Annotations

Hurray for snow days; I get to get my grad school work done!

Bruchac, Joseph. (2005). Code Talker. New York: Penguin Group. ISBN: 0-14-240596-5.

This historical fiction novel tells the story of Navajo Marines during World War II, and how they helped win the war by sending messages in a code that the enemy couldn’t crack. While the book does a nice job highlighting universal themes, such as “No matter who they are, people can always learn from each other,” there are many instances where the conflicts are resolved too easily and cleanly to make a novel that is supposed to be about one of the worst wars in history believable.

Cisneros, Sandra. (1991). The House on Mango Street. New York: Vintage Books. ISBN: 0-679-73477-5.

A beautiful story told through vignettes, Esperanza Cordero comes of age in an urban, Latino neighborhood in Chicago. Each vignette tells its own story, but Cisneros artfully weaves them together so that by the end, the reader sees how Esperanza’s experiences as an adolescent motivate her to become an independent woman.

Covey, Sean. (1998). The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Teens. New York: Fireside. ISBN: 0-684-85609-3.

This is a book that speaks to teens, through personal anecdotes, cartoons, charts, and straight-up advice about how to be successful at life. While the concept is commendable, the delivery is forced. It is doubtful that a teen that needs to read this book will listen (after all, teens are stubborn when it comes to changing their ways), and the teens that do read this book are probably already using the seven habits that Covey explicates.

Gaiman, Neil. (2002). Coraline. Ill: Dave McKean. New York: Scholastic Inc. ISBN: 0-439-57688-1.

This fantasy book nicely builds suspense without getting too scary for young readers. Coraline, a girl who is often bored and feels ignored by her parents, moves into a new apartment flat. She quickly discovers a magical passage to the flat next door, which is almost identical to the world she knows. When she can’t return, however, she eventually learns to appreciate her parents for the loving, yet detached people that they are, and that she does not need to have everything she wants when she wants it.

Podcast review

My choice poetry book was A Wreath for Emmett Till, by Marilyn Nelson. It is a unique piece, written in a complex sonnet form, with intriguing illustrations by Philippe Lardy. I paired my recorded review with Billie Holliday's song "Strange Fruit," as they share similar themes. The podcast is below:

Persepolis

Every time I read something about the Middle East, fiction or non-fiction, I realize how much more I need to learn. Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novel Persepolis is no exception. Her retelling of her childhood in the late 1970s-early 1980s in Tehran, Iran vividly brings to life what it was like to grow up as an Iranian citizen.

In many ways, her stories were just like any other child who grows up in a war zone: Bombings in neighborhoods, friends and family members leaving the country, demonstrations, government-regulated dress codes, and confusion about what everyone is fighting for and believes in. What really rang true was how different social classes are affected by war. Satrapi discovers that “The key to paradise was for poor people. Thousands of young kids, promised a better life, exploded on the minefields with their keys around their necks…meanwhile, I got to go to my first party. Not only did my mom let me go, she also knitted me a sweater full of holes and made me a necklace with chains and nails. Punk rock was in” (102). As are most cases, in Iran, the poor people become soldiers while the rich people remain relatively protected during wars.

I was thoroughly intrigued by Satrapi’s family. The stories about her grandfather, uncles, and even her parents were almost unbelievable, especially the part when Uncle Taher died because he wasn’t granted a passport fast enough to get the required medical attention he needed. The way those few pages read seemed like I was watching a movie unfold. I also fell in love with Satrapi’s parents. I loved that her father explains things to her when asked, and he doesn’t avoid any “tough” questions. I laughed out loud when he sasses the female teacher: “If hair is as stimulating as you say, then you need to shave your mustache!” (98). How funny is that?! Her mother is also endearing; thinking of how to smuggle the posters back from Turkey, and letting her go shopping on her own. Even though it broke my heart when they send her away to Vienna at the end of the novel, I silently commended them for giving their daughter the chance to continue her education. “There’s a French school in Vienna. One of the best in Europe!...You’re fourteen and I know how I brought you up. Above all, I trust your education” (147). As a teacher, I wish more parents invested more interest in their children’s education.

What I really enjoyed about Persepolis is how Satrapi portrays her and her family’s perceptions of other parts of the world so honestly, even if it might offend the reader. There are references to Satrapi role-playing as Fidel Castro and Che Guevara; her uncle claims “Russians aren’t like us…it’s hearts they don’t have. They don’t know how to love” (59); and there are stories of how the British were behind the Shah gaining power. No matter what one believes, a reader is at least exposed to varying frames of reference after reading this book.

American Born Chinese

I remember sometime around when I was in middle school, I asked a classmate “what she was.” After she gave me an odd look, I continued, “Well, are you Chinese or Japanese?” She laughed awkwardly at me, and told me that she was Korean, actually. That’s my first memory of realizing that there was a lot I needed to learn about cultures that were not my own. I mean, I don’t even think I knew that Korea existed when I had that conversation that I now cringe at when remembering my own ignorance.

Gene Luen Yang’s graphic novel, American Born Chinese, illustrates other instances of white ignorance, from the perspective of young American Chinese students, Jin Wang and Wei-Chen. Some characters I found incredibly offensive, such as Timmy who crudely jokes about Asians using derogatory terms. There is also Greg, who appears to be a nice student who is simply unsure whether to side with Timmy or accept Jin. It becomes painfully clear that he doesn’t accept Jin when he asks that he not take Amelia out again. “It’s just that she’s a good friend and I want to make sure that she makes good choices, you know? We’re almost in high school. She has to start paying attention to who she hangs out with” (179). Greg tries to explain himself civilly, but his message breaks Jin’s heart. He’ll never be accepted into Amelia’s group as long as he’s Chinese. How sad. And, how true is this portrayal of American middle/high school behavior? Pretty true, I think.

Realizing that one is different is a theme throughout the novel. “When he entered his royal chamber, the thick smell of monkey fur greeted him. He’d never noticed it before” (20). The Monkey King never noticed the smell before, because no one had ever pointed it out to him. People usually don’t know they’re different until someone points it out to them, and then it can be hard to accept oneself. I appreciated how the three seemingly unrelated plot lines wove together by the end with this idea. The lesson of “it’s easy to become anything you wish…so long as you’re willing to forfeit your soul” (29) is learned by Jin/Danny, Wei-Chen, and the Monkey King in their own situations. All three attempt to assimilate into a culture that isn’t theirs, yet all three learn eventually to embrace their culture. Even though this lesson is taught from an American Chinese perspective, it is a universal theme; after all, who hasn’t tried to change themselves at least once to fit in?

That is one reason why I would love the opportunity to teach this novel in a high school setting: the theme reverberates with readers. Also, graphic novels are becoming increasingly popular with young readers. Reading the images as well as the words I would assume give them a “double-dose” of messages they’ve been told for years: be tolerant of those who are different; be a loyal friend; and be sure to wear deodorant during a first date. The subtle humor that Yang uses is evident from the first scene: “Your peaches are looking especially plump today, my dear!” (7), which I know would engage high school readers even more than the themes. Because of Yang’s writing style, I know that I wouldn’t have to work as hard to get students hooked, and then once they read the book, then we could get back to those (more?) important life lessons.

Luna

“It’s always about my brother. My brother was a black hole in my universe. He was sucking the life right out of me…the crater was deep and dark and closing in on us. We couldn’t move, couldn’t rise, couldn’t see to find our way out” (117).

Being a teenager can be hard enough, as that is the time that most learn about what kind of person they are. In that way, Julie Anne Peters’ Luna is just like any other coming-of-age novel. The difference is, there are not too many novels out there that are about transgender teens. Regan O’Neill tells the story of being the only one who knows that her brother is transgender, or transsexual, as he later identifies himself as.

Although I can relate to the pressure felt from keeping secrets, I’ve never thought what it would be like for people like Regan. Luna has made me consider this perspective. It’s much more often that I hear how isolated people feel who identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender; I’ve never really considered how those that are close to LGBT people are affected. Really, though, Regan seems more isolated than Liam/Luna. “I hated high school…People joking and laughing with their friends in the hall. High school flaunted it, threw it in my face, all the fun I wasn’t having…I had lots of friends when I was little, in preschool. First grade, second. Before friendship got complicated. Before it came with expectations” (47). Anyone who has ever kept a secret to themselves, not seeing a way to relieve the pressure that comes with that responsibility, can appreciate and sympathize what Regan is experiencing.

I also felt sympathy for Regan in the fact that she felt trapped by Liam/Luna; that she couldn’t live her own life because she spent all of her free time worrying and protecting him/her. It was a little painful to read about how she didn’t know how to behave with Chris, the boy who wants to date her, and it was very painful in a scene where she, Aly, and Liam are watching TV. “Me? I had no dreams. Dreams only set you up for disappointment. Plus, you had to have a life to have dreams of a better life” (98).

One of the prominent themes is the expectations that society places on young adults. It is expected of Regan to do the dishes and cook dinner when their mother won’t be home on time from work. It is expected that she do well in school because her older brother is a naturally gifted student. It is expected that Regan has girlfriends over for middle school slumber parties, and that her older brother Liam not be a part of it. And, it is expected that Liam play sports and date girls. I have always felt that it is good for teenagers to know what is expected of them; it gives them direction and purpose in their lives. However, what if those expectations are unfair, or inappropriate? What should society do to ensure that teenagers like Regan and Liam/Luna feel safe to question certain expectations? Clearly, they do not feel safe with their parents, most of their peers, or strangers, and that is why they both feel suffocated. I think that is what I found most troubling in reading this novel.

A Long Way Gone

“We left New York City on November 15, 1996. My sixteenth birthday was eight days away, and throughout the flight back home I still felt as if I was dreaming, a dream that I didn’t want to wake up from” (200). According to this information, November 23, 2009 marks Ishmael Beah’s 29^th birthday, and I wonder if he’s made it back to the “dream” he felt in New York City.

I read Beah’s memoir, A Long Way Gone, with a faint idea of what I was getting myself into. I was prepared for the violence, and vaguely knew that the boys were used to fight in the war, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how completely the boys’ childhoods and lives that they knew were stripped so suddenly from them. “That night for the first time in my life I realized that it is the physical presence of people and their spirits that gives a town life” (22)…”One of the unsettling things about my journey, mentally, physically, and emotionally, was that I wasn’t sure when or where it was going to end. I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life” (69). I read The Hunger Games a few weeks ago, which was a science fictional depiction of children fighting children as a survival TV show game, but it pales in comparison to what Beah and countless other Sierra Leonean boys actually experienced.

Right away I appreciated Beah’s use of flashbacks and flash-forwards to tell his story. The fragmented feel to his memoir mirror how he must feel about his experiences, when one considers how patchy most people’s memories are of their childhood, added to the fact that Beah was high on cocaine and marijuana during most of his time as a boy soldier. The fact that the older soldiers gave drugs to the boy soldiers actually was news to me, but it made perfect sense. I doubt many children would be effective killers if they were fully cognizant of their actions in battle.

Over and over again, the boys in rehabilitation were told that “none of these things are your fault.” For a long time, Beah didn’t believe or trust it. It wasn’t until several meetings with Esther that he did start to believe it. “It was the genuine tone in Esther’s voice that made the phrase finally begin to sink into my mind and heart” (165). I found myself wondering on a larger scale, for every person who has ever been self-blaming, what does it take to believe that something is not one’s fault? And, what happens if what is needed never happens? Not every boy soldier in Sierra Leone got the chance to meet with Esther, after all.

I am thankful that Beah focused on happy moments whenever he could, to offset the heartbreaking moments that seemed to occupy so much of his youth. I couldn’t help but giggle at his first experience with an elevator and his first impression of New York City. “There were little white things falling out of the sky, and they seemed to be accumulating on the ground…I remember thinking about the strangeness of this country: it is very cold outside and extremely hot inside” (195). Finally, who cannot feel relaxed and content when hearing Bob Marley’s voice, as Beah did with his cassettes? I actually have been listening to Marley while writing this blog; I just couldn’t resist!

The Circuit

“Thinking we were all asleep, Mamá quietly slipped out of bed and lit the kerosene lamp. I covered my head with the blanket and through the hole in it I watched her, trying to see what gifts she was going to wrap, but she sat behind some wooden crates that served as the table and blocked my view. I could see only her weatherworn face. The shadow cast by the dim light made the circles under her eyes look even darker. As she began to wrap the gifts, silent tears ran down her cheeks. I did not know why” (55).

This poignant passage about how Francisco Jiménez’s mother had nothing but bags of candy to wrap for Christmas presents left me with heartache. The simple imagery that Jiménez skillfully creates in his description of his mother shows readers how much she sacrificed for her family, and how she never complained about her hardships, simply because she loved them. Her family was all she needed, which is an idea that anyone can understand, no matter what kind of lifestyle one has.

Along with Mamá, I found myself sympathizing with Roberto the most. I’ve always felt that the oldest children in families had some sort of advantage (they’re older and therefore have power over their younger siblings, they wear new clothes that get handed down, they are the first to graduate from high school [in theory], etc.). However, I saw that Roberto was at a disadvantage because of his age: he couldn’t go to school as often because Papá needed him to work in the fields. “I sat at the table across from Roberto, but I kept my head down. I did not want to look up and face him. I knew he was sad. He was not going to school today. He was not going tomorrow, or next week, or next month. He would not go until the cotton season was over, and that was sometime in February” (80). For Roberto, the responsibility of being the oldest meant that he had to sacrifice education for the survival of his family. That was a tough realization for me to swallow.

I did enjoy Jiménez’s memories of school. I waited in anticipation with him as his class watched the butterfly emerge from its cocoon; I felt excitement for him when his teacher promised to teach him to play the trumpet; I was proud when he worked so hard to memorize the Declaration of Independence. Not that I am surprised by it, but becoming literate was clearly an important part of Jiménez’s childhood. I thought that, in Fictionland, he would be friends with Mattie Gokey, the protagonist in Jennifer Donnelly’s historical fiction novel, A Northern Light. Both characters share a love of words, each learning a word a day and committing it to memory. They would also be drawn to each other’s thirst for education, as I read how each anticipated their time in school above all else. How I wish more students felt that way!

To help my own students advance their literacy, I want to use the “Learning the Game” chapter (84-95) to teach metaphor. Students struggle to understand this literary device, and I think that Jiménez does a wonderful job juxtaposing his standing up to Carlos’ control of Kick-the-Can to Gabriel’s defiance of Díaz, the boss, when ordered to pull a plow as oxen. The language is simple enough that students should easily understand the story for its several levels of meaning, which will be a great add-on to my current metaphor lessons!