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!

Book Review: The Hunger Games

Collins, Suzanne. (2008). The Hunger Games. New York: Scholastic Press.

ISBN: 978-0-439-02348-3.

“I can’t stop looking at Rue, smaller than ever, a baby animal curled up in a nest of netting. I can’t bring myself to leave her like this. Past harm, but seemingly utterly defenseless. To hate the boy from District 1, who also appears so vulnerable in death, seems inadequate. It’s the Capitol I hate, for doing this to all of us.”

Katniss Everdeen is a contestant in the annual Hunger Games, a tradition set in the science fiction future that reminds readers of the ancient Roman Gladiator days. The premise is just as barbaric, with the added twist that the contestants must only be between the ages of twelve and eighteen; in other words, children fight and kill other children, and are rewarded for their success.

Even so, readers sense that the characters want to maintain their humanity. Some form allies, even though all parties know that eventually they will have to be enemies. Since the protagonists are young, it is believable that the contestants can maintain their humanity throughout the Games. If this were a story involving adults, it would be hard to believe that they cared for the other contestants; most adults are too leery of others’ hidden motivations.

As with other adolescent literature, a prominent theme in The Hunger Games is self-discovery. “I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to separate out my feelings about Peeta. It’s too complicated. What I did as part of the Games. As opposed to what I did out of anger at the Capitol. Or because of how it would be viewd back in District 12. Or simply because It was the only decent thing to do. Or what I did because cared about him.” Katniss is forced to figure out who exactly she is, while at the same time maintain an image that will please the audience. Often these two “identities” conflict, which is what most adolescents feel while growing up. The difference is, Katniss has to know when to be “herself” and when to be a crowd-pleaser in order to stay alive.

Despite the horrifying basis of the Hunger Games, the reader cannot help getting caught up in the fast-paced, exciting plot. The Game can change at any time, which leaves the reader as breathless as the characters who are running, hiding, and fighting for their lives.

Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World

Conferences this fall: 12 hours; 40 parents. On average, that’s about one parent every 20 minutes. In our district, all of the teachers are seated at tables in the Commons, so parents can easily find us. Unfortunately, that means when there is downtime, we can’t do much but socialize. (It seems rude to actually delve into work with so many people milling about.) Luckily, I had something interesting to read this year: Jennifer Armstrong’s Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World. The account of how Shackleton and every single one of his men survived the Antarctic was actually one that I’ve never heard of, so I’m glad I had to read it!

I found the format of the book very accessible, and I can see why it was chosen for the adolescent literature course. The facts were presented so well that it read like a story, and the pictures were strategically placed so that the reader could visualize the “plot” and “characters” when the narration was very technical. One place that I thought was particularly effective was when Armstrong was describing how far the men had to travel to Paulet Island: 346 miles. Most adults would have no problem knowing how far that was, but I could see how adolescents may not have experience to truly grasp such a distance. Armstrong gave three examples: Boston to New York, Los Angeles to San Francisco, and the width of Iowa; cleverly referencing three major parts of the United States: the East Coast, West Coast, and Midwest, and therefore providing a connection for adolescent readers from all over the country. Nice technique!

The book is non-fiction, so obviously readers expect to learn something. I was pleased with what I did learn, however! Not only did I learn about the entire survival experience of Shackleton and his men, but I also learned a lot about ice (did you know that there are more than 80 kinds of it?) and early 20^th century navigation skills. Right when I was beginning to wonder how on earth they knew where they were, and how they knew how to get back to safety, Armstrong answered my question about determining longitude and latitude in plenty of reader-friendly detail. “How did they know where they were?...They used a few basic instruments, an almanac, and math” (72). Although I didn’t follow it all (I am an English teacher for a reason!), I appreciated the time she spent explaining the processes Frank Worsley used to get the men back. I thought it would be an excellent project for math and science classes; I know many of my students would enjoy such a hands-on activity, and gain a deeper appreciation for GPS that is available in many cars today!

Finally, I found myself thinking how many of my students who wrote a five-paragraph essay on the most important skills needed to survive would be mesmerized by this book. I think next year when I teach that essay, I will show the students the following quotes once they’ve written their own essays, to compare the standard answers of knowing how to hunt, make a fire, and find water:

• “Shackleton was a master at keeping his crew working together…he never let them forget that their strength lay in unity” (12).
• “Orde-Lees was skiing near the edge of the flow when a twelve-foot-long, fanged leopard seal lunged up out of the water and began humping toward him at an astonishing speed…Suddenly, the animal lunged back into the water. As Orde-Lees had reached the opposite side of the floe, the leopard seal burst up out of the water in front of him, jaws agape” (66).
• “The thought of those fellows on Elephant Island kept us going all the time. It might have been different if we’d only had ourselves to think about. You can get so tired in the snow, particularly if you’re hungry, that sleep seems just the best thing life has to give…but if you’re a leader, a fellow that other fellows look to, you’ve got to keep going” (116).

I’ll bet a lot of them will ask to read the book. J

The Giver

It’s 7:18 am as I walk into my classroom. I open the blinds to let the rising sun’s rays shine into the learning space. I hear my colleague’s decades-old music lilting from across the hallway. A few of my students stroll in, dropping their brightly decorated backpacks near their desks, and walk out again to socialize or get breakfast in the commons. I know that parents on their way to work drop off some students, others take the bus, and still others ride their bikes or walk to school. And, I know that some will inevitably be late; it never fails with high school students to not quite be able to get up on time for class. Soon, the warning bell rings to start the school day.

Although I often am frustrated with how my life is regulated by bells for seven hours of my workday, it in no way compares to the “utopian” world that Lois Lowry has created in her novel, The Giver. It is a world where people do not see color, have never heard music, and have to apologize to an entire roomful of people if they are even a few seconds late. It is a world where no one has experienced pain, but has also never experienced love. It is a world where decisions are made for everyone, to prevent any wrong decisions from being made.

Since I did read The Giver when I was in middle school, I did have a working memory of what the book was about. However, I appreciated the chance to revisit this great piece of adolescent literature! It gave me the opportunity to really recognize Lowry’s use of foreshadowing and irony to critique the community that Jonas, the protagonist, grows up in. Early on, the idea of “Release” is mentioned as an embarrassing, horrible punishment except for the newborn and elderly. “Release of newchildren was always sad, because they hadn’t had a chance to enjoy life within the community yet. And they hadn’t done anything wrong” (7). I’m sure that the first time I read this book, I also was just sympathetic for the newchildren. However, since I knew how the story ends, and since I’m an older, wiser reader, I understood this statement as ironic. No one is really enjoying life; they just don’t know it because they don’t have the memories that truly are joyful. For example, they laugh at the idea of animals really existing. I cannot count the times that animals have made me smile: caring for a pet and seeing it reciprocate love and loyalty; taking trips to the zoo with children I’ve babysat; and seeing wildlife on family camping vacations.

Even though I am critical of this “perfect” world, I do wonder what it would be like to not have to experience pain. There is too much pain in the world, and much of it is undeserved and unsolvable. I wouldn’t want to live in a world that had to give up love, color, music, Christmas, and family, in order to achieve a pain-free world, but the thought is intriguing. Especially when I see people I care about get hurt. It’s hard to imagine, but at the same time, it’s interesting to contemplate. Lowry does a wonderful job exploring this very big “What If…” question, I think.

The House of the Scorpion

“One of my main themes is self-reliance, the ability to compete against odds and to beat them. A lot of kids' books have somebody who learns to come to terms with some dreadful situation, and it's all about them continuing to suffer at the end of the book. I don't want to write 'victim' books. I want a triumph, a hero or a heroine, and that's what I write about.” –Nancy Farmer http://www.nancyfarmerwebsite.com/bio.html

Thus is why I liked Farmer’s science fiction novel, The House of the Scorpion, so much, and why I think young adults are also drawn to it. As I read, I found myself sympathizing with Matt, the protagonist, as he learns the pain of human rejection and isolation that comes with being “different,” and therefore feared. Matt is so innocent in the ways of the Opium/Dreamland world he lives in, and so earnest in wanting to contribute and be a good person. Unfortunately, the rest of the world is convinced that he cannot be a good “person” because he is a clone, and they have been trained to believe that clones are animals. It is not until the climax of the novel, where Matt is escaping Dreamland, that his bodyguard Tam Lin clues him in: “Here’s the dirty little secret…no one can tell the difference between a clone and a human. That’s because there isn’t any difference. The idea of clones being inferior is a filthy lie” (245).

Even though the story is told in a science fiction, futuristic setting, the parallels between its world and ours are what astounded me. Sadly, I witness such acts of intolerance and meanness every day in the high school setting. Of course, we do not have clones, but we do have students who differ in race, class, sexual orientation, religion, and personal style. Even though the students are wily enough to not be overt in their meanness in front of teachers (just as Tom and other humans tolerate Matt in front of El Patrón), I often hear stories of bullying from students later on. It’s a question that I’ve asked before reading The House of the Scorpion, but the story made me re-contemplate how we rid people of unjustified intolerance. Part of the answer is the lack of education some people have, by force or by choice (I have a lot of “refusers” in my classroom that could be learning a lot but are doing everything possible to avoid it), which is a point that Farmer also seems to make in the characters of Tam Lin, Chacho, Tom, and the eejits.

A warning about those in power also resonates throughout Farmer’s novel. Even though Matt immediately loves El Patrón, and continues to love him even after he realizes he’s been raised for spare parts, the reader is leery of the old man. Tam Lin uses an intriguing metaphor to warn Matt, and the reader, about El Patrón: “When he was young, he made a choice, like a tree does when it decides to grow one way or the other. He grew large and green until he shadowed over the whole forest, but most of his branches are twisted” (70). How often have we witnessed world leaders use corruption to gain more power? And how often have we only realized the corruption too late to stop or reverse it? Part of why I like this book so much is because it ends with hope; Matt returns to Dreamland to reconstruct the damage El Patrón created. We can only hope that his newfound power doesn’t go to his head as well.

The Golden Compass

“Yes; I can’t prevent it” (65), says the Master in Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass, Book 1 of The Dark Materials trilogy. This is a quote that caught me off-guard; thinking that it is sort of a strange thing to say. He cannot prevent what? Who is this guy? What is his role in all of this business about Dust, Gobblers, and Mrs. Coulter? The quote is also a point in the novel where I really start to question who is “good” and who is “bad,” an obvious theme throughout the story. It made me want to read more.

Another aspect of the book that really pulled me in is the fact that Pullman’s world seems like a world that could exist: the story is set in London and other areas of England. Even though the time period is set in the past (I think? I’m basing this off the fact that Lord Asriel almost gets poisoned by a bottle of 1898 wine.), I could imagine much of the characters’ experiences happening today and in the future. (Hopefully there will always be colleges and gypsies, right?)

Of course, there are certain fantastical elements that tell the reader that the world doesn’t literally exist. For example, each character has a daemon, which seems to be a representation of one’s soul or conscience, as its behavior reflects the character’s current emotions and thoughts. This concept confused me for the first chapter or so; I wasn’t sure who Pantalaimon was. I thought he was a pet, or simply a friend of Lyra’s. Even though daemons aren’t a part of our world, the metaphor makes perfect sense. We all have our inner voice; Pullman just makes it clear how integral that inner voice is to an individual’s intentions and actions.

The intriguing characters also drew me into the story. Unlike the folklore that we read a few weeks ago, it is not at first clear to the reader who is good and who isn’t. From the opening chapter, it seems that Master is not to be trusted, and Lord Asriel is, since Master tries to poison Lord Asriel. However, both Master’s and Lord Asriel’s roles are slowly revealed. Lyra and the reader realize that Master is craftily doing his best to protect Lyra without telling her so much to confuse or frighten her. Lord Asriel ends up sacrificing a child to pursue his own experiments at the end, leading us to feel just as betrayed as Lyra feels. A side thought I had while contemplating characters were their names. I felt that a character’s name reflected class: Lyra, Lord Asriel, Lord Boreal, and Mrs. Marisa Coulter (sounds a lot like “culture”, does it not?) all “sound” lofty and noble; whereas the more “common” characters have names such as Billy, Tony, and Roger. It’s a common technique, but felt that it was especially appropriate for this book.

Finally, I became excited about the simple passages that explained what the alethiometer was used for, because they would be helpful in teaching students the idea of symbol. For example, the passage on p. 112 reads, “they’re symbols, and each one stands for a whole series of things. Take the anchor, there. The first meaning of that is hope, because hope holds you fast like an anchor so you don’t give way. The second meaning is steadfastness. The third meaning is snag, or prevention. The fourth meaning is the sea. And so on, down to ten, twelve, maybe a never-ending series of meanings.” Thank you, Philip Pullman, for providing this straightforward example of how many ideas an object can represent!

Skellig

“Truth and dreams are always getting muddled” (52). What an apt quote to frame this blog around a novel that is categorized by some as “magical realism.” As soon as Mina says this in David Almond’s Skellig, I realized how often this happens in real life, and said to myself, ‘isn’t that the truth?’ What I dream of happening in my life sometimes seems so attainable that I assume it will materialize, but then again, many of those dreams manage to slip away, unrealized.

As one who does not read a lot of fantasy, I’m a little “muddled” at what to say about the novel. It didn’t do much for me, which wasn’t a surprise. (There’s a reason why I don’t read the genre…I’ve never found much that interests me.) But, I’m supposed to say positive things, so here I go:

I liked the references to Greek mythology throughout the book, with Michael’s schoolteacher’s stories and the discussions between Michael, Mina, and her mother about Persephone. It would be fun to put this book into a student’s hands who has read a lot of mythology during my Greek Mythology unit, and have him/her analyze the allusions. Why did the author choose to allude to the particular stories of Icarus and Persephone? What other mythological references might there be? Okay, okay, I do like mythology, which I know contains elements of fantasy, so through association, I must like fantasy a little. I guess I just like the older myths better than the more contemporary fantasies. Does that make sense?

I also liked how Almond indirectly comments on different approaches to education: the traditional grade school vs. homeschooling. It’s a debate that is not often talked about, but I know that kids are curious about. There is the generalization that homeschooled children do not get as complete of an education as those who are enrolled in school systems, but Mina’s and Michael’s experiences challenge that theory (even if it is in a fantasy novel). As a teacher myself, I understand Mina’s skepticism of Michael’s leveled reading books and fill-in-the blank worksheets that test him on trivial knowledge. At the MCTE fall workshop that I just attended, Kylene Beers called such activities “Assigning students to count the vowels.” No knowledge is meaningful until it is understood in a greater context. Thus, I avoid the mundane worksheets at all costs, and encourage students to read whatever books they are interested in. Even though it was not the focus of the book, I enjoyed seeing an example of a successful homeschool environment.

I guess what I didn’t like about Skellig is the lack of character depth. Yes, it’s geared for an adolescent audience, and yes, it’s a shorter story, but I found it very hard to believe the “deep” feelings Mina and Michael experience throughout the story. They go from being strangers to best friends, to friends who absolutely hate each other, back to best friends, in very short scenes. They also go from being apprehensive of Skellig to loving him within a few chapters, without much plot or character development to help the reader understand this change of heart. Finally, Michael is supposedly worried about his baby sister for most of the novel, but for awhile I questioned if he actually cared about his sister. At first, I thought maybe he resented her. I guess, to borrow from my descriptive writing unit, Almond was telling, not showing me, Michael’s and Mina’s emotions. Therefore, I couldn’t buy into them.

The Book Thief

“After all that we studied in English 10 and World History, I decided that I didn’t really like Holocaust books. But this one…is amazing. One of the best books I’ve read in my life, Holocaust related or not.” This was what one of my 11^th grade students said to me a few weeks ago, when he was showing my copy of Marcus Zusak’s The Book Thief to one of his friends who is also in the class. This book really does have it all: an unusual narrator, unforgettable characters, and gut-wrenching moments that could have very well happened in Germany during World War II.

I must confess, I have read The Book Thief prior to taking this class. However, I did have to reread it since I couldn’t really remember the plot. I simply remembered that it was told from Death’s perspective, and that a girl stole books. Especially after talking with the 11^th grade student, and co-workers who have also read it, I was excited to revisit The Book Thief! The unique writing style, which intersperses Liesel’s story with snapshot thoughts from Death and short stories written by some of the characters, presented in short chapters, kept me as the reader transfixed, continually turning the page. Zusak writes poignant passages, which made me realize, or reaffirm, some universal truths about life.

· The look of poverty: “There were people of every stature, but among them, the poor were the most easily recognized. The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip—the relative you cringe to kiss” (25).

· The tolerance that children innately have: “Mr. Steiner decided to talk politics with his son as best he could…’you’ve got beautiful blond hair and big, safe blue eyes. You should be happy with that; is that clear?’…Rudy understood nothing, and that night was the prelude of things to come” (59-61).

· The futility of war: “I’ve seen so many young men over the years who think they’re running at other young men. They are not. They’re running at me [death]” (174-75).

· The realization that people really are not that different from each other: “Liesel, in the act of watching, was already noticing the similarities between this stranger and herself. They both arrived in a state of agitation on Himmel Street. They both nightmared” (207).

The list is much longer than what I have here, but those are the ones that stuck out the most to me.

One of my co-workers said to me, “Oh, I was just bawling when I read that book! How many books make you do that?” I was the same way with the story’s ending. I could hear Liesel’s voice crying for Papa! The instant connection that those two characters felt reminded me of the father figures I’ve had in my life: the immediate comfort that they have provided in moments of crisis. “At that moment, Hans Hubermann had just completed rolling a cigarette, having licked the paper and joined it all up. He looked over at Liesel and winked. She would have no problem calling him Papa” (35). I cannot imagine losing them in the abrupt way Liesel loses Papa.

All in all, I must agree with my student: This book is amazing. Go read it.

A Northern Light

A few years back, a good friend put An American Tragedy in my hands, insisting that it was an amazing read. Well, I only made it through maybe 50 pages before putting it down. It was just one of those books that I couldn’t get into, and I attributed it to the characters and writing style (Sorry, Theodore Dreiser.). Thankfully, I definitely did not experience the same apathy towards Jennifer Donnelly’s A Northern Light, even though the two novels are based on the same 1906 murder of Grace Brown.

Although it took me a little while to understand Donnelly’s technique of alternating between the past and present by chapters, I really appreciated it once I was oriented. The strategy helps to build the suspense about the mystery of what happened to Grace Brown, and also kept me curious about what was developing in Mattie Gokey, the protagonist’s, adolescent life. I also liked how the chapters that took place in the “past” were titled with Mattie’s “word of the day,” and how each word usually fit nicely with that chapter’s plot. A little contrived? Yes. Would adolescents think so? Probably not. I enjoyed the creativity of the idea. What can I say, I’m a word nerd!

Throughout the entire book, I felt the “realness” of Mattie, a young girl working hard to graduate high school with great enough scores to get her into college, despite her father’s unwillingness to let her go and leave the family farm. Very early, she tells the audience, “Words fail me sometimes. I have read almost every single one…but I still have trouble making them come when I want them to” (2). How many times have we all felt that way? Well, at least I have, and I love how Mattie admits it right away. This frustration seems to lend itself to other aspects of life she doesn’t completely understand, such as not fully comprehending other people’s intentions, namely Royal’s and her uncle’s. Mattie is naïve about Royal’s intentions about her, as well as the reason why Royal resents Tommy Hubbard’s mother. This makes sense to me, though, considering the time period. Girls were not taught to question men who were interested in them, nor were they raised to be aware of underlying power conflicts between neighbors. It is actually ironic to me that it’s Royal, who isn’t the brightest boy, who points out to Mattie, “For someone who reads so many books, you’re awfully damned stupid” (191).

Well, thank goodness Mattie finally does realize what Royal wants her for: her father’s land. She saves her work money and leaves for college at the end. I felt like cheering at the end, even though it was a little predictable. I just couldn’t see this book ending with Mattie marrying Royal and giving up her dreams; there were just too many strong women characters that she had looked up to: her mother, Miss Wilcox, and Weaver’s mother; and too many weak women she did not want to become: Grace Brown and Emmie Hubbard. She chooses her moment to leave the North Woods after reading Grace’s story, and she tells Weaver she’s going “Because Grace Brown can’t” (376). So many young girls should read this book, if they don’t get this message somewhere else in their lives!

The People Could Fly

As one who has never considered reading folklore by choice, I did enjoy reading The People Could Fly: American Black Folktales told by Virginia Hamilton. I felt that I learned a lot about African cultures without having to read a history book, which is a good thing, in my opinion!

It was helpful that the book was divided into four categories: Animal Tales; Tales of the Real, Extravagant, and Fanciful; Tales of the Supernatural; and Slave Tales of Freedom. I was able to see connections between stories that fit into the same category, and just as I tired of one “type” of story, the “type” changed for me.

Some of the tales had heavier dialects than others. I found myself wishing that I were reading these tales aloud, or better yet, have someone who has mastered the different dialects, read the tales to me. It is clear why folklore literature needs to be heard, not read. I’m sure much of the stories’ details were lost because I read them to myself. It would also be difficult for struggling readers to understand the tales due to the dialect, which would be too bad since the stories are so unique and creative.

One tale in particular was confusing for me. Unlike the other stories, where the lesson or moral made sense to me, “Tappin, the Land Turtle” (20-25) was a bit of a mystery. Basically, the turtle receives several gifts from the king of the underworld, and when he tries to share them with the other beings in his kingdom, (what I perceived as) the act of generosity backfires on him. Am I to learn that it is not acceptable to share gifts with others? It doesn’t make sense.

A motif that I noticed in the Tales of the Real, Extravagant, and Fanciful section is a situation where a daughter lives only with her father. Then I thought, “I’ve thought about this before!” A lot of Disney movies share the same situation: Jasmine and her sultan father in Aladdin, Ariel and her father in The Little Mermaid, Pocahontas and her father in Pocahontas, etc. The fathers are also always in a position of societal power. What is the deal here? Where are the mothers? Is there a point to this motif? Are mothers incapable of raising daughters? Are mothers sickly and die young? Is there no motif?

One last comment I have about a particular story is about “Carrying the Run-Aways” from the Slave Tales of Freedom section. A part that struck me as powerful is “Mr. Rankins had a big light about thirty feet high up and it burned all night. It meant freedom for slaves if they could get to that bright flame” (144). The image of that light seems to be literally burned in my brain; what that light represented for all of the slaves is exactly why so many of these stories were passed through generations. This passage also lends itself to a further discussion of what light has symbolized in literature; for example, education and “goodness.” It all seems to fit in this story.

Author Study: Ben Mikaelsen

I wanted to learn more about Ben Mikaelsen because he is the author of one of the novels I teach, Touching Spirit Bear. Even though the novel is geared toward middle school students, written at almost an elementary reading level, I think it is a great choice for my English Essentials 9 students who are below-grade level readers. The protagonist is 15 years old and has many conflicts to work through, to which I know a lot of my students can relate. There are several themes worthy of discussion and reflection. For the most part, my classes did receive the book well, and a handful of students rushed to the public library to check out the sequel once they finished the book!

Despite these encouraging successes, last year was the first time I taught it, and, as teaching novels go, the unit had a few rough patches. I wanted them to work in lit circle groups periodically to check each others' understanding, and that didn't work too well. Students also didn't have a clear picture of where the novel took place, as the setting changes between Minneapolis and a remote island. The unit starts next week, and after doing some research tonight, I'll definitely share more author information this year, as many connections can be made between the information from the sources below, and the plot and characters in Touching Spirit Bear.

Biography about Ben Mikaelsen found on Scholastic Website:

http://www2.scholastic.com/browse/contributor.jsp?id=2592

Excerpt: I’ve been asked if it’s realistic to have my characters doing all the wild things they do in my stories. I laugh when I answer, “You bet it is!” I know a child can fly an airplane, parachute, survive storms alone, love the night, and much, much more. I know because as a child I did those things. With time, each experience and discovery became a stepping-stone to larger and greater things. Now when someone asks me, “Is it realistic for a bad student to grow up and become an author?” I say, “You bet it is!”...Author, Ben Mikaelsen, is winner of the International Reading Association Award and the Western Writer’s Golden Spur Award. His novels have been nominated to and have won many state Reader’s Choice awards. These novels include Rescue Josh McGuire, Sparrow Hawk Red, Stranded, Countdown, Petey, Touching Spirit Bear, Red Midnight and Tree Girl.

Children's Book Radio Interview with Ben Mikaelsen Podcast:

http://www.childrensbookradio.com/childrensbookradiopodcast17.mp3

Lengthy interview where Mikaelsen discusses several of his novels, including the inspiration for writing Touching Spirit Bear, and a preview of the sequel, Ghost of Spirit Bear. Although I wouldn't have students listen to the entire interview, I could share the pieces where he talks about Touching Spirit Bear.

Ben Mikaelsen's website:

http://www.benmikaelsen.com/

A kid-friendly site where students can learn more about Mikaelsen's childhood, pet bear, published novels, scheduled presentations and school visits, and upcoming work.

19 Varieties of Gazelle

“Where is the path?

Please tell me.

Does a gazelle have a path?

Is the whole air the path of the gazelle?”

Maybe it’s because I’ve never been to the Middle East. Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen a war-torn city. Maybe it’s because I’ve never felt at odds with my cultural roots. Maybe it was the “Farewell to the Metrodome” special that was showing while I was reading this book. Whatever it was, I was frustrated by how I could easily connect to what was being celebrated on the TV screen more than what was being said on the pages of Naomi’s Shihab Nye’s 19 Varieties of Gazelle.

I know that makes me sound shallow and uncaring. But truly, I was trying to connect. At the end, Nye even sounds accusatory about how people react to her writing. “It sounds good to them. They do not care how it sounds to you.” I do care, actually. I could sense how she was trying to use her writing to piece together all of her ideas about culture and people to make sense of September 11. I commend her for that. At the same time, I couldn’t connect with all of her “pieces.” The ideas were too fragmented, or too foreign, to what I’m familiar with. My day-to-day life consists of teaching the 5-paragraph essay to high school students, using technology like SmartBoards and wikis to construct knowledge, and cheering for the Twins’ last-minute attempt to make it to the playoffs. I’m not saying that what Nye knows is unimportant (I think she has very valuable experiences to share); I’m just saying that I don’t know if what she says truly reaches me. I wish it would.

Nye does reach me when writes about the diverse values that are inherent in people, yet how they all share a sense of nostalgia, tradition, and connections with family, friends, and sometimes strangers. I liked how some poems were precluded with an excerpt from another writer; the connections in ideas emphasized her point about the importance in finding similarities with those that seem so different. “Those Whom We Don’t Know” (55-57) seemed to make that point very well, considering the title of the poem. Two lines sticks with me: “I support all people on earth/who have bodies like and unlike my body.” This is a message we’ve all heard before: be tolerant of all people, but Nye adds concise images to really drive home her message. I also liked “Jerusalem,” how she bluntly says, “I’m not interested in/who suffered the most./I’m interested in/people getting over it…Why are we so monumentally slow?” People do need to get over themselves to be able to see how “the enemy” often share in a common hurt. That is something I see everywhere; one doesn’t need to be in the Middle East to recognize it.

Joyful Noise: Poems for Two Voices

If you’re looking for a creative book of poetry, Paul Fleischman’s Joyful Noise: Poems for Two Voices is it. The structure of the poems, meant to be read by two people, recreate images of different types of insects’ behaviors and actions through carefully written alternating and synchronous line patterns. Hopefully my reactions to the poems will help illustrate this idea:

• While reading “Grasshoppers,” I could see and feel grasshoppers hopping on sun-warmed pavement, like they do as I would run or bike by on a spring day.
• In “Water Striders,” I sensed the lines pushing off of each other, as water striders seem to do in water. That poem took me back to memories of lazy summer days, watching the water at my grandparents’ cabin.
• “Fireflies” also reminded me of childhood, catching fireflies flickering in the backyard. In the poem, the “flickering” gets passed between the two voices just as I would see fireflies take turns lighting up.
• The “Book Lice” cracked me up! It was like reading a quirky love poem…but it was about lice! Eww!
• I picked up on a love story in “The Moth’s Serenade,” as the moth wanted to get close to the light, but it’s just too hot. The poem’s lines reinforce the idea of bad timing, as the words are never in sync for the two voices.
• “Water Boatmen” read very rhythmically, with coordinated “strokes,” reminding me of early morning crew practice going by on Lake Mendota the year I lived in the dorms at UW-Madison.
• I felt like I learned something from “The Digger Wasp.” I had no idea about wasps’ reproductive process, and I wondered how much research Fleischman did before writing this poem? The personification of the bittersweet pain that mother wasps experience in the poem made me fear wasps a little less.
• “Cicadas” is the poem that lends the book its title. “Sending forth their booming boisterous joyful noise!” actually made me laugh out loud, because I had such an opposite reaction to cicadas on a camping trip. All I could think of while reading this poem was the sleepless night my family experienced during our summer trip to the Smoky Mountains 15 years ago. It was a terrible night due to the cicadas and a few other factors that we still joke about, and none of us would describe the cicadas as “joyful noise”! Booming and boisterous, yes. Joyful, no!
• I connected with the worker bee’s voice in “Honeybees,” as it reminded me of my job as a teacher in comparison to some of my friends who are bored at work on a daily basis, constantly on Facebook and personal email. Just as the queen bee thinks life is relaxing and “the best,” my friends can’t quite understand why I don’t have “down time” while at work. The contrast between worker and queen is shown not just in what they’re saying, but how much they say. The worker bee has far more lines than the queen bee, reinforcing the difference in workload. Brilliant!

Fleischman meticulously writes about individual insect species, carefully crafting their behaviors through line structure and voice. Then, he makes the reader realize that they are all connected through time/season with the poem “Requiem.” At least for me, that was the first point that I realized there was a time thread throughout the poems. The first poem, “Grasshopper,” has images of spring; “Chrysalis Diary,” the final poem, takes the reader through fall and winter. The more I think about this collection of poems, the more I like it…and I don’t even like insects!

How I Live Now

Maybe it was something about being transient on a bus this summer while reading Meg Rosoff’s How I Live Now, but man did I feel like this was The Boxcar Children experience for young adults growing up in the 21^st century! The protagonists deal with more serious issues in this novel than the Boxcar Children ever did, but at the same time, things still work out for them in the end pretty well. Not a perfect ending, like the Boxcar Children always seemed to have, but that made me like the book even more.

I found it almost mesmerizing how Rosoff’s stream-of-consciousness writing style puts the reader right in Daisy’s mindset. The chapters drift from one to another as quickly as an adolescent girl’s mind would switch topics. It took a little getting used to the lack of punctuation and the overuse of capitalization, but it certainly worked for this novel. I could see how young adult readers would have trouble, too, but would serve as a teachable moment in how it’s appropriate to deviate from traditional punctuation and capitalization rules if it serves a greater purpose in the text.

I also like how the book appeals to both genders. I’m sorry if I am over-generalizing here, but I can see how boys would be drawn to the survival/war themes of the novel, and the romance would enrapture the girls. (I’m sure there’d be some overlap as well.) It’s hard to find a book that everyone would enjoy, and I think this one would be a crowd-pleaser.

There was an aspect of the novel that I didn’t buy into, though, and I wonder if other readers felt the same skepticism. Really, who falls in love in such a short period of time, and with one’s cousin? The “love” affair between Edmond and Daisy seemed surreal and rushed, and I would dare say it was more a result of feeling desperate to feel connected to someone in a turbulent time in her life, and Edmond happened to be there. I know girls think they fall in love at first sight, but to actually have the emotion remain intact through the years of separation just was unrealistic to me. Or maybe I’m just too cynical.

My last point of interest is the shift from Daisy’s stay in England, to being forced to go back to the United States. On page 165, there is a filled-in black circle. I feel like it’s Rosoff’s paper equivalent of a cartoon character barreling through a time-warp tunnel. To make things stranger, the chapter on page 167 is numbered 1. How is this a “beginning” chapter when the events following seem to be an interim between her first trip to England and her second, more permanent stay? I’ve never seen anything like that in a book, and I still don’t understand it. What do others think?

The First Part Last

“Nothing’s changed and everything has” (79). This thought-provoking statement from Angela Johnson’s novel The First Part Last gives the reader a preview of the insight of Bobby, the protagonist. Bobby is a teenage father who is raising his daughter Feather practically on his own. The novel’s chapters alternate between “now” (life with a baby) and “then” (life before a baby), and throughout the story, Bobby is honest in his reflections on how his life has and has not changed.

As I was reading Bobby’s story, I found myself sympathizing and not sympathizing with him. While his girlfriend is pregnant and they’re at a party with their friends, he reflects, “I’m feeling like an alien” (84). He knows how different his life is going to be, and he can no longer just kick back and relax with his buddies. I found it very easy to connect with his emotions, as I’ve been to plenty of family gatherings where I just felt I didn’t belong. I also couldn’t imagine raising a child while still finishing high school, while at the same time dealing with the emotional agony of essentially losing the child’s mother. That part of his situation pulled at my heartstrings. I really felt his loneliness when he is spray-painting a wall for an entire day: “I’m the pale white ghost boy beside the brown girl who is always looking away. Sometimes in the picture, my brothers show up, make themselves known, and then leave the painting again. Like in real life” (60) Bobby is the only one he knows who is going through this situation, and it’s impossible for the reader not to feel for him.

However, there are some key details that Johnson leaves out about Bobby, and not knowing these details made it hard for me to sympathize with him completely. For example, how is he paying for what his daughter needs? I know it would be overwhelming for a teenager to simply take care of a child, but it seems very unrealistic to just have the money coming from nowhere. Are his parents providing for the granddaughter? Or the mother’s parents? From the descriptions in the book, they seemed well-off, but it is never clear that they could be the ones sending Bobby a check every month. For being a contemporary realistic fiction novel, leaving this key part out of parenting makes teenage parenting look less complicated (not that Johnson depicts it as effortless) than it really must be.

I really started taking issue with the novel when I got to the scene where Paul, Bobby’s older brother, is visiting, and their divorced parents are visiting in the kitchen and laughing, getting along “the way it used to be” (91). Really? I mean, I know plenty of separated couples who maintain civility for their kids’ sakes, but I don’t see any of them sitting around cooking meals together anymore. I tried thinking of why Johnson would present Mary and Fred in this way. Maybe she’s trying to be ideal because her main audience is young people, and if they ever are in a similar situation, they would have seen in a book how it’s possible to be nice toward one’s exes? Or maybe Johnson simply wanted Mary and Fred to be in the same scene since their son Paul didn’t visit too often. Maybe I’m overthinking Johnson’s authorial motives. The whole scenario is still quite unrealistic to me, though.

The “Nia” chapter (115-116) seemed out of place. It completely broke with the Now/Then pattern of the rest of the novel’s chapters. Why give her point of view at only this one point in the novel? Why not more often throughout? She was the pregnant teenager, after all. The chapter sounded forced and strange, at a moment of the story that the reader should only feel empathy for Nia; not confusion as to what the author is trying to do.

Finally, the last chapter was hackneyed and, again, unrealistic. What 16-year-old father can just pack up and move to a new city, get an apartment, and raise his daughter? The fact that he moves to Heaven, Ohio, was just too corny for me to handle. The novel that started out as an imperfect love story, which definitely fit the genre of contemporary realism, seemed to spiral into fantasy for the last 30 pages or so. Overall, I liked the message that even if one isn’t ready to be a parent, one needs to do the best job possible. I just felt that young adults reading this book for guidance might be blindsided if they ever are in a similar situation as Bobby’s; life just isn’t that simple.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

I read Sherman Alexie's novel, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, for the first time a little over a year ago. My colleague was raving about it, and was planning to use it in her new reading class for struggling 9th graders. Since I'd be teaching the same group of students in the adapted English class, I figured I'd read it, too. I distinctly remember borrowing it from the Barnes and Noble where I worked part-time (one of the perks of being an employee is being able to check out hardcover books!), going home to peruse the book, and ending up staying up far later than I should have because I was so quickly engrossed in the novel. I then reread the novel this summer, on the bus on my way to Chicago, because I knew it was the first book we would be discussing in this class. Again, I was sucked into the narrative, and the 8-hour bus ride flew by!

Junior's voice and tone immediately jump out and disorient the reader. The first sentence is, "I was born with water on the brain." First of all, what does that mean? Once it is understood that he was born with a serious medical problem, the reader wonders, what is Junior's attitude toward that statement? Is it supposed to be serious? Funny? Sarcastic? Are we the readers supposed to flinch, cry, laugh? Or all of the above? As I read on, it became clear that it was okay to laugh. Junior means to be funny because it is one way he copes with all of the conflicts he faces. I don't think Sherman Alexie is making light of the serious issues on the Spokane reservation, but rather uses humor to show how sorely comic relief is needed in Junior's life. The reader laughs with Junior, but neither Junior nor the reader really thinks the situations he goes through are humorous.

Another aspect that I love about this novel is how easy it is to connect with the diverse characters. I feel that every young person, and most adults, who read Junior's story are going to be able to relate to at least one character, or one situation, whether it's how Junior learns and appreciates how tolerant and understanding his grandma is, how to literally roll with the punches when his best friend Rowdy gets mad, or how the worst thing about poverty is not being able to save a beloved pet.

A last unique characteristic of The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is the blending of text with images; Junior's verbal accounts combined with his cartoon sketches really drive home his poignant story. Just flipping through the novel now, I think a struggling, or reluctant reader, could simply look at the drawings and read the captions and still get the main points of the story. The cartoons are also interesting enough that those same students would probably be persuaded to read the entire book, and not just look at the pictures.