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Lulu the Broadway Mouse

Lulu the Broadway Mouse

Ratatouille meets Broadway in this charming new middle grade novel about a little mouse with big dreams.

Lulu is a little girl with a very big dream: she wants to be on Broadway. She wants it more than anything in the world. As it happens, she lives in Broadway’s Shubert Theatre; so achieving her dream shouldn’t be too tricky, right? Wrong. Because the thing about Lulu? She’s a little girl mouse.

When a human girl named Jayne joins the cast of the show at the Shubert as an understudy, Lulu becomes Jayne’s guide through the world of her theatre and its wonderfully kooky cast and crew. Together, Jayne and Lulu learn that sometimes dreams turn out differently than we imagined; sometimes they come with terms and conditions (aka the company mean girl, Amanda). But sometimes, just when we’ve given up all hope, bigger and better dreams than we’d ever thought could come true, do.

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Genre: Children's Books / Juvenile Fiction / Performing Arts / Theater

On Sale: October 9th 2018

Price: $22.98

ISBN-13: 9781549116377

Praise

"Preteens who are star-struck for Broadway will enjoy the drama."—Kirkus Reviews
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"Jenna Gavigan is a true Broadway baby whose backstage debut novel will delight theater kids of all ages (and species)!"—--Tim Federle, author of Better Nate than Ever
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"A standing ovation for Lulu! This delightful debut serves up a sweet and sassy mouse's-eye view of life in the footlights from a real Broadway insider. Encore, please?"
Heather Vogel Frederick, author of the Spy Mice, the Mother-Daughter Book Club, and the Pumpkin Falls Mystery series
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"Jenna manages to capture the drama and tension and excitement of the theatre without ever losing the magic and joy of what it feels like to be on Broadway. Lulu's burning desire to be onstage was exactly how I felt when I was younger, and reading this book reawakened that feeling in me!"—-Tony nominee Jonathan Groff
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What's Inside

Here’s the Scoop

Not to brag (well, this is my story, so I guess if I’m going to brag, this is the place to do it, right?), but my house is the most beautiful, most magical, most jaw-droppingly fabulous place in the world. (If I’m going to brag, I may as well full-out brag, right?)

How do I know these facts, you ask? How am I cer­tain that my house is all these things and more? Sure, it’s the only place I’ve ever lived. Sure, I’ve never been off Forty-Fourth Street, let alone the island of Manhattan. Sure, you’re telling yourself that “my house is the most beautiful, most magical, most jaw-droppingly fabulous place in the world” should be categorized as an opinion, rather than a fact. A fact needs to be proven, right?

Hold on a second. This is a novel, not some scientific document. It’s a story, my story, so if I say something’s true, it’s true. But to appease all you science lovers out there, I’ll give you a bit of information about my house and you can come to your own conclusion—you can deduce. (Ugh, I sound like that know-it-all Amanda. More on her later . . .)

On my house’s ornate, hand-painted ceiling hang four prizewinning pumpkin-sized crystal chandeliers. In my house’s biggest room there are precisely one thousand four hundred forty-seven blue-green velvet seats. There are more than a dozen rooms full of makeup and wigs and costumes, and the people who inhabit these rooms are the best, most interesting, most loving people you’ll ever meet. Sometimes, it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop (literally, there are hundreds of pins of different varieties all over the building), but gloriously loud at other times with the sounds of instruments and singing and (sigh) applause. I mean, really, is there anything more twitter­pating than the sound of applause?

If you’ve yet to guess what kind of house I live in, then this may not be the story for you. But please keep reading because some grown-up already bought the book for you, and they (and I) will be heartbroken if you don’t finish it.

My house? It’s a theatre. A Broadway theatre. (And yes, it’s theatre not theater. I’m not being fancy, it’s just correct.)

I know what you’re thinking. This narrator is bluffing. She’s a liar. She’s a fraud! People don’t live in Broadway theatres. Sure, they work in theatres. They sew costumes, move scenery, or play the trombone. They (big sigh) per­form onstage. But people certainly don’t live in Broadway theatres.

Well, dear reader, you are correct. People don’t. But mice, mice certainly do. She’s a mouse, you say? Excellent powers of deduction, dear reader. ’Tis true. I’m Lulu the Mouse, and the Shubert Theatre at 225 West 44th Street in New York City? It’s my house.

Now that you know my address and my name, you really only need to know one more thing about me in order to read my story.

It’s the thing I daydream and nightdream about.

The thing I wish for and hope for and practice for.

The thing that makes me . . . well . . . different from other mice.

I want to be on Broadway. I want it more than anything in the world.

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