It’s good that The Emerald Atlas is a Book not a movie, because the violence would be a lot more graphic. If not, wait till the kids are older because this is definitely a must read.
Parents if your child is at least ten and they are mature enough to handle a very violent book (Not as violent as The Hunger Games, but close, except that there aren’t numerous deaths in this book) and they are not sensitive to sad and upsetting things they read in books then The Emerald Atlas is OK for them. There is a lot of violence and some creepy villains, and some mean name-calling. I think The Emerald Atlas is for kids who are ages 11 or 12. As the back of the cover says, this is the story of three children who set out to save their family and have to save the world. After the Edgar Allan Poe Home For Hopeless And Incorrigible Orphans sends them to a new orphanage, the children find out that they are the only children who are at the place-(SPOILER-AVERT YOUR EYES) and that the man who runs it is a wizard. You looked in them and knew that you were in the presence of true wisdom.The Emerald Atlas by John Stephens is a middle-grade fantasy novel that is about three kids (Kate, age 14, Michael, age 12, and Emma, age 11) who are sent from one orphanage to another. Reflecting no light save their own, they shone brightly in the snow-muffled night, and there was in them a look of such uncommon energy and kindness and understanding that you forgot entirely about the tobacco and ink stains on his shirt and the patches on his glasses and that his tie was knotted twice over.
It was when you looked in his eyes that everything changed. All in all, he looked like someone who'd gotten dressed in the midst of a whirlwind and, thinking he still looked too presentable, had thrown himself down a flight of stairs. His white hair poked out from beneath his hat, and his eyebrows rose from his forehead like great snowy horns, curling over a pair of bent and patched tortoiseshell glasses. His overcoat was patched in spots and frayed at the cuffs, he wore an old tweed suit that was missing a button, his white shirt was stained with ink and tobacco, and his tie-this was perhaps the strangest of all-was knotted not once, but twice, as if he'd forgotten whether he'd tied it and, rather than glancing down to check, had simply tied it again for good measure.
“To a casual passerby, his appearance would not have inspired much confidence.
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