The Coral Compass of Pelagia

I wanted to love this, but it felt a bit too tidy and familiar. The setup is promising — an undersea city, a broken compass, a kid on a quest — yet many beats play out exactly as you’d expect. Captain Rook is a pretty one-note antagonist, the kelp labyrinth has suspense but no real twists, and Morse the octopus, while charming, sometimes solves problems a little too conveniently. The pacing drags in the middle chapters; there’s lore hinted at (the compass “listens to whale songs”) that isn’t fully explored, which left me wanting more depth. For younger readers this will probably be engaging, but as an adult I found it predictable and occasionally schematic. A nice premise that could use bolder surprises.

A tender, adventurous tale that respects its young readers. The earthquake that knocks the Coral Compass loose is a neat inciting incident — immediate danger, clear objective. Eli’s determination feels earned: he’s not a superhero, just a kid who knows the city’s pipes and loves its stories. The description of the kelp labyrinth reads like a living maze, which made me hold my breath for him and Morse. I also appreciated the community threads — Raul’s concern, the Council’s warning, vendors on the canals — because they make the stakes communal rather than solely personal. The restorative ending (Eli and friends restoring the currents) hits the emotional sweet spot; it’s about fixing more than machinery. This is the kind of story that gives kids courage without lecturing them — the best kind of adventure.

Charming, quick, and surprisingly clever — like a saltier Narnia with plumbing. Eli’s a fantastic protagonist: impatient, inventive, and annoyingly good at squeezing into pipes. I laughed at the little nickname exchange (“fishbone”) and loved the Museum of Pelagic Time moment where the Coral Compass trembles; what a creepy-cool artifact. Captain Rook is delightfully blustery in a villainous way, and Morse the octopus is basically the smartest character in the book (no offense, humans). If you want an undersea romp with heart and a tiny bit of mischief, this is it. Read it aloud and watch the kids get hooked. 😉

Short, sweet, and bubbling with charm. I loved the little domestic details — Raul’s grunt, the warm metal of the wrench — because they make Pelagia feel lived-in. The Coral Compass itself is a brilliant central object: mysterious, tactile, and tied to the city’s survival. Kids will root for Eli and delight in Morse the octopus’s cleverness. It’s an excellent pick for classroom read-alouds or reluctant readers who need a sensory hook.

The Coral Compass of Pelagia does a wonderful job of constructing an undersea world that feels both worn and enchanted. The opening paragraphs — sunlight spilling like coins, vendors drifting along canals, algae pools glowing — establish atmosphere immediately. Narrative economy is a strength: with a few precise details (Raul tightening a rusted gasket, Eli’s notebook map with a spiral and a question mark), the author gives us a protagonist with agency and a clear interior life. The dynamic between Eli and Dr. Hana grounds the plot; she’s a practical mentor rather than an infallible deus ex machina. Morse the octopus provides ingenious problem-solving moments that are believable within the setting, and Captain Rook serves as an appropriately menacing human obstacle without becoming a caricature. For a 7–11 audience, the story strikes a good tonal balance: stakes feel real (the city’s currents must be restored) but not overwhelming. I’d only ask for a touch more on why the Coral Compass is culturally sacred — a line or two more on its history would deepen the emotional payoff — otherwise, a solid, immersive middle-grade adventure.

This story made me grin like a kid. Eli’s curious, stubborn energy is contagious — that bit where he slips through pipes like a silver fish? Chef’s kiss. Morse the octopus is a total scene-stealer (smart mollusc energy 🐙), and I loved the salvage docks vibe — old rope and stories indeed. The Coral Compass is a gorgeous little MacGuffin, and the kelp cathedral imagery is so evocative. Fast, fun, and full of heart; my niece (age 9) would devour this in one sitting.

Tight, well-paced adventure that balances wonder and mechanics. I appreciated how the author blends kid-friendly stakes (Eli’s wrench-and-sneak resourcefulness) with concrete worldbuilding: pumps pushing fresh water, the salvage docks smell, the brass-veined Coral Compass in the Museum of Pelagic Time. The kelp forests mapped in Eli’s notebook and the spiral marked with a question mark hint at larger mysteries without overwhelming this age group. Characters like Raul Moreno and Dr. Hana are sketched economically but feel real. Recommended for readers aged 7–11 who like thoughtful, slightly steampunk underwater worlds.

I adored this — a warm, salt-scented adventure that feels like a lullaby and a treasure hunt at once. The opening image of sunlight as coins on the dome hooked me immediately; you can almost feel the hum of Pelagia. Eli is such a believable ten-year-old: narrow as a reed, proud of that “fishbone” nickname, fiercely clever with a wrench. I loved the Museum of Pelagic Time scene where the Coral Compass trembles under the lights — it’s a small, quiet moment that promises so much. Dr. Hana’s calm guidance and Morse the octopus’s clever antics made me smile out loud, and the kelp labyrinth sequence felt genuinely tense without being scary for the target age. Captain Rook is a satisfying foil, slippery and threatening in the right measure. The story celebrates curiosity, community, and bravery in a way that will stick with young readers. A lovely, immersive read — perfect for bedtime or classroom sharing.