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Columnist Kathleen A Wiater describes the book this way:
It’s the story about the Herdmans, six unruly siblings who may as well be parentless, and who were, the narrator tells us, “absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world. They lied and stole and smoked cigars (even the girls) and hit little kids and cussed their teachers….” and, well, you get the picture.
Along the road to certain incarceration, the Herdmans run smack into the local church's plans for the yearly Christmas pageant and, through bullying and intimidation, manage to take over all the main roles for themselves.
The thing is, the Herdmans had never been told about the birth of the Christ child. They are transfixed by the story, and react as kids who recognize a raw deal when they see it – as kids who are on the receiving end of the town’s charity and who know poverty and its humiliations well.
The Herdmans are outraged that a pregnant woman is forced into a barn and that the baby Jesus only has “wadded-up clothes” (“swaddling clothes,” the pageant director corrects) to wear and they want King Herod to be in the pageant so that they can beat him up for his murderous actions.
So, I pause my own rushed activity every year and allow Barbara Robinson’s book to transport me, lest I forget the message YELLED at the pageant’s end by the youngest Herdman, playing the Angel of the Lord :“HEY! Unto you a child is born!”
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