Maybe you remember the feeling of losing something so small it shouldn't have mattered, but it did. Now, imagine that loss is a sister. That is the gut-punch starting point of Maybe a Fox, a middle-grade novel that manages to be both devastating and weirdly hopeful at the same time. Co-authored by Kathi Appelt and Alison McGhee, this isn't just another "animal book" for kids. It is a meditation on the thin, vibrating line between this world and whatever comes next.
If you've spent any time in the world of contemporary children's literature, you know these two names. Kathi Appelt gave us the haunting The Underneath, and Alison McGhee is the mind behind Shadow Baby. They don't write fluff. They write the kind of prose that feels like it was carved out of a piece of cedar—fragrant, solid, and a little bit sharp.
The Dual Narrative of Maybe a Fox
The book follows Jules and her sister, Sylvie. They live in Vermont. It’s cold. There’s a giant, dangerous slip of a river nearby called the Wishbone. Sylvie is fast—faster than anyone. One morning, she runs toward that river and she just... doesn't come back.
Honestly, the pacing here is frantic.
While Jules is dealing with the crushing gravity of a house that is suddenly too quiet, we get a second perspective. It’s a fox. But not just any fox. It’s a "Kenneen," a creature born into the world with a specific purpose, though it doesn't quite know what that purpose is yet. The chapters alternate. We see Jules trying to find "shadow pockets" where her sister might be hiding, and we see the fox—Senna—navigating the forest. The connection between them isn't immediate. It's a slow burn. It’s a mystery.
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Why the "Sylvie" Character Sticks With You
Sylvie isn't a saint. She’s a runner. She’s impulsive. Her absence in the book is a character in itself. Appelt and McGhee do this incredible thing where they describe the "sylvie-shaped hole" in the world. It’s a very specific kind of grief.
Most books for this age group try to wrap things up in a neat little bow. They tell kids that things will be okay. Maybe a Fox doesn't really do that. It tells kids that things will be different. It acknowledges that when someone dies, the atoms of the world literally rearrange themselves. That’s a heavy concept for a ten-year-old, but the authors trust their audience. They don’t talk down. They just tell the truth about how much it sucks to lose your person.
The Magic Realism Problem
Is it a fantasy book? Sorta.
Is it realistic fiction? Mostly.
The "Kenneen" element—the fox—introduces a layer of magic realism that might throw some readers off if they’re expecting a straightforward survival story. In the book, there’s a sense that the world is "thin." This idea comes from Celtic mythology, the notion of "thin places" where the barrier between the physical and the spiritual is permeable. The Wishbone River is one of those places.
The authors use the fox to explore the idea of reincarnation without ever using the word. It’s more about energy. It’s about the way love doesn't just evaporate when a heart stops beating. Instead, it gets recycled into the dirt, the trees, and maybe, into the fur of a kit born in the dead of winter. It's a risky narrative move. If it was handled by less skilled writers, it would feel cheesy. Here, it feels necessary.
Vermont as a Character
The setting isn't just a backdrop. The Vermont landscape in Maybe a Fox is rugged and unforgiving. You can feel the bite of the air. The authors spend a lot of time describing the geology—the rocks, the water, the way the earth holds onto secrets.
- The Slip: The dangerous part of the river.
- The Shadow Pockets: Where Jules looks for her sister.
- The Grotto: A place of reflection.
These locations feel lived-in. You get the sense that Appelt and McGhee spent a lot of time walking through the woods before they sat down to write. They know what it sounds like when ice cracks. They know the specific smell of a fox den.
What Most People Get Wrong About This Book
People see a fox on the cover and think it’s a "cute animal story." It isn't.
If you go into this expecting The Fox and the Hound, you’re going to be disappointed. This is a book about a father who is so paralyzed by grief he can barely look at his surviving daughter. It’s about a girl who blames herself for not being fast enough. It’s about the terrifying realization that sometimes, there is no "why" behind a tragedy.
Another misconception is that it’s too sad for kids.
We often underestimate what children can handle. Kids deal with death every day—pets, grandparents, neighbors. They see the empty chairs. Maybe a Fox provides a vocabulary for that emptiness. It gives them a way to visualize the "invisible strings" that still connect them to the people they’ve lost. It’s not "too sad." It’s "honestly sad." There’s a difference.
The Power of the "What If"
Jules spends a lot of the book making "Maybe" jars. It’s her way of coping. She writes down things that might be true and puts them in a jar.
- Maybe Sylvie is just lost.
- Maybe she’s a bird now.
- Maybe she can hear me.
This is such a human impulse. We all do it. We tell ourselves stories to survive the night. By making this a central part of Jules’s character, the authors show us that hope isn't a feeling—it’s an action. It’s something you build, piece by piece, even when you’re miserable.
A Technical Look at the Writing Style
The prose is sparse. There aren't many wasted words.
"The world was full of holes. Some were small. Some were big. Some were Sylvie-sized."
This kind of writing is deceptively hard to do. It’s rhythmic. It’s almost like poetry, but it moves with the speed of a middle-grade thriller. The short chapters make it easy to say "just one more," which is why so many people end up finishing the book in a single sitting, probably while crying into a pillow.
The collaboration between Appelt and McGhee is seamless. You can't tell where one starts and the other ends. They’ve stated in interviews that they wrote it by passing the manuscript back and forth, refining the voice until it sounded like a single, unified entity. That’s rare for co-authored books, which often feel disjointed or "patchy."
The Scientific Side: Foxes in the Wild
While the book leans into the mystical, it gets the biology of foxes mostly right. Red foxes (Vulpes vulpes) are incredibly adaptable. They are solitary hunters. They are clever. The book highlights their sensory world—the "mousy" smells, the way they hear things moving under the snow.
By grounding the "Kenneen" in real fox behavior, the authors make the magical elements feel more grounded. You believe the fox could be Sylvie because the fox acts like a real fox first. It doesn't talk. It doesn't have human thoughts in a cartoonish way. It has instincts. And those instincts are colored by a lingering, ghost-like memory of a girl who loved to run.
Why We Still Talk About It
Released in 2016, Maybe a Fox has stayed on library shelves and school reading lists for a reason. It tackles the "unthinkable" with a level of grace that is hard to find. It doesn't offer easy answers because there aren't any.
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In a world that is increasingly loud and chaotic, there is something profoundly moving about a story that focuses on the quiet connection between a girl and a wild animal. It reminds us that we are part of a larger cycle. It reminds us that even when we lose everything, something remains.
Actionable Insights for Readers and Educators
If you’re planning to read this book, or if you’re a teacher looking to bring it into the classroom, here are a few things to keep in mind:
- Prepare for the Emotional Weight: This is a heavy hitter. If you're reading it with a child, be ready to talk about grief. Don't shy away from the hard questions.
- Look for the Symbolism: Pay attention to the use of fire and water. The Wishbone River is a symbol of transition, while the forge where Jules’s father works represents the "shaping" of grief into something new.
- Explore the Setting: Use the book as a jumping-off point to learn about Vermont’s ecosystem. The details about the flora and fauna are accurate and offer a great opportunity for cross-curricular learning.
- Practice the "Maybe" Jar: This can be a powerful therapeutic tool. Writing down "maybes" helps externalize internal anxieties. It’s a way to give voice to the things we’re afraid to say out loud.
Ultimately, the book is about the endurance of love. It’s about the way we find our way back to each other, even when the path is covered in snow and the river is rising. It’s about the fact that maybe, just maybe, nobody is ever truly gone.
To get the most out of the experience, try reading the book in a quiet place where you can sit with the atmosphere. Observe the wildlife in your own backyard and consider the "thin places" in your own life. Reflect on the people you've lost and the ways they might still be showing up in the world around you—whether through a sudden breeze, a familiar song, or the flash of a red tail disappearing into the brush.