Juniper Finch and the Tidemaker's Bell

Charming, clever, and just the right amount of whimsy. Juniper is a joy—stubborn in the best way, and her tin wings are such a cool visual (and metaphor). The bargaining with the collector was my favorite scene because it wasn’t about fighting; it was about listening and making a deal that mattered. I also love the way small inventions are treated—like the crab with button eyes that finds the warmest spot—so grounded and tactile. The book made me want to build something out of spare parts. Perfect bedtime-adventure material. 🙂

A very accomplished children’s adventure. The prose is economical but lush when it needs to be—the oil drying into “thin silver webs” is a tiny image that does a lot of work, signalling both Juniper’s mechanic’s eye and the weather. I appreciated how the author builds Brimble Bay through sensory detail: citrus from the grocer, the smell of thyme from Oskar, the clockwork crab leaving dust-trails like antennae. Structurally, the story keeps a steady forward motion—Juniper’s quest to retrieve the Tidemaker’s Bell gives clear stakes and the right pacing for ages 7–11. The bargaining scene with the lonely collector is a highlight because it reinforces the book’s themes of listening and empathy rather than turning into a simple villain showdown. The ending’s quiet cleverness—bringing the bell home “quietly, kindly, and cleverly”—is the kind of moral I want in a children’s book: smart, subtle, and earned.

I finished this with a silly grin on my face. Juniper Finch is exactly the sort of protagonist you want your child (or your inner child) to follow: stubborn, inventive, and quietly brave. The opening lines—the smell of oil on her tools, the jars of tired ideas—set the tone so beautifully that I could practically sit at her workbench. I loved the tiny clockwork crab clicking across the sill (the detail about it finding the warmest place made me laugh out loud) and Oskar’s ritual of tapping tools to tell a story. The Tide Bell scene—described as round and dimpled like a ripe plum—was pure magic; when Oskar sets it swinging and the boats find their moorings, I felt the whole town breathe. Juniper’s tin wings and the bargain with the lonely collector are handled with kindness and cleverness rather than loud drama, which is perfect for the age group. Warm, whimsical, and wise—this is a small coastal treasure.

Lovely little read. The world-building is done with small, precise touches—the brass key that fits nothing, the jars for tired ideas—and it all feels lived-in. Juniper’s relationship with her grandfather Oskar, especially the moments when he taps tools to tell a story, gives the book heart. The Tide Bell itself is beautifully imagined: a modest object that holds the town’s rhythm. I also liked how Juniper’s inventions, like her tin wings and the soldered-eyed crab, show creativity rather than magic, which makes her resourcefulness relatable for young readers. Gentle, inventive, and very readable for the 7–11 crowd.

A strong pick for classroom and library shelves. Juniper Finch is an excellent role model for young inventors—her curiosity, patience, and careful observation drive the plot, and her tin wings and small tools provide tangible hooks for activities or discussions. The book’s pacing is well-suited to 7–11 year olds: moments like Oskar taking down the Tide Bell and the bell’s evening swing are clear emotional beats that children will remember, and the shop’s details (the brass key, the clockwork crab) offer lots of entry points for creative projects. Thematically, the story is about listening—to the sea, to others, and to one’s own inventions—and it does that without heavy-handed lessons. I’d pair this with a maker-style workshop or a read-aloud followed by a simple soldering/drawing activity for older kids.

I wanted to love this more than I did. The setting and the small mechanical details (the crab, the jars for tired ideas) are delightful, and Juniper herself is a sympathetic, inventive heroine. But the story felt a bit predictable: the missing bell, the kindly grandfather, the lonely collector—these beats show up exactly as you expect, and the bargain with the collector resolves too neatly. The middle drags in places; there’s a lot of lovely description, which is fine, but it slows momentum just when I wanted the adventure to tighten. Also, the collector’s motivations could have used more depth—why he keeps the bell, what it means to him beyond loneliness—so his arc never quite lands emotionally. Charming moments, yes, but I was hoping for more surprise and risk.

This story is a soft lantern of a book: warm, illuminating, and full of little curiosities. From the very first paragraph I was transported—the salt air, the grocer’s citrus, the honeyed oil on Juniper’s tools felt almost edible. Juniper’s workshop is my favorite kind of setting: full of odd, intimate details (nails with letters on their heads, jars for tired ideas) that invite repeated readings. The relationship between Juniper and her grandfather Oskar is tender without being saccharine; his stories told by tapping tools is such an original and lovely image. I was particularly taken with the Tide Bell—round and dimpled like a ripe plum—and the description of its sound spreading over the water, coaxing the town back into rhythm, gave me literal goosebumps. The collector’s lair and the bargain scene are handled with nuance: Juniper listens more than she speaks, and that quiet cunning is refreshing. As a parent of a young reader, I appreciated how the book models problem-solving, empathy, and the joy of making things. Highly recommended as a cozy coastal adventure for curious kids.