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!