Hatchet is a Newbery Honor-winning young-adult wilderness survival novel written by American writer Gary Paulsen. It is the first novel of five in the. Hatchet book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Brian is on his way to Canada to visit his estranged father when the pi. This award-winning contemporary classic is the survival story with which all others are compared—and a page-turning, heart-stopping adventure, recipient of the.

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Hatchet Book

Hold on tight for an intense tale of survival. Read Common Sense Media's Hatchet review, age rating, and parents guide. ''A heart-stopping story something beyond adventure, a book that plunges readers into the cleft of . run for the plane without stopping to remove the hatchet. Hatchet by Gary Paulsen - Celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the Newbery Honor–winning survival novel Hatchet with a pocket-sized edition perfect for.

About The Book Celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the Newbery Honor—winning survival novel Hatchet with a pocket-sized edition perfect for travelers to take along on their own adventures. This special anniversary edition includes a new introduction and commentary by author Gary Paulsen, pen-and-ink illustrations by Drew Willis, and a water resistant cover. When the plane crashes, killing the pilot, the sole survivor is Brian. He is alone in the Canadian wilderness with nothing but his clothing, a tattered windbreaker, and the hatchet his mother had given him as a present. At first consumed by despair and self-pity, Brian slowly learns survival skills—how to make a shelter for himself, how to hunt and fish and forage for food, how to make a fire—and even finds the courage to start over from scratch when a tornado ravages his campsite. When Brian is finally rescued after fifty-four days in the wild, he emerges from his ordeal with new patience and maturity, and a greater understanding of himself and his parents. Hatchet 1 Brian Robeson stared out the window of the small plane at the endless green northern wilderness below. It was a small plane, a Cessna —a bushplane—and the engine was so loud, so roaring and consuming and loud, that it ruined any chance for conversation. Not that he had much to say. He was thirteen and the only passenger on the plane was a pilot named—what was it? Jim or Jake or something—who was in his mid-forties and who had been silent as he worked to prepare for take-off. In fact since Brian had come to the small airport in Hampton, New York to meet the plane—driven by his mother—the pilot had only spoken five words to him. They had taken off and that was the last of the conversation. There had been the initial excitement, of course. But in five minutes they had leveled off at six thousand feet and headed northwest and from then on the pilot had been silent, staring out the front, and the drone of the engine had been all that was left.

And anger. Sometimes I say "fuck" when I'm angry. Or when I'm fucking that's "copulating" for those of you who didn't get the intended use of the word. That doesn't mean that I can't think of another adjective that would better suit the situation, it means that I am illustrating just how intensely I feel.

I don't see anything boorish about it.

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I consider refraining from using language like that in front of families and in the workplace because society feels that it's unacceptable, however that is only because society has decided to create a taboo.

It is a taboo that I adhere to only to avoid drama in my real meaning not on the internet! The internet is free reign for "the f-word" and I do not concern myself with the idea that some kid is going to peruse goodreads.

Wow I'm going to use this word all the time! All the fucking time! There's a whole world of things for people to be concerned about, a whole world of things that kids will understand much better if their families choose to be open and communicative about things like sex,skin color, gender identification, animal rights, and basic website development.

I do not censor myself around families for the sake of preserving the kid's precious integrity, I do it because I think it would seriously damper a kid's trip to the zoo to have his parents either get into an argument with some facetious bitch who said the dirty words, or become visibly distracted and upset about their child's exposure to the seedy underbelly of society and therefore be all pissy and "What is the world coming to?

I mean that isn't always the case, but it can be the case and if it is the case I don't want to even begin to get involved. I don't even remember my point anymore. I have to go back up and read through this entire thread now.

Messages 4 and 5 convey the respective individual's failure to see the satire and intended humor in my sardonic and entirely imprecise and down right hazy recollection and review of the book. Message 7 was edited and I have no idea what it said before but I think most people like puppies, and most people are way too easily offended. Message 8 was a very good moderator between the offended and the puppy lover I mean that in an entirely platonic way. However, Message 8, you said I was being crass and implied that I am simple minded, or at least have no vocabulary to build a statement or argument with, and that couldn't be further from the mark.

I am a product of society, a generation and a particularly open minded family and I suppose that means that I'm coming from a very different place and I bring to the internet table a very different point of view as well as my methods of conveying it.

Jun 29, Hahaha, lets just all go read a good book huh? As long as it wasn't written by Paulsen, I'm in. Feb 02, Mar 06, Just reading this now long after these comments were written. It's funny, but for me, this book was a JOY to read. So much so, that I think I'll re-read it as soon as I get a chance.

Jun 30, That story about your maps and stuff is so cute I could die. I don't know, my review is supposed to highlight that I really don't remember much about the book at all except for like magic birds and shit berries or something? And turtle eggs or I am confusing this with an episode of Ren and Stimpy I know this sounds impossible but it is possible Anyway, I think this book was entirely impossible for me to relate to but I think really, at it's base, at the core and soul of this book - it sucks.

Jul 19, While I remember adoring the book although all I remember is that the kid was alone and had to survive, a scenario I like reading about, but it doesn't have to be about a kid and don't necessarily side with Rachel's "review," I do think she's pretty amusing in how she expresses herself.

So I tip my cap to her for saying what she wants even though most people will call her out for it. Aug 03, This thread made my week. Rachel, you're awesome and all of these reactions were a "slice of life". I hated Hatchet, too, but that's irrelevant.

Top 100 Children’s Novels #23: Hatchet by Gary Paulsen

Thank you for your review. Mar 24, I mean yeah, I hated the book and all, but I hardly remember anything about it and aside from the 5 minutes it took me to write the review I hadn't thought about it in years.

Aside from all the comments I get from you uptight ninnies about how I am deranged and depraved because why would a normal person write such a negative review of such a precious little book? I haven't thought about it since!

I don't think the sarcasm is all that subtle. Not that any of this has anything to do with anything Mar 30, Didn't see that. I guess it was a typo. I'd think it would be pretty random for after posting a review like two years ago and people are still commenting about it. XD Yes. Fiction is weird. So by all means, don't read Meyer's stuff. Not that you will, of course. Apr 02, Wow, I would not have guessed this for a book that people felt so strongly about unlike Twilight or Catcher in the Rye or everything by Hemingway.

I remember so little about it that I didn't even mark it as read.

May 02, Canada actually isn't that bad. I thought the book wasn't that bad, but I was pretty boring. It was pretty boring. May 06, May wrote: And not just for the hockey! That said, let's be honest here. The wilderness of Canada is pretty much the most terrifying place on Earth. May 07, Write much horror up there? May 13, Sam Hason I just fished the book hatchet by Gary Paulsen.

In the book Brian goes on a bush plane to his dads house in Canada. Bu on his way there the pilot has a hart attack and dies. Brian has to crash land the plane or he will fall out of the sky in no time. He picks out a wide L shaped lake and kills the engine. A lot goes through his head in that time from the sky to the lake. He takes of his seat belt and swims to shore. His cut and bruised and wet. All he has is wallet the cloths on his back and what? A hatchet his mom gives him as a good by present.

That night he is eaten alive by insects and mosquitoes. The next day he realizes that he needs food and shelter. For shelter he finds a cave. And for food he finds berries that soon get the name gut berries because of the after math of barfing.

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He soon finds raspberries. That same night he wakes up to a sharp pain in his leg. He picks up his hatchet and through it at it. He misses. But he hits the wall and a spark comes and hits the pile of dead leafs. And that is how he made fire. There are all sorts of adventure in this book. It is a truly amazing book! I do think that there are some boring parts like in all books.

But there is more fun the boring. I would recommend this book to kids aged because this book will inspire you to crash land on a lake and try to survive. You will be sad when the book ends but will be happy when u pick up the sequel. Jul 08, I thought it was a decent book, but I've always wanted to see if I could survive in the wilderness for a while with a few simple tools and whatever knowledge I possess.

Though I'd rather it not be due to a terrible plane crash. At any rate I read this book a long while ago. Jul 18, If your over the comments, stop commenting back. You DO Sound like a jerk. Olivia wrote: It just takes a click on a link and a minute to reply. I just think it's funny that people are still commenting like 2 years later when I've explained about 50 times that I don't even remember this book and I don't care that everyone else apparently loved it to bits.

That said - I AM a jerk, bitch. If your over the comments That would be you're. Sep 24, This was one of the most interesting threads I've ever read. So much that I just have to read this book. Everyone has a place and a value in this world. Even jerks and bitches. Nov 04, Dec 30, You hate everything. Jan 16, Jan 19, I disapprove of this review.

Bring her back to the left a little. Just takes learning.

Like everything else. The burning eyes did not come back, but memories did, came flooding in. The words. Always the words.

The big split. Brian hated judges as he hated lawyers. Judges that leaned over the bench and asked Brian if he understood where he was to live and why. Judges with the caring look that meant nothing as lawyers said legal phrases that meant nothing. In the summer Brian would live with his father.

In the school year with his mother. Now the plane lurched slightly to the right and Brian looked at the pilot. He was rubbing his shoulder again and there was the sudden smell of body gas in the plane. Brian turned back to avoid embarrassing the pilot, who was obviously in some discomfort.

Must have stomach troubles. His father was a mechanical engineer who had designed or invented a new drill bit for oil drilling, a self-cleaning, self-sharpening bit. He was working in the oil fields of Canada, up on the tree line where the tundra started and the forests ended. Brian was riding up from New York with some drilling equipment—it was lashed down in the rear of the plane next to a fabric bag the pilot had called a survival pack, which had emergency supplies in case they had to make an emergency landing—that had to be specially made in the city, riding in the bushplane with the pilot named Jim or Jake or something who had turned out to be an all right guy, letting him fly and all.

Except for the smell.

Hatchet Book Review

Now there was a constant odor, and Brian took another look at the pilot, found him rubbing the shoulder and down the arm now, the left arm, letting go more gas and wincing. Probably something he ate, Brian thought. His mother had driven him from the city to meet the plane at Hampton where it came to pick up the drilling equipment. A drive in silence, a long drive in silence. Two and a half hours of sitting in the car, staring out the window of the plane.

Once, after an hour, when they were out of the city she turned to him. How could he tell her what he knew? So he had remained silent, shook his head and continued to stare unseeing at the countryside, and his mother had gone back to driving only to speak to him one more time when they were close to Hampton.

She reached over the back of the seat and brought up a paper sack. Inside there was a hatchet, the kind with a steel handle and a rubber handgrip. The head was in a stout leather case that had a brass—riveted belt loop.

There were some farm trucks on the roads now and she had to weave through them and watch traffic. You know.

In the woods with your father. See how it looks on your belt. Those were the normal things he would say. But her voice was thin, had a sound like something thin that would break if you touched it, and he felt bad for not speaking to her. Knowing what he knew, even with the anger, the hot white hate of his anger at her, he still felt bad for not speaking to her, and so to humor her he loosened his belt and pulled the right side out and put the hatchet on and rethreaded the belt.

She nodded. My little scout. Because it was a bush flight from a small airport there had been no security and the plane had been waiting, with the engine running when he arrived and he had grabbed his suitcase and pack bag and run for the plane without stopping to remove the hatchet. So it was still on his belt. At first he had been embarrassed but the pilot had said nothing about it and Brian forgot it as they took off and began flying.

More smell now. Brian turned again to glance at the pilot who had both hands on his stomach and was grimacing in pain, reaching for the left shoulder again as Brian watched. Bad aches. Thought it was something I ate but. Even Brian could see how bad it was—the pain drove the pilot back into the seat, back and down. And then he knew. Brian knew. Oh God, my chest is coming apart!

The pilot was having a heart attack. He had gone down and screamed about his chest. An old man. Much older than the pilot. The pilot was having a heart attack and even as the knowledge came to Brian he saw the pilot slam into the seat one more time, one more awful time he slammed back into the seat and his right leg jerked, pulling the plane to the side in a sudden twist and his head fell forward and spit came. Spit came from the corners of his mouth and his legs contracted up, up into the seat, and his eyes rolled back in his head until there was only white.

Could only see it in stages.

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