San Diego author Chris Baron brings 'Spark' of hope in new middle-grade novel

When local author and professor Chris Baron set out to write his new middle-grade book, "Spark," he delved into extensive research — visiting towns and communities impacted by wildfire and talking to residents, experts and firefighters. What he found was hope, particularly in young people.

"I really found this sense, like if we could partner more with young people, and support them and guide them, versus sometimes pushing them away or down to either shelter them or silence them — but if we gave them that agency, we could find even more hope, more change," Baron said.

It's fitting that the novel centers young people: two nature-loving 8th graders, Finn and Marisol (nicknamed Rabbit). Their friendship is powerful and special, rooted in love and concern for the forests and animals in the redwood forests around their community.

Feiwel & Friends / Macmillan

But Finn and Rabbit have noticed that their beloved forests are continually under threat of wildfire, and when one blaze gets too close to home, the entire community is forced to flee and scatter.

Baron is also author of the middle-grade novel-in-verse books "The Gray," "The Magical Imperfect" and "All of Me." His novel-in-verse format is a compelling and approachable narrative structure, and in "Spark," his writing feels essential, charged and packed with emotion and resonance.

The following interview has been slightly edited for length and clarity.

Interview highlights

On sparks and light

I think that “spark” is such a useful word because so many things sparked (the book). One was just the idea of the fires — of course, that it just takes a spark. I think we hear that word over and over again in all the news reporting, because we're aware of the spark that caused the fire. But also sparks of inspiration, sparks of hope — and then this idea of small light, like a little light can light up the world. And that's a big part of the Jewish tradition also, so it's always been there for me. It just seemed like a perfect word.

On diving into the reality of climate trauma in fiction

Having experienced some of it here in San Diego, where it's very real, with little kids — I remember we were moving out from Ocean Beach to more inland, to La Mesa, Mount Helix, and it was during the Witch Creek fire. I remember our second daughter had just been born and we had been renovating the house. We got out of the car to move in, and we looked out and there was Mt. Miguel with like a snake of fire coming down it. And we said, “Nope.” We got back in the car and went back to the beach for another month. And it was still like fallout in the sky, even at the beach, because of those Santa Ana winds that blow to the west.

Courtesy of Chris Baron

So for me, it started with that experience of evacuation, and other times in San Diego that we've had to do it. But I felt a real connection to people losing their homes, losing their routine, losing their life — their lives changing, everything they know — lost.

My approach was just to learn as much as I could. So I traveled all over Northern California, met with residents who had to flee and evacuate. I did so much research — talking to wildland firefighters, ecologists, biologists and Indigenous tribes on approaches to fire. I immersed myself and learned all I could and found so much that I didn't even know.

On what we can learn from young people in the face of trauma

I was talking to so many experts and it was hopeful. But what I found in these communities I visited — and through the research — was there is so much hope in community, and especially young people. Given some agency — and that's why it's reflected in the story — kids know in their heart the simplest path of what to do to provide hope and change, without getting bogged down into all the nuances of real life.

I really found this sense, like if we could partner more with young people and support them and guide them — versus sort of sometimes pushing them away or down to either shelter them or silence them — but if we gave them that agency, we could find even more hope, more change.

On friendships

Finn and Rabbit were such a lovely surprise in the writing process. I mean, as an author, you always sort of start with a character and then they grow and change and shift. And these characters, yeah, they're best friends. They understand each other. They actually call each other the heart and mind. Rabbit's the heart, Finn's the mind. He's studious, he loves routine, he likes things to make sense and have an answer. And they both love the forest. Finn likes to study the forest, keep notes in his field journal. Rabbit would just run headlong and sit in the middle of the forest for as long as she could. She's so passionate about it.

And Thorn is Rabbit's dog, who also loves the forest and is a little wild. But these characters complement each other like so many good friendships, and they represent the different parts of all of us.

So, them being together, they are really interested in sharing nature with the world. They create trail cameras that can kind of see into the forest, and they hope that they make a channel that the world can see through a window of the forest and experience the beauty of it as well.

On tackling big topics

I don't know authors who dive through topics as a starting point. I think the topics just are around us, and they're unavoidable and they're sort of in every story. But I don't shy away from those things — on purpose.

I think empathy is crucial. I know for myself, reading books has grown my empathy and understanding of the world. And books especially have this way of — I love a good film as much as anyone — but I think in books, you have this time and space to spread out and live inside a world for a while, and that creates more empathy.

That's why I love writing books, and those big topics I'm not as afraid, because I can jump in head first and do the work that it takes to explore whatever that topic might be — and particularly in this book, something as big and chaotic as wildfire and climate.

On writing for the middle school years

This is such a beautiful, wonderful, difficult, challenging, chaotic age group. I mean, think of yourself. I always think of myself at that age — you think you know stuff, but then you also don't know anything. Everyone's encouraging you, but also discouraging you. You're seeing the paths of life. I think this is such an important age. For me, it was the time and space that made the biggest impression. Where I lived, my friends at that time — was so, so formative. I've always admired, especially, educators who teach these grades. You have to be an incredible person. So for me, I just know that this was an incredible time in my life: difficult, brutal, wonderful, and it's a privilege to write for this age group. It takes a lot of work and care, but I think it's worth it.

On books and literacy in 2025's extremely online childhoods

I know that kids up till middle school seem to love books — or at least they don't question it. I know there are readers who are maybe reluctant or don't love reading, but I've worked with a lot of kids who find the right books. Whether it's graphic novels or verse novels like "Spark" or whatever it might be, they realize there are many kinds of books. So that love of reading exists — and it's maybe not in direct competition (with digital life), but it lives with them. And maybe if they can just include books as part of their system of entertainment, I think that's maybe a reasonable goal.

On writing novels in verse

For me, writing in verse is something I love because poetry is kind of a native language for me. This idea of narrative story told in poems creates imagery and visual pictures. It creates space on the page. It allows the plot to move fast, quickly through like a fire jumping, but then also to slow down and land on a moment where you can write a poem about change. It also provides a really beautiful look at the internal landscape of a character. Whereas prose, which I think is often incredibly lyrical and poetic anyway — poetry allows for that direct internal landscape of a character to be revealed.