just doesn't want to play. So the dad is basically saying 'suck it up, kid, life is about failure'? That's a tough lesson. Olivia: It's a very tough lesson, and it sets up this deep philosophical divide between them. Ethan just wants to avoid the pain of failure, while his dad wants him to learn how to live with it. This all comes to a head in a disastrous game. The Roosters have lost seven games in a row, team morale is in the gutter, and Ethan is seen as the primary liability. Jackson: The pressure must have been immense. Olivia: It was. He gets called up to bat in a crucial moment, two outs, runners on base. And he’s so terrified of striking out that his strategy is just... not to swing. He lets two strikes go by. He hears his mentor, Chiron Brown, urging him to swing. He tries, but at the last second, he closes his eyes. Jackson: Oh no. Olivia: Strike three. Game over. Later, in the field, he misplays a fly ball that costs them the game. The final score is 12-11. As he's walking off the field, a player from the other team just looks at him and says, "You suck." Jackson: That's just devastating. That's the moment where you just want to run away and never come back. Olivia: And that is exactly what he does. In an earlier game, overwhelmed by the fear of being put in and failing, he fakes a bathroom emergency and bolts from the dugout. He runs into the strange birch forest bordering the field, a place that feels a little different from the rest of the rainy island. And this is where the veil between worlds starts to tear. Jackson: Whoa, hold on. So he runs away from a baseball game and stumbles into... what? Olivia: He finds this ruined old beach resort, and he sees four sinister-looking men in raincoats from a company called 'TRANSFORM PROPERTIES'. They're arguing over a map. Then, the weird fox-like creature he thought he saw earlier appears in a tree. It has intelligent, human-like features and is holding a slingshot. Jackson: A slingshot? Olivia: A slingshot. And it shoots a pebble at one of the men, waves at Ethan, and vanishes. The men then turn their menacing attention to Ethan, and he feels like he's being hunted. Jackson: Okay, that is a wild turn. We went from a sad, relatable baseball story to a corporate conspiracy involving a magical, slingshot-wielding fox. Olivia: And that's the book's genius! It uses that universal feeling of failure and the desire to escape as the literal doorway into a massive fantasy world. Ethan's escape from the mundane shame of baseball plunges him headfirst into a conflict for the soul of his island and, as he soon learns, the fate of all worlds. He meets a talking were-fox named Stripper, who explains the universe is a 'Tree of Worlds' and that Clam Island is a special place where these worlds intertwine. Jackson: So his failure wasn't the end of his story; it was the beginning of a much, much bigger one. Olivia: Precisely. He's no longer just Ethan Feld, the worst baseball player. He's a prophesied champion, destined to protect these magical realms from an ancient, destructive entity named Coyote.

Jackson: That’s a heck of a promotion. But what happens to the baseball part of the story? Does it just get left behind for swords and sorcery? Olivia: And what's so brilliant is that even as Ethan gets pulled into this epic quest to save the universe, baseball doesn't just disappear. It becomes even more important. It becomes the very language of this new world. Jackson: Okay, I'm intrigued. How does baseball become the language of the universe? You have to give me the most bonkers example of that from the book. Olivia: I have the perfect one. After a series of misadventures, Ethan and his friends are flying in a magically converted station wagon—don't ask—when they are suddenly plucked out of the sky by a giant. Jackson: As one is. Olivia: This giant, John Spolpaossa, is an albino, smells like rotten fish, and fully intends to eat them. He's part of a family of giants known for eating children. The situation is completely hopeless. But Ethan remembers a rumor: giants love to gamble. Jackson: A gambling giant. I like it. Olivia: So, after a bit of prodding from his friend Jennifer T—who actually stabs the giant's hand with a Swiss Army knife to get his attention— Jackson: She did what?! Olivia: It was a bold move! But it works. The giant, enraged but also intrigued, notices Ethan’s catcher's mitt. And he proposes a bet. He says, "You catch three of my terrible, terrible fastballs... and I not only let you go, I give you a push. You drop one... and I will suck the marrow from your bones." Jackson: That is insane. So he's literally playing for his life. And he has to catch a giant's fastball? This is the kid who closes his eyes at the plate! Olivia: It seems impossible. But then Cinquefoil, his little fae-folk guide, explains the 'Universal Rules.' When creatures of different sizes play a game, the smaller one magically transforms to the scale of the host. So when Ethan steps onto the field, he grows to the size of a giant. Jackson: Okay, that helps. But still, a fastball from a giant who boasts about striking out other giants? Olivia: And the first pitch is devastating. Ethan catches it, but the book describes the impact as an explosion of pain. His hand feels like it implodes, his bones shatter, he becomes a 'red shimmering cloud of pure, absolute pain.' But he holds on. The second pitch is even worse. He knows he can't survive a third. Jackson: So what does he do? There's no way he can catch another one. Olivia: He calls time. He frantically consults his magical baseball manual, a book called 'How to Catch Lightning and Smoke' by a ferisher named E. Peavine. He finds a section on catcher's signals. The book says the catcher is the 'eye of the artist' and is responsible for the pitch. It says, 'You must call the ball. And most importantly, do not let that rascal tell you no.' Jackson: He's going to call the pitch? Against a giant? Olivia: He is. He flashes three fingers—the signal for a change-up, a slower, deceptive pitch. The giant is furious. He wants to throw another fastball. But Ethan, emboldened by the book, stands his ground and yells, "What are you, a rookie?" Jackson: He called a child-eating giant a rookie! That's either the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever heard. Olivia: It's both! But because he's invoking the ancient, magical rules of the game, the giant is compelled to obey. He throws the change-up. And Ethan catches it easily. He wins. Jackson: Wow. So it comes back to his dad's philosophy! It's not about avoiding errors or having the most strength, but about understanding the game, the rules. Here, the 'rules' are literally magical. And by knowing them, he outsmarts a being a thousand times more powerful than him. Olivia: Exactly. The book takes this very American, very mundane thing—a kid's struggle with baseball—and elevates it into a cosmic metaphor. The skills he has to learn aren't just about sport; they're about paying attention, understanding hidden rules, and having the courage to act, even when you're terrified of failing.

Jackson: And it feels like the ultimate validation for anyone who's ever felt like an outsider or a failure. Ethan's weakness, his hatred for the game, is what leads him into this other world. And his friend, Jennifer T, has a similar journey. She's told she's a 'celerex'—a hybrid, someone who feels 'halfway between this world and that' because of her mixed heritage. Olivia: Right, and that 'in-between' nature is what gives her the ability to throw a magical 'wormhole' pitch that no one else can. It's a beautiful theme throughout the book. Jackson: The book is telling us that the things that make us feel different or inadequate are actually our greatest strengths, our own unique form of magic. Olivia: It's a powerful message. It makes you wonder what 'games' in our own lives hold deeper rules we're not seeing. Maybe the key isn't to be the best player, but to understand the game on a completely different level. Jackson: I love that. It makes me want to look back at my own 'dandelion in right field' moment and see what I missed. We'd love to hear from our listeners—what's a moment of failure that, looking back, actually opened a door for you? Let us know on our socials. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.