As a child, I often struggled to fit in. Even when I first moved to New York – that place where everyone is different, so everyone fits in – my clothes were long and flowy and green instead of short and tight and black. I remember going home with my freshman college roommate for Thanksgiving since I had no easily-commutable relatives. Her Italian family started feeding me the moment I arrived, and kept feeding me, and the food kept coming: ante paste, pasta, wave after wave of main dishes, dessert, coffee, chocolates. Finally at 1 a.m., I stood up, thanked them for a lovely evening and asked if someone could drop me at the subway for my 2-hour ride back to our dorm. The warm welcome I had received dropped into the sub-arctic zone.

When my roommate returned Monday morning, the cold spell continued until I finally asked what I had done wrong. “You offended my family,” she answered, “by leaving before dinner was finished.” “There was more?” I gaped, “How could there possibly have been more?” I had found yet one more way not to fit in.

Kat, the main character in The Witch of Blackbird Pond, finds herself in a similar situation. Having grown up with a wealthy and indulgent grandfather in the Barbados, Kat stands out in a bad way from the moment she arrives in the states, when she dives from the ships’ railing to rescue a child’s doll that had fallen in the water. The shock of finding herself swimming in cold New England waters – as opposed to the warm waters of her home island – is nothing compared to the frigid welcome she receives from her new community, where no one knows how to swim, and floating instead of sinking is perceived as supernatural.

Kat, longing to meet her aunt and hoping to be welcomed into the fold, can’t seem to do anything right: the gifts she brought with her are too lavish; her cooking skills nonexistent; her clothing unacceptable and impractical. Having risen with the dawn, walked to town, and sat through a morning of dull preaching. Kat is dismayed to find that they have to return after lunch for yet more prayers. Her uncle is disapproving and her aunt, while kind, expects Kat to adjust to them. When one cousin’s beau pays too much attention to Kat, she loses an ally, and feels more isolated than ever.

Kat finally makes friends with a Quaker woman who lives outside of town. Together they create a refuge for an unloved young girl, helping the child to learn to read. But it’s a dangerous time to be a Quaker amongst Puritans, and the old woman barely makes it out of the community alive, rescued by a sailor that Kat met on her journey.

Then the witch-hunters come for Kat and all the things that make her different from the community are held up as proof against her.

The author’s approach to introducing Kat’s dilemma is adroit: she doesn’t describe the cold austerity of Puritan New England, she lets the reader discover it with Kat, using Kat as a bridge between our modern world and the harsh colonial existence. And Kat’s experience isn’t all bad: her uncle isn’t unreasonable, he’s worried and committed to his faith. Her aunt is welcoming but concerned. Her cousins, friendly but Kat’s unexpected appearance causes hardships for them: she’s unable complete even the simplest of tasks, having grown up with servants and slaves; their house is small enough that another body causes inconvenience; and her behavior causes comments that they are sensitive to, as all teenaged girls are.

This book must have been yet another gift from my book-loving grandmother: her selections tended toward the Newbury and Caldecott medal winners. But it quickly won a place in my heart. I felt a kindship for Kat who just wanted people to love her, but had little patience with ways that felt confining, and wasn’t willing to compromise her values to fit in. Having changed schools a lot as a child, I knew what it was like to have to find a new path for yourself, to have to adapt to different dress codes (imposed or social), different peer groups. My parents were both shy with strangers; and my sisters and I lacked role models that helped, for example, our cousins make friends instantly. And none of us have ever felt that we fit in. So Kat’s situation spoke to me.

The Witch of Blackbird Pond is a good book to read when you’re feeling left out, judged for being different. It says it’s okay not to fit in: sometimes being different isn’t so bad, you just have to figure out how to survive until you can plan your escape from those who label you different and want to punish you for it.