Gilly keeps her secrets close—hidden in whispers, dreams, and the quiet spaces where the forest meets her imagination. Somewhere on the other side of the trees, her dad is waiting. Maybe.
With Oggy, her best friend and keeper of a thousand made-up words, Gilly searches for answers:
Can a prayer—or a spell—bring back someone who’s been gone too long?
What if he doesn’t want to be found?
And if she finds him, will he still be the dad she remembers?
Written in the voice of a 10-year-old girl with a heart full of questions, Tangerines is a lyrical, tender story about family, friendship, and the quiet magic of believing in what matters most.
Gilly keeps her secrets close—hidden in whispers, dreams, and the quiet spaces where the forest meets her imagination. Somewhere on the other side of the trees, her dad is waiting. Maybe.
With Oggy, her best friend and keeper of a thousand made-up words, Gilly searches for answers:
Can a prayer—or a spell—bring back someone who’s been gone too long?
What if he doesn’t want to be found?
And if she finds him, will he still be the dad she remembers?
Written in the voice of a 10-year-old girl with a heart full of questions, Tangerines is a lyrical, tender story about family, friendship, and the quiet magic of believing in what matters most.
My name’s Gilly, but you won’t see it again in this diary. I don’t like writing it down or saying it out loud unless I have to. Here’s why: two days before I was born, Mom told Dad she wanted to name me Gilly. Dad had another name in mind. They argued and didn’t speak for those two days. Mom got so upset, she went into labor early—two months early. And that’s how I ended up with her name choice.
Mom says I’m making it up (I do make up lots of stories, to be fair) and that her being sad and me being born early aren’t connected. But I don’t buy it. I also think Dad, who lives on the other side of the forest, about a night’s walk from our house, still doesn’t like my name.
Mom won’t tell me what name Dad wanted to give me, not even a hint. I could promise to water every single flower in our garden for a hundred hearts on Orti (that’s our tangerine tree), and she’d still keep it a secret.
Because she doesn’t tell me, and because I think about Dad every day—pretty much the whole time it takes the sun to drop from the sky—I came up with another name for myself. It’s not really a secret, but no one else knows it. It’s the kind of sweet name I bet Dad would’ve picked for me.
One day, I’ll see Dad again. I’ll tell him the new name I came up with, and he’ll smile. The argument he had with Mom will be over, and everything in our forest will feel right again. I hope that day comes soon.
And sometimes I wonder—what if the new name I came up with is the exact same one Dad had in mind all these years? Wouldn’t that be the most incredible surprise?
I need to tell you more about me and my life. You already know my name, that I have a few secrets, and that we have a special tangerine tree in our backyard covered in little hearts I carved myself. You also know my family can switch from super happy to super sad in no time. But there’s a lot more to my story than that, and I capture it all in my diary.
I write in it every day (it’s just a plain notebook with drawings of animals and plants I’ve doodled on the cover). I don’t write too much, though, because I’m convinced my pencils have tiny souls, and they need breaks, or else they snap—kind of like some people I know. So, between entries, I draw animals or flowers or sometimes just leave a little blank space.
One day, when the time feels right and Orti drops all its tangerines, I’m going to turn my diary into a real book. I’ll edit and proofread it (two fancy words Mom taught me—she likes to write too) and split the entries into short chapters, about 683 words each. I’ll pick 683 because it’s my lucky number. Once, I tried counting all the tangerines on Orti’s branches, but a squirrel came to sit with me. We ended up playing a staring game, trying not to laugh. I won, but I completely lost track of my count. After that, we both decided to call it 683.
I think the book will need about fifty chapters, because real books always have chapters, and I want my notebook diaries to feel like a real book more than anything. I don’t know who will read it—maybe kids my age, their parents, or even grandparents. And if they have any witches in their family, I really hope they’ll read it too!
When I turn my diary into a book, I’ll make sure this very page goes right at the beginning, where it belongs—even though I’m writing it long after most of the notebook is filled. That’s part of what Mom calls the magic of editing. But enough about that for now. I think my pencil needs a break for today.
Tangerines by Tsvi Jolles is one of those rare books that truly captures the magic of childhood. Through gorgeous storytelling, Jolles blends magic and whimsy with deep, introspective themes. This is a novel that will linger in your mind long after you turn the last page.
At its core, Tangerines is a coming-of-age story told through the voice of a young narrator whose observations are both innocent and profound. The protagonist's world is small but filled with wonder—centered around a beloved tangerine tree, a best friend named Oggy, and the bittersweet complexities of family and belonging. The book reads like a poetic diary, filled with entries that are at times funny, at times heartbreaking, but always beautifully authentic. The writing is lyrical, almost dreamlike, reminiscent of The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros or The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
What makes Tangerines such an engaging read is how it captures childhood's fluid, unfiltered thoughts. The narrator's mind skips about—one moment pondering the nature of secrets, the next inventing words with Oggy, before seamlessly drifting into a heartfelt reflection on love, loss, and longing. It's a deeply immersive experience that feels so real—like peeking into a child's notebook filled with stories, sketches, and scattered daydreams.
I love books that encourage readers to see the world in new ways, and Tangerines does just that. It's a book that would spark fascinating discussions about storytelling, memory, and imagination. The protagonist's voice is so unique yet universally relatable—whether you're an adult remembering the way childhood felt or a younger reader recognizing pieces of yourself in the narrator’s words.
If you enjoy poetic, thought-provoking, and magical books, Tangerines is an absolute must-read. It's a story about love, loss, and the small but meaningful ways we try to make sense of the world around us. It's the kind of book that reminds you why stories matter—because they help us remember, understand, and dream.
Highly, highly recommend!