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!