Curtis is a versatile writer, avoiding any rigid formulas. His first novel, The Watson's Go to Birmingham—1963, features an episodic plot. Each chapter acts as a novella, detailing the Watson family's activities and gradually building up to a poignant and dramatic finale. Conversely, Bud, Not Buddy follows a linear storyline, with the young protagonist moving from one event to the next, pursuing a clear goal and ultimately achieving it. Despite their structural differences, both stories universally depict family interactions, characters, and events.

Curtis also excels in his use of language. The narrative is peppered with delightful onomatopoeia that enlivens the text and adds humor, as inanimate objects seem to come alive. Parked cars grumble, "wugga, wugga, wugga." High heels click with "tap, tap, tappity." Idling trains whisper "shuh, shuh, shuh." Grown men sob "muh-huh, muhhuh," and novice saxophonists produce sounds like "ahwronk, roozahga, baloopa."

The author's talent for alliteration is evident in the names of the jazz bands: "The Dusky Devastators of the Depression" and "The Nubian Knights of the NRA." However, Curtis's style is not solely humorous. He has a knack for evocative descriptions that uplift the spirit and stimulate the imagination. Bud, a grounded and street-smart kid, occasionally expresses himself in poetic prose that reflects his childlike wonder. For instance, when Bud realizes that Miss Thomas, with her ring-adorned hands, is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, he offers this vivid observation:

When she talked, she moved her hands and fingers around and the lights from the ceiling and from the little candle on the table would bounce off all them diamonds and spark up in your eye and make you feel like you'd been hit with some kind of fairy dust, then you couldn't help but smile.

Curtis uses a weather metaphor to convey Bud's reaction to the Devastator's rehearsal. Until this moment, Bud has never heard the band, and his first experience transports him into a world of rain, thunder, and Niagara Falls. When Miss Thomas joins in, her singing is like the sun breaking through clouds, illuminating the world with brilliance as she and Steady Eddie's saxophone engage in a beautiful musical dialogue.

The author's careful and accurate use of Depression-era idioms and African-American dialect immerses the reader in the time period and brings the characters to life. The band members, in particular, speak in a way that Bud must interpret, and Curtis ensures the reader understands what Bud learns.

The only slight inconsistency lies in Bud's use of 1930s gangster slang. Given that Bud is not depicted as a child who has attended movies, and there is no mention of him learning these expressions elsewhere, this element feels somewhat implausible.

Additionally, minor characters occasionally deliver lectures about current events, which can disrupt the storyline. However, if the reader focuses on the theme of learning, this "tell" rather than "show" approach becomes more tolerable. These minor interruptions are, without a doubt, small flaws in an otherwise captivating narrative.

In 1936, the United States faced one of the bleakest years of the Great Depression. Desperate and homeless men and boys roamed the country by foot and rail, searching for any kind of work to sustain themselves. Meanwhile, women anxiously waited for their loved ones to return, doing everything they could to create a stable home for their children. Despite these efforts, orphanages were overflowing with abandoned children, and foster homes were scarce.

Against this backdrop, Curtis crafted his narrative about a child's quest for family in the midwestern towns of Flint and Grand Rapids, Michigan. While many Depression-era stories focus on the Dust Bowl and the struggles of farmers in the Plains States or migrant workers in California, Bud, Not Buddy offers a different viewpoint. The story centers on the challenges faced by a ten-year-old orphan runaway.

Curtis sets the stage right away with the orphanage director explaining the Depression to Bud and his friend, Jerry, urging them to be thankful for another foster home placement. Both boys are savvy enough to anticipate an uncertain welcome wherever they go. As Bud succinctly puts it, "Here we go again." In this same chapter, Curtis subtly reveals the story's setting in Flint, Michigan, through references to Bud's cherished blue flyer advertising a local jazz band's limited engagement.

Throughout the story, references to the Depression are made as Bud embarks on his journey to find family. He frets about notorious gangsters like Pretty Boy Floyd, Al Capone, and Baby Face Nelson. He even speculates that he might be on J. Edgar Hoover's FBI ten most wanted list or perhaps Public Enemy Number One.

When Bud and his friend, Bugs, set out to find the town of "Hooperville" on Flint's outskirts, they discover a "cardboard jungle," or "shanty town." Here, displaced men, boys, and a few families wait to board freight trains, hoping to head west in search of work. They encounter Pinkerton Security Guards, and Bud witnesses the senseless tragedies of fire and forced evacuation as the fragile town is engulfed in flames.

Narrated through the eyes of the young protagonist, Bud, Not Buddy spans a remarkable range of historical topics. Bud, who knows little beyond his first six years with his mother and the past four years in the orphanage and foster homes, receives an education in economics, discrimination, sit-down strikes, telegrams, Pullman porters, union organizers, and map reading. Most importantly, he discovers the enchanting world of a small-time jazz band led by the irascible Herman E. Calloway and learns the profound impact music can have on the soul.

All the characters are influenced by the setting, some more significantly than others, yet none allow us to forget where and when the story takes place. History and setting become evident in Bud's narrative when he mentions well-known figures like the Louisville Slugger and popular toys such as a magic decoder ring and Little-Big Books. He uses phrases like "the copper would plug me," "he would rub me out," and "it would have been curtains," all idioms from 1930s gangster films.

We grasp the impact of poverty through his physical state; he is small and perpetually hungry. We experience his homelessness as he sleeps under a "Christmas Tree" by the library and visits a mission for meals. Additionally, everyone he encounters seems inclined to reflect and offer advice on the dangers of living in 1936, whether in Michigan or elsewhere in the United States.

The setting is unmistakable, and although the editorializing can be somewhat heavy-handed at times and Bud often serves as an observer, he remains a compelling enough character to keep the essence of the story uniquely his own.

The primary theme of Bud, Not Buddy revolves around a child's quest to find family. Orphaned Bud has spent enough time in the Flint orphanage and various foster homes to understand what he desires and what he does not. He prefers to be on the run. Bud recalls his mother vividly—how she read to him at night, their visits to the library, and the important lessons she imparted about his name and life’s opportunities. They were a family, and he cherishes that "rememory." So, after he "busts out" from wrongful confinement in the Amos's garage, his latest foster home, Bud sets off on his own. Following a few missteps, he begins his journey on foot to Grand Rapids, convinced that he will find his father there.

Curtis skillfully employs the archetype of the hero's journey to unfold the plot. It is a quest to reclaim a lost paradise—his life with his mother—and along the way, Bud encounters enough allies and challenges to test and fulfill any hero.

Bud is already familiar with dysfunctional families, but as he travels across the state, he encounters different kinds. There is the "pretend" family at the mission who adopt him for breakfast, and the Hooverville family who share their meal and whose insightful daughter, Deza Malone, gives him his first kiss. Then, there is the family of Lefty Lewis who offer him a good night's sleep, new clothes, and a splendid breakfast. His blood brother, Bugs, reluctantly leaves him behind during the Hooverville stampede for the train. By the time Bud reaches Grand Rapids, he has a clear idea of the family he wants, but what he finds is far from what he anticipated.

Occasionally, Bud's stream-of-consciousness narrative requires close attention. One moment, we are trapped with Bud in the Amos family shed as he desperately tries to escape. The next, we are transported back in time to the orphanage, witnessing the frightening events that earned Bud's friend, Bugs, his name. Then, just as swiftly, we are back in the shed with Bud and his escape plans. This style is not for passive readers; it demands our constant engagement.

Recurring themes keep the narrative cohesive. Bud often reflects on how ideas are like seeds, starting small and growing into something significant when you least expect it. Both literally and metaphorically, doors open and close for Bud. Some doors lead to positive experiences, while others conceal dangers, making it difficult to predict what lies ahead. Additionally, Bud treasures his blanket, something most kids wouldn't think to bring along, as it provides him with comfort and security during lonely nights. Hunger is another constant in his life; Bud is always eager for food and appreciates every meal, even if it's muskrat stew from the Hooverville pot. Lastly, the significance of his name is paramount. Bud's mother named him for a special reason and insisted he never let anyone call him Buddy, a name he frequently corrects. He feels affronted when the "pretend" mission family calls him Clarence, although he eventually understands their intentions, albeit thinking there could have been a better choice. Ultimately, Bud earns a new name from the jazz band musicians, solidifying his sense of identity and belonging.

These motifs underscore a secondary theme. Bud, Not Buddy is a coming-of-age tale, highlighting internal growth, change, and eventual acceptance of life as it is and as it can be. Throughout his journey, Bud encounters doors that open and close, some welcoming, others hiding monsters, and some locked against him. He learns that he must open certain doors himself to find the life he desires. Once he discovers what he's been searching for, he no longer needs his blanket and his hunger subsides. Symbols like seeds, buds, and maple trees represent life and growth. Most crucial to Bud is his name, a symbol as ancient as humanity. By the end, Bud receives the name he believes he was destined for and feels a renewed sense of family.

Another secondary theme is learning from others and personal experiences. Everywhere Bud turns, someone is ready to teach him something new, and he encounters experiences from which he can learn. Practical skills, such as writing telegrams, reading maps, and "riding the rails," become part of his survival toolkit, along with abstract concepts like kindness, commitment, courage, belonging, and love. Bud internalizes every lesson, whether positive or negative, incorporating it into his personal philosophy and his collection of "Rules and Things For a Funner Life and Making a Better Liar Out of Yourself."

Bud Caldwell is a streetwise kid, both intelligent and resilient, whose "eyes don't cry no more." He admits to being a liar and, despite his young age, has a philosophical outlook on life. With a blend of Little Rascal and Shirley Temple in his character, he is also kind, empathetic, and capable of understanding different perspectives, even when he's insulted, as shown in this incident at the mission:

I watched them walking away. My pretend brother looked back at me and stuck out his tongue, then reached up and took my pretend mother's hand. I couldn't really blame him. I don't think I'd be real happy about sharing my brown sugar and my folks with any strange kids either.

As the creator of "Bud Caldwell's Rules and Things for a Funner Life and Making a Better Liar Out of Yourself," he has devised his own set of principles. Some rules are concise: No. 3, If you got to tell a lie, make sure it's simple and easy to remember. Others are more elaborate: No. 8, Whenever an adult tells you to listen carefully and talks to you in a real calm voice, do not listen, run as fast as you can, because something real terrible is just around the corner. Especially if the cops are chasing you.

Despite his toughness, Bud is not immune to the fears that plague any ten-year-old. He believes in ghosts and vampires and is scared of being left alone in an unfamiliar room. He sleeps clutching an open jackknife, with his trusty blanket over his head. The items in Bud's suitcase are his only source of security. He frequently turns to them for comfort and drifts off to sleep by recalling the stories his mother used to read to him each night. However, Bud's vivid imagination isn't solely for warding off fears. Curtis humorously depicts Bud's relationship with storytelling when he plays Twenty Thousand 'Leaks' under the Sea using a mop and bucket, whispering conversations between Captain Nemo and a sailor into the water.

Over time, Bud begins to trust himself and others. Within the reassuring safety of a newfound "family," he discovers that those eyes that "don't cry no more" eventually betray him, revealing that tears are not exclusive to children.

Aside from Herman E. Calloway and Miss Thomas, most characters in Bud, Not Buddy are fairly static. Their roles mainly serve to advance Bud's journey. The mother in the Amos family teeters on the edge of psychosis, while her son is a violent brute. Bugs, the overly helpful librarian, and others like Jerry, Deza Malone, Lefty's family, and the kind family at the mission make brief appearances, deliver their lines, and then vanish from the story.

Herman E. Calloway stands out as an exception. He is a grouchy, self-righteous, and domineering old man who initially refuses to acknowledge Bud, even when the band members suggest adopting him. Despite his unreasonable and irritable nature, the band remains loyal to him. They endure his mood swings and antisocial behavior because he is skilled at his job and keeps them gainfully employed. Calloway is a well-rounded character who elicits a cautious sympathy from readers, uncertain if it is warranted until the very end.

Miss Thomas, the band's "vocal stylist," brings a touch of genuine feminine grace to this predominantly male narrative. She comprehends both Herman and Bud. Adored by Bud and the band members, she emerges as a strong, confident woman who is empathetic yet firm. She tolerates no nonsense from Calloway, is completely honest with Bud, understands when the band needs time for their male bonding rituals, and exits with a sense of humor.

Steady Eddie and Mr. Jimmy are significant because they defend Bud, but we learn little about them and the other band members beyond the instruments they play. However, during a rehearsal scene, they unite with Miss Thomas in perfect harmony, revealing their deep love for their music.

Curtis only subtly alludes to race throughout the story. Without the dust cover, it would take us a while to realize Bud's background. This becomes evident when Mrs. Amos scolds him harshly: "Boy—I am not the least bit surprised at your show of ingratitude. Lord knows I have been stung by my own people before—I do not have time to put up with the foolishness of those members of our race who do not want to be uplifted." This is the moment we become aware of Bud's race. Similarly, Deza Malone's background isn't clear until Bud notices a "dimple in her brown cheek," which might just as well be a suntan from living outdoors.

Lefty Lewis cautions Bud about the potential dangers for a "young brown-skinned boy" traveling alone at night on Michigan roads. Herman E. Calloway keeps a white man, Dirty Deed, in the band because he can secure engagements that the Devastators couldn't otherwise get. Since people of color cannot own property in Michigan, Dirty Deed holds the rights to Grand Calloway Station, suggesting he must be reliable.

Bud himself seems naively indifferent to race. He neither criticizes nor idolizes anyone, viewing people as individuals, whether they are good or bad. His imagination takes flight as he observes the residents of Hooverville by the firelight, noting, "They were all the colors you could think of, black, white, and brown, but the fire made everyone look like they were different shades of orange. There were dark orange folks sitting next to medium orange folks sitting next to light orange folks."

However, Bud is troubled by one impoverished and clearly sick white family in Hooverville who avoid the fire and the communal stew, sitting apart from the others. Deza Malone explains, "They been invited. . . when someone took them food and blankets, the man said 'Thank you very much, but we're white people. We ain't in need of a handout.'" This interaction offers significant insight into the misguided pride of some individuals.

Curtis portrays men, women, and children with equal depth and authenticity in his characterizations. They embrace their roles with wit, charm, spite, confidence, sweetness, joy, and even murderous intent. These characters mirror various facets of the human experience, regardless of age, gender, race, or circumstances. They feel real, like people we might know.

Homelessness is a persistent societal issue. Bud is a homeless child in the 1930s, much like some children are today. He navigates his challenges through wit, bravery, determination, and a touch of luck. Through Bud's journey, readers gain insights into the foster homes and orphanages of the Depression era, which are hopefully exaggerated for effect.

The Amos family is only interested in him for the money they receive for his care. The orphanage is so overcrowded and impersonal that the adults in charge do not even know the children's names. While this might somewhat reflect the reality of some orphanages, there seems to be a bias against foster homes. From Bud's perspective, these places are far from ideal. His experiences are filled with bumps, bruises, hornet stings, isolation, threats, and reprimands. This portrayal does not reflect all foster parents accurately and could give students a misleading impression.

Curtis also argues that the Depression era was not solely defined by abject poverty, Hoovervilles, gangsters, and dust storms. Some people maintained steady employment and lived comfortably, with access to cars, decent food, and good living conditions. Miss Thomas' fingers sparkle with diamonds, Herman E. Calloway drives a touring car, the band can afford restaurant meals, and their homes have indoor plumbing. Lefty Lewis and Mr. Sleet work for the railroad. For some families, life was stable, secure, and good. Many stories from this era in American history fail to show this side of the picture, but Curtis provides a more balanced view.