The Arrival - reflections

I had originally chosen to read Maus for the selected title in the graphic novel genre of teen lit. I chose that text because I had heard from several of my colleagues that it was a very powerful text, and a very good read. I completely agree with them on both of assessments. I found the conceptualization of the text to be original and unique, and the final product to be remarkable. However, I also was fortunate enough to read a classmate’s copy of The Arrival during the final twenty minutes allotted in class, and I absolutely fell in love with that text – and so decided to focus on Tan’s text.

On my walk home from class on December 7th, I called that friend of mine that I discuss fine literature with (we all seem to have a friend that we have great conversation with about a limited topic, don’t we?). I told him that I found something brand new and beautiful. In short, I could not wait to share this text with others. By the time I had gotten to my car, I had already decided to purchase a copy of the book for my brother teaching abroad in Japan, another for this aforementioned friend of mine, and one more for myself. Luckily, Amazon.com had a good deal on it.

The illustrations in The Arrival are simply beautiful, and I love when authors choose to spend as much time and attention incorporating detail into illustration as they do in the written text. It saddens me that our culture tends to disregard illustrations in “high” literature, often leaving the cover art (typically chosen by the publisher for marketing purposes, and having nothing to do with the text or author’s intentions) as a text’s only illustration. In this text, Tan shows how illustrations alone can tell a novel’s story. I have enjoyed picture books in the past, and I have certainly enjoyed (many) graphic novels – but this text struck me as being brand new. Like only exceptional texts can do, this one affected me by staying in the forefront of my mind for days on end. Several of my friends and colleagues were pinned down and forced to listen to me inadequately tell about this story. None of them got the real picture, I am sure – but the media specialist looked further into it, and is ordering a few copies for the school.

When I remark that this story was “brand new” to me, I refer to two things in particular. First is the aesthetic beauty of the text (its illustrations, cover art, and composition), and elegant subtlety of the story it tells without the use of words (clear narrative without being too obvious). The second is the universality of this story. To quote Gene Luen Yang in his review that appeared in the New York Times, “The Arrival tells not an immigrant’s story, but the immigrant’s story” (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/11/books/review/Yang-t.html). The protagonist’s ethnicity and nationality are not known for sure, and the collage of faces in the opening of the text serves to tell the reader that this story is universal to immigrant experiences of all nationalities and ethnicities. There is not even a language to determine the old world or the new – just images that help us to determine that the new world is confusing and intimidating to the immigrant traveler. The themes of this text – fear, love, family, etc. are themes that are universal throughout cultures, and are themes that are present in every immigrant’s tale. Yang goes further to analyze many more images in a comparison to New York and Ellis Island; I was satisfied in recognizing that the images of the new world were purposefully foreign to any reader from our world.

This text struck a chord with me. I am not at all concerned with whether this is technically a graphic novel or a picture book. In my opinion, those are conversations that happen when there is not enough to speak on in the text itself. This text provided me with more to think and speak about than most texts we read this semester, and it accomplished this without the benefit of any written language.

American Born Chinese - Reflections

· I recognize all of the toys that the boys are playing with on page 26. This tells me two things; the artist has a special attention to detail in this text, and I know too much about Transformers. I even know the names of the figures.

· Why are teachers so often portrayed as bumbling idiots in many of the texts that we’re reading?

My initial impression of this text was not entirely enthusiastic. The plot lines did not engage me right from the start. However, I soon found myself caring about what was happening with two of the characters in his journey of self-discovery. Throughout the middle, I really enjoyed the story of the Monkey King and Jin Wang; I found their struggles to be interesting, and their stories to be deep. Danny and Chin-Kee’s story seemed uncharacteristically superficial, however. While all three stories revolve around humiliation and self-shame, the first two cover this a bit more subversively. Danny and Chin-Kee spell this theme out explicitly, and seems to be working on a completely different wavelength from the rest of the text. The end result of this is a text that has a bit of an identity crisis; while there are some parallels from story to story, there are just as many miss-hits from one text to the other. The third story just does not seem to have the same intended audience as the first two. Since I am unfamiliar with this author and his other work, I don’t know whether this “identiy crisis” in terms of structure is meant to reflect the identity crisis of the characters within, or if it is just rough construction. I hope for the former.

I found the culmination of the stories fitting together to be a bit clumsy as well. The progression of Danny’s character is not authentic, but none of that plot-line is very authentic. Jin’s transformation into Danny is sad and believable, but his interaction with the Monkey King seems a stretch. The Monkey King’s transfer into Western culture and the Nativity is a very interesting kink in the plot, but his return to Monkey world and his conversation with his son as an emissary just seems to serve the purpose of connecting dots.

All in all, I did end up enjoying this text even in spite of the pieces that I don’t like about its triple narrative structure. I grew up reading comic books, and am very familiar with this genre of literature. For this reason, it was refreshing to read this text, and to see that this form of literature is finally being viewed as legitimate literature. What struck me as being most memorable about this text is the overarching feelings of self-shame that many of the characters share. It will be interesting to pay attention to other pieces of multicultural literature to see if this theme is present… I have read plenty of pieces from a wide variety of cultural experiences, and have not noticed this theme and feeling so pervasive in other texts – though Amy Tan’s Fish Cheeks does sing this same tune. That short story almost brings me to tears every time I read it. It is heartbreaking to think of a young person like Jin Wang being so ashamed of his own person, heritage, and culture. If nothing else, this text has made me more attentive to this theme as it is presented in literature, and will no doubt help sharpen my skills in reading literature through a multicultural lens.

Speak Reflections

Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson, came highly recommended to me by another teacher in my building who works with struggling readers, as well as by a few of my former students. This text was indeed very engaging, and left me often wanting to read more. However, I found that there were pieces of this text that I strongly disliked along with aspects that I found to be fantastic.

To start with what I enjoyed about the text, I think that Anderson deals with the themes of vulnerability and loss of innocence very well. The confusion that Melinda feels after being raped, and the intense mental anguish and trauma that she suffers as a result of her attack, are poignant and well written. I found Melinda to be very authentic in this way – her emotional distress and withdrawn nature show the depth of how damaged she is because of her being raped. For the majority of the text, Melinda is completely withdrawn, finding herself unable to communicate herself with anyone outside of herself. We the reader are privy to her inner-monologue however, and find that at the beginning, she is not even fully open to herself. With time, and some healing, we learn much, and Melinda finds the ability to communicate more and more.

I also enjoyed Melinda’s journey of healing. In the end, when she is in the hospital (was it to get her lips stitched?) and notices the many very sick people without hope of healing, Melinda recognizes that she at least has the hope of healing from her wounds. This brings new light to her perspective, and allows the reader to see significant growth in her character.

One last quality that I really liked about Speak is its literary quality. I like the structure of the text, from one-sentence paragraphs that paralles Melinda’s feelings of isolation, to the symbolism of her sewn lips and inability to communicate. Melinda also names her art pieces the “confused period,” “spaz period,” and “dead period” to mirror her own experience. I love how Anderson played around with these details, and I find that such purposeful attention to detail in her writing makes this book appealing to a wider audience base. Students Melinda’s age can read this and engage with her character’s struggles, and a more mature reader can analyze how the text structure emphasizes what is happening in Melinda’s life.

On the other hand, there were things that drove me crazy about this text. I felt overwhelmed with teenage angst and emotion when reading this text. Yes, this is part of what makes this an authentic narrative, considering who the narrator is and what she has gone through. Still, I did not enjoy reading from her perspective. Much like Holden Caulfield annoyed the piss out of me with his “everything sucks and everyone’s a phony” attitude, Melinda’s nearly thorough misery is tiresome.

Related to this, another detail the bugged me was the art teacher. I found his character to be arrogant (in his complete disregard for his peers and superiors) an unprofessional (should not be counseling students in his Volvo – there’s a song by the Police about this same subject), and I simply did not like him. I could not take him seriously as a mentor in this text. I also found it tough to accept the resignation that the rest of the faculty seem to have with their profession – though I do recognize that we see the professionalism of these teachers through the vision of an anguished teenage girl.

Luna Reflections

The first time I heard of the text Luna was at a workshop I attended last year. The workshop was titled something like “Books for Reluctant Readers,” and a small handful of Special Ed and English teachers from my high school attended with our media specialist. We had the idea that the workshop would be for teachers and media specialists, but we were very wrong. For eight hours, we covered synopses of titles from various genres, and discussed which audiences the titles appealed to. We were some of the only teachers in a sea of media personnel. Still, there were some highlights, and I did learn some new things.

Luna was presented as one of a small handful of texts within the GBLT genre of teen lit, and those who reviewed it could not stop singing its praises. We the audience were advised that if we were to read one book about GBLT issues, then this should be the one. The book was lauded for its treatment of gender identity, as well as for its narrative qualities.

At a glance, it is easy to mistake this text as being about Luna when in fact it is Reagan’s story. As much as Luna is a primary focus throughout the narrative, Liam’s “transition” to becoming comfortable as Luna serves as the catalyst for Reagan’s transition and journey to take place. In the beginning of the text, Reagan is accustomed to hiding Luna, and keeping secrets safe from parents. Though she is very sensitive and supportive of her brother/sister, she also sometimes wishes for a “normal” life, and a chance to find out who she really is. Her living in support of Luna and protecting Liam is consuming, and leaves little opportunity for Reagan to live her own life. In recent years, I have shown the film “Simon Birch” to teach elements of the Hero’s Journey, and the concept of a “catalyst hero” as a part of our unit on archetypes. Luna follows a similar pattern, and could certainly be a text that students could explore to better understand catalyst heroes. In this case, Luna and her journey of self-discovery is the catalyst for Reagan’s own journey.

While I enjoy Reagan and the chance to see this text through her experience, I am a bit curious of the author’s purpose in structuring this narrative in this fashion. Knowing that choices like these are always purposeful in thoughtful literature, it would be interesting to read a bit from the author about choices. My initial thought is that this book serves in part to offer a perspective on the transgendered issues (why does the politically correct term for so many subjects always seem to have the word ‘issues’ attached to it?) to a primarily straight audience, and Reagan’s perspective may help many readers more closely identify with her perspective. As I think about this question further, I am not convinced I have any real idea.

On a somewhat unrelated note, why, how, and when did baseball get the bad wrap of being the patron sport of homophobic fathers in denial? Is this due to the stereotype of boys playing catch in the backyard surrounded by a white picket fence with dad being part of the “American ideal?” This detail seemed uncharacteristically stereotyped in this text.

A Long Way Gone - reflections

From a purely technical perspective, there is little about Beah’s text, A Long Way Gone that is remarkable. At times his writing is lacking in what I have come to take for granted in literature – his prose is not “beautiful,” and the focus on some details seems unbalanced or irrelevant. However, I have found in life that it is a huge mistake to view anything from one perspective – especially one that is so… technical. Beah’s text is powerful, moving, and beautiful while horrifically ugly at the same time – and not for any outstanding gift of poetics.

I am glad to know that A Long Way Gone has received the attention and credit that it has. Though I am sure that there will be plenty of critics that focus on the writing rather than what is being told to them, it does not change the fact that Beah relates an absolutely remarkable experience. It is difficult for me to imagine, with my lack of any similar experience, the horror and trauma that is felt by countless people across the world that are affected by civil wars, genocide, slavery (in its various forms), and loss of home/family. The closest that I am able to come to understand this is through texts like Beah’s. When reading this text, a reader has no choice but come face to face with the reality of what has largely been conveniently ignored by most of our western society. In day-to-day life, it is altogether too easy to ignore what is ugly in the world, and focus instead on how the Vikings are playing or what’s for supper. Still, if this ugliness is not acknowledged and addressed, it puts us at risk to suffer similar fates. Beah’s text should serve not only as information that is relevant for our political leaders who address foreign policy, but for “average” citizens of nations across the world.

I knew a bit about the human trafficking in Western Africa and the problem with children soldiers in that part of the world as well, but did not understand nearly as much as I thought that I had. Beah’s vivid descriptions of the atrocities committed are troubling, but what is even more difficult to read is the effect that those experiences have on those involved. On page100, Beah recounts this very well: “my eyes caught the smashed head of another man. Something inside his brain was still pulsating and he was breathing. I felt nauseated… One of the soldiers was looking at me, chewing something and smiling… ‘You will get used to it, everybody does eventually,’ he said.” Not only does this kind of violence desensitize the individuals involved after prolonged exposure, it leaves a profound scar as well. We see this after Beah is taken by UNICEF to the hospital; he is not the same person that he once had been, and it requires intensive therapy for him to realize the truth in the statement “It is not your fault” (160).

Coincidentally, this genre and this book came up while I was preparing and teaching a lesson on human trafficking to supplement my final discussion on Kindred. My goals in the unit were to discuss the relevance of teaching and learning about slavery and racism from the 19th century with a modern audience. We also incorporated author intent in using a modern protagonist to explore this theme – it went well. In future years, I think I might go deeper with slavery in this unit, and explore the possibility of using additional texts beyond periodicals to discuss parallels with Kindred. A Long Way Gone would be a powerful book for students to read. I will recommend this text to any student who is interested in learning about global issues, and possibly offer this as a (optional) supplemental text to go along with Kindred next ye

The Circuit - reflections

I really liked The Circuit. I enjoyed this text because it was very simple, yet communicated very complex feelings and emotions about the author’s experience as an immigrant, as an “other,” as a child, and as a sibling. One of the things I noticed again and again is how much this text spoke to me and my own experience in life, even though the experiences and memories themselves are so vastly different.

Jimenez creates a very careful balance between extraordinary life experiences and universal understandings of family, pride, and home. I have never experienced the difficulty and tribulation that Jimenez went through with his family… but I have felt excluded at times for reasons beyond my control; I have seen the expression my mother wears when she feels that she has somehow disappointed us, and I know how painful that is to see. The chapter titled “Christmas Gift” spoke to me in a special way because of this. Additionally, “Soledad” brought me back to a very specific memory of my childhood as well. I once tried to surprise my parents by cleaning the kitchen – I must have been four at the time. My parents were getting ready to have company over, as I recall, and were very busy straightening the house up. Wanting to help, I brought out the mop and got to work on the floors, doing the best job I knew how to do. I don’t recall where I learned how to mop floors, but I apparently was doing it wrong. Ultimately, I got yelled at and sent to my room. I remember hiding my face in my pillow, thinking of how unfair it was that I was being punished for helping in the best way I knew how. In “Soledad,” Francisco works tirelessly all day picking cotton in hopes to impress his parents, in hope that he will someday be able to go with them to work to help the family. When his family comes home, his parents are upset that he forsook his job of watching the younger sibling, and his father becomes angrier still when he finds out that Francisco included dirt clods in his pile of picked cotton. Francisco has not yet learned lessons on honesty and integrity, and does not know where he has gone wrong. Francisco describes himself as being timid, hurt, and confused. I felt the same exact way.

Another reason that I enjoyed this text is for its ability to work as a comprehensive narrative, and for a collection of stand-alone narratives broken up into chapters. Each chapter seems to have its own unique reflection and theme, though they all tie into the larger whole.

Still another reason that I enjoyed reading this text is because there always seemed to be a silver lining to the hardships endured, even though at some times that glimmer of hope seemed very bleak and dull. Though the family is constantly moving and facing challenges at every turn, there always seems to be something worth hoping for. Though the memoir ends painfully, with Roberto’s dream job being dashed and Francisco being picked up by border patrol just before reciting the opening lines of the Declaration of Independence, we know by reading the book jacket that the author learned and developed from his tough experiences as a child, and took advantage of opportunities afforded to him later in life, eventually immigrating with his family to California, and earning a PhD from Columbia University.

On another note, one of the things that I did not like about this book is the diction. Having graduated with majors in English and Spanish, I have read many texts with the kind of cross-over diction that Jimenez employs, and I have been annoyed by it every single time. I’m not sure why some authors choose to write mostly in one language with a smattering of words in another language as if they fit together naturally. I understand using nicknames in a native tongue in a memoir like this, but it seems to me that Jimenez uses some Spanish words simply for the sake of using Spanish words. Is this meant to make the text more authentic to the reader? If so, I wish Jimenez would trust the authenticity of his memories to stand on their own. If it’s simply a stylistic choice, then I think it’s an ugly one.

Book Review #2 - Until They Bring the Streetcars Back

Until They Bring the Streetcars Back is a novel set in St. Paul in 1949, during the time that the streetcar system in the Twin Cities was scrapped in favor of busses. All of the details of the sporting events included in the book, as well as all details surrounding the streetcar system are historically accurate. Beyond these details, the novel is entirely fictional.

Cal, the hero of the text, goes on a journey of self-discovery to find that “love is a choice we make, not a feeling, or something that happens to us.” This theme is carefully shown through three separate yet connected conflict lines throughout the text; Cal chooses to show compassion for three victims who are unable to defend themselves, while the stakes and personal risk grow exponentially with each. In the beginning of the text, Cal is primarily concerned with himself and issues that deal with him directly. A careful reader will be able to recognize this when he becomes annoyed at Gretchen (the helpless girl he later saves) after she makes a plea for help that lands Cal in trouble and results in his missing football practice. At this point, Cal is incapable of empathizing with the tortured girl, and is only concerned with the trouble that he has landed in. Another example of this that occurs shortly later is when Cal comes home to find his dad in a foul mood during dinner. Nervous that his father has found out about trouble he is getting in at school, Cal is relieved when his father explains that the reason for his foul mood is that he is losing his job as a streetcar operator. Cal’s feeling of relief serves again as an indicator that Cal is selfish and incapable of empathizing. However, the more that Cal becomes involved in Gretchen’s life, the more he comes to realize the importance of love and compassion for others.

By the text’s end, Cal cares more for his family and his friends, and is becomes aware of the sometimes great divide between appearances and reality; he finds that character is more important than image, and learns who his “real” friends are after experiencing severe trials and tribulations. In all, I very much enjoyed the content of this text. The themes (love, appearance vs. reality, integrity, etc) are very relevant for an adolescent audience, and are still very engaging for an adult reader as well. The plot is interesting; the setting is vivid and descriptive. The conflict is engaging, and gives a “I want to find out what happens next” feeling at many points; I cared about Cal and (most of) his friends and family while reading this text.

Though I do enjoy much of this text, there is one detail in quality that bugs me… a lot. The female characters that West creates are very flat and unconvincing, especially Gretchen and Lola (Cal’s romantic interest). Lola’s character is very underdeveloped –more of a caricature of a popular, self-concerned teenage girl than a real character. Still, it is Gretchen’s character that is the novel’s glaring weakness. She is completely helpless, one-hundred percent dependent on Cal for survival and redemption. She often makes remarks like “I hope I don’t go crazy,” which I find very inauthentic. In the end of the novel, after suffering a lifetime of sexual and physical abuse from her father, and suffering the trauma of being forced to drown her own baby, Gretchen’s mental and physical health are completely restored when her father is sentenced to a lifetime of prison. Cal’s courageous action heals her completely. She also gets a boyfriend and transforms from an ugly, beaten down “wretch” to a confident and attractive woman – all because of Cal.

Another aspect of this text which does not work for me is that Cal’s sacrifice is cheapened in the end when Sandy tells Cal that the newspaper has printed a front page article which completely exonerates Cal. In the end, his reputation is saved, and everything that he had risked for helping Gretchen has been restored. Sacrifice, one of the principal archetypal qualities of a hero – is neglected for the sake of a “happy ending.” As a result, this novel is not nearly as memorable as it could be.

Book Review #1 - Ender's Game

Ender’s game has most everything that I look for in a leisure book. Though I do not find as much time to read for pleasure with my current line of work, it is nice to have a text like this one where the reader is so able to escape into a very well-developed alternative world where the conflict is engaging and the characters are interesting.

Ender’s Game is an epic story of leadership and survival. Ender Wiggin, the young boy who is the hero of the text, is an extraordinarily gifted boy who has been chosen by military leaders to be the best hope that earth (and humans) have for survival against attacks by the very vague and sinister “buggers.” From an early age, he is tormented and isolated so that he can properly develop into a leader. His relationships are severed at regular intervals by “teachers” who control and manipulate his environment. Throughout the first half of the text, the reader has a feeling of confidence in those who are manipulating, but only after one is well into the text does the reader discover that the designs of those in control are resting on a wing and a prayer. Strong as Ender is, his vulnerability does become exposed often, and the effects of that exposure are sometimes unforeseen. It becomes apparent that the “teachers” are just as reckless as Ender’s childish enemies. The novel follows the Hero’s Journey very closely, which brings a sense of comfort to the reader which helps to offset the uncertainty of Ender’s fate.

There are a few teachers in my building who have chosen to teach this title – our district has invested in several hundred copies for the three high schools. Since I had never read this title, but work with many students who have, this was an obvious choice for me to read as the science fiction choice text. In talking with the teachers who have taught this title, I have been told that students either love it or hate it. Some students tout this title as their favorite required text ever. Others are bored by it. Being a very plot driven book, there is not quite as much material to grab onto for class discussions and in-depth literary analyses, as I enjoy doing with The Great Gatsby, and The Things They Carried. Still, it is a goal of mine to read and offer texts that serve a variety of purposes.

One variable that could greatly affect one’s experience with this text is the reader’s ability to draw mental images of the world that Ender lives in. Much time and attention is given to imagery and description of the setting; for a reader who struggles with reading comprehension and creating mental images, or for a reader who simply does not care about this in reading, Ender’s Game will be frustrating. There are moments even for me when I found myself skimming through a few pages of detail and description to get back to the conflict that had originally drawn me in. In other words, there are times that I felt that Orson Scott Card could have cut forty pages out without sacrificing anything necessary from the text. Still, at that same time, I did not want the book to end. I will find and read the sequels to this text, and will look forward to the chance to read them in the future.

Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World

Armstrong’s non-fiction text is engaging like few others. I read a lot of non-fiction literature – sometimes it is work, sometimes it is for entertainment (generally baseball related), and other times it is for personal learning. Almost always, if the non-fiction literature I am reading recounts a story, like Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World does, I generally know what is going to happen at the end, and read along to learn more about the subject. In this case, I knew the end result of Shackleton and his men – I knew before reading that they would survive. All this same, this book is a page-turner. Armstrong creates suspense in a text where the end is known already.

It is clear that Armstrong has dedicated a substantial amount of time to researching the subject matter in this text, and she is able to expertly capture a surprising amount of detail from the ill-fated journey of Schackleton and his men. The photos that accompany this text are incredible, and go a long way in making the text more “real.” When seeing images of the men and from the voyage, a very intimate feeling is created for the reader – it makes it easier to connect with the characters in an authentic way… I think that this is because it is easy to lose track of the fact that the story being told in this text is in fact non-fiction. It seems at times to be too amazing to be true, but the photos serve as a reminder to the reader that what is being told really happened. Additionally, photos like these can serve to show us how those involved really are individuals. It is so easy to gloss over history and not relate with or connect with the individual’s role or experience – to look at history as something bland and impersonal, to fail to make any personal connection with those involved in the history being made.

Shortly before my grandfather passed away, he invited me to look at his collection of photos from WWII. For my grandfather, this was something that was very private. Aside from a few offhand comments, he never spoke about the war, or his experiences in it. Not even my father had seen the photos I looked at with him at that time. While we were together, it struck me in a powerful way like never before that the young faces in the photos I was looking at had lives and dreams that were equally as complex and vivid as my own. It is perhaps easier to not think of war and soldiers in such a way, but seeing pictures of my grandfather pal around with his buddies in his early twenties (he was roughly my own age in most of the photos, which made the connection even more profound) made for a very intimate connection.

In the same way, seeing photos of the men in the journey of the Endurance brought faces and a sense of intimacy to the stories of those involved. They cannot exist as obscure figures in history. In conjunction with this, Armstrong shares personal details about the crew, which make the connection that the reader feels to the characters even stronger. In all, this is a very enjoyable text. It was fun to learn about the journey of the men, and to learn about the Antarctic in this way. The only concern that I may have in recommending this book to adolescent readers is the complete lack of female characters- though true to history, it may perhaps be an obstacle for a younger female reader to engage with the text.

The Giver Reflections

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The House of the Scorpion

Farmer’s award winning text creates a very purposeful dystopia that is relevant to our contemporary world. In my brief experience with the genre of science fiction, I have mostly read texts that use the elements of science fiction more for the purpose of creating an engaging setting than for social commentary (Ender’s Game, Star Wars, etc.). However, this text does both for me. The world of Opium is very interesting - I found myself often interested in learning more about the world in which the text was set – the politics, the history, how it came to be, etc. At the same time, it also served as a chillingly nightmarish future of our own world - if some of our current societal ails are encouraged and not halted. Those that I identified most with were the issue of human cloning, the power and influence of drug cartels, the treatment of illegal immigrants, and stratification of the classes.

With the scientific advances that have been made with DNA research and cloning of animals (including a baby goat “Dolly” in 1997), the possibility of human cloning has been a very conceivable possibility - and in the forefront of many ethical discussions. The possibilities of extending human life are very real, but beg questions of dignity to arise. This seems to be a fairly commonly occurring motif in science fiction literature, likely due to it’s being a hot topic in modern science. Brave New World, A Handmaiden’s Tale (as far as I could tell, because I hated this text), and House of the Scorpion all focus on this issue. The main character Mateo, being a living organ farm for a monster of a person, brings the reader face to face with the inevitable conflict on needing to sacrifice one life to sustain another in a world where such technology is possible. The question that the reader is left to ponder is where basic human dignity comes from… This text illustrates all human beings have equal intrinsic value, though this may not be reflected by the world we live in.

I used to live in Mexico for a short period of time after completing my undergraduate studies, and I was able to learn about problems of corruption within various Latin American governments during that time from the interaction that I had with Mexican people I befriended and through the local media. Studying power can be a very interesting and frightening thing, especially when one considers how influential coercion and bribery can be - and that no level of government is safe from such influences. In this text, we are able to see the great amount of power that El Patron wields. Like today’s drug cartels that are wrestling legitimate power away from some governments, he is powerful, wealthy, and capable of cruel action in order to influence others. He is the face of what have become “acceptable” organized crime cartels in our world; allowed to exist for the fear that he inspires.

One more contemporary issue that is brought to light is the treatment of immigrants, especially illegal immigrants in our society. This is an issue that is of special importance to me, as I have spent much time as a tutor for Chicanos Latinos Unidos En Servicio (CLUES), which serves as an adult education center in South Minneapolis that aims to help all immigrants, regardless of legal status. Additionally, I teach Kindred to my junior English classes at MGSH, and incorporate a mini-lesson on human trafficking in the Twin Cities to help students recognize that slavery is an issue that is still very relevant to our world. Many of the victims of human trafficking in our area are immigrants (legal as well as illegal) who are trapped and/or coerced into lives of servitude. This problem is very real, and surprisingly prevalent. In House of the Scorpion, Farmer shows this same issue with immigrants who are forced into lives of servitude as they are turned into eejits, or beings without any power of choice or free will. Their freedom and ability to think for themselves are literally removed from them by the addition of a computer chip – In our real world, victims of human trafficking lose their freedom through deception, threats, fear, and other forms of control.

In addition to the issue of modern slavery in our world, another relevant theme that Farmer’s text explores is the stratification of classes - in the world that Farmer creates, there is an almost caste-like system set up that is very rigid, and determines the worth of the individual. Mateo struggles with being outcast for others thinking he is an eejit, and later he struggles with being looked upon as nothing more than a clone, a circumstance which is beyond his control. Though some of the characters recognize more in Mateo than this, there still seems to be a limit to what some characters are capable of regarding him as. Maria, for example, never seems to see him as an equal; his relationship with her seems always to be a subservient one.

The first step in correcting a vice is recognizing its existence. I feel that Farmer has done this with House of the Scorpion.

The Golden Compass

I approached The Golden Compass with all of the time and energy that I was able to muster this past week, but that was unfortunately not as much as I would have wanted it to be. Due to the heavy reading load this week for class and a large amount of grading (I collected the main writing assignment for the term a week and a half ago, and have 140 3 page essays to grade which take me 10 minutes a piece), I needed to skim through Pullman’s text. I struggled for two main reasons.

The first reason that I struggled with this text is because of its plot, which is very intricate and broad at the same time. What I mean by this is that the plot of Golden Compass is very detailed; there are many characters with strange names, and the fantastical world is thoroughly examined. At the same time, as this text is the first part of a larger trilogy, this first text sets up a larger plot than one would expect from a novel of its length; there are many conflicts, and the plot takes many turns. We start at a fictional college within Oxford University, and from the onset of the story, we are privy to suspense, mystery, and deceit as we see that the house master plans to poison Lord Asriel. From there, gobblers steal Roger, and though our hero then goes on a journey to rescue Roger, we do not find answers to many questions that keep popping up for quite some time. Along the way, we meet Mrs. Coulter, Lyra receives a gift from the master we once thought was wicked, and we run into a band of gypsies that prove to be surprisingly altruistic and welcoming – especially for a group that has been outcast and traditionally shunned by society. There’s an entirely new society with its own norms and values that we are introduced to, and then we meet bears with thumbs (and find that they have their own conflict that needs resolution), and we find that daemons are getting chopped off from kids, and it has something to do with dust, and then we find out that nearly nobody is who he or she appears to be… and so on. Generally speaking, I enjoy getting really into this kind of fantasy literature where there are new worlds to get to know. I like the intricacy and the suspense. With this text, I got easily lost - and instead of turning back to an earlier chapter to reference what was happening and to answer questions that arose, I pushed through to reach the end. I assume that this has more to do with what I brought to the text (and the time that I was not able to bring to the text) than any quality that the writing itself had. I generally read very slowly but am able to recall details exceptionally well. By speeding up my pace, I missed out on comprehension.

The second reason that I struggled with this text is because of its anti-Christian undertones/overtones – another struggle that came from what I bring to the text. I was raised in a very strong Catholic family, and have a strong Christian faith today. I understand that Pullman has very strong personal objections to Christianity and its teachings; his beliefs and many of his values are fundamentally opposite. Whereas traditional Christian values mirror Milton’s Paradise Lost’s depiction of the fall of Adam and Eve and sin’s introduction into the world as being a bad thing (to simplify), Pullman’s view is that vice and flaws (sin) are what make mankind interesting – and that Adam and Eve’s temptation was a great triumph. This became a large obstacle in my engaging with the text. In addition to the text’s central themes, details existed which made it difficult for me to put my own experience on hold while reading; everything from the trilogy’s title (His Dark Materials – an excerpt from Milton) to the heroes being witches and gypsies (importance being that these are traditionally societies that did not participate in organized religion of any kind) while the villains are members of the church board. Pullman is very purposeful in his very thorough commentary on organized religion – specifically Christianity, and this purposefulness became an obstacle to me.

As I’ve mentioned in earlier reflections, I encourage my students to read for entertainment or read to learn. I did not read this text to learn, and if I were reading it for entertainment alone, I would have put the book down for another title early on; not because I took any kind of personal offense from this text (I fancy myself a reader who is mature enough to not take intertextual commentary personally), but because the content became distracting to me and hindered my full engagement with the text.

Skellig Reflections

While getting into Skellig, I could not get over the similarities the text has to A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The parallels come early, and are very strong. In Almond’s text, an apparently ancient, arthritic man with what end up being injured wings is found in a dilapidated garage. The angel-man (Skellig) is filthy and wasting away, amid dead insects and debris. In Marquez’s text (written in 1968), an old man with injured wings is found covered in filth in the back yard of a peculiar couple’s residence among crabs which have washed up onto shore (in fantastical numbers after a supernaturally large rainfall). He is arthritic and disheveled, and is assumed to be an angel by many who see him.

I found it fascinating that there were such strong connections to this other text, and I did a bit of research on Almond to see where his writing was coming from. I found an article about Skellig and its connections to Marquez’s text. The article was interesting, but the thing that stood out most to me was Almond’s half-acknowledgement of this other text as being an inspiration. According to him, he did not realize until halfway through writing Skellig that he was subliminally inspired by Marquez (Latham). This astounds me - and in truth, I find it hard to believe. That does not change anything about Almond being an extremely talented writer, but it does make me a skeptic, I guess.

Because of my experience with Marquez and Esquivel and others through my studies in Spanish (second major) and their use of magical realism, I began perceiving Skellig as a piece of magical realism rather than fantasy. To me, fantasy purposes to strike a chord with the imagination of the reader, while magical realism (I have found) is typically used for social commentary – the contrasts between the ordinary, mundane world and the fantastical are typically used to exaggerate the criticism (an over-simplification, I concede). My own experience with each of these genres is somewhat limited; I have read texts from each, have enjoyed each, and do see them as being very similar. I would bet that many would view these as fitting within the same category or genre as well.

After finishing with Skellig, however, I do not see such sharp criticisms on society as I have grown accustomed to with magical realism – though I found many themes of interest to adolescents. Ones that are particularly interesting to me are the themes of transformation and of self. Teenage years bring about the first major identity crisis that many people face – I witness students struggle with individuality and belonging every day. Michael goes through this same struggle; he does not identify fully with his friends in the beginning of the text, and grows more distant from his friends as his circumstances, and concerns are on very different levels from them. Additionally, Michael’s openness with his emotions goes against traditionally defined gender roles in our society. In this way also, Michael is going out on a limb to define his own self in this text. Just as Skellig transforms from “Mr. Nobody,” dependent on others, into a beautiful and independent creature, Michael finds growth and acceptance in who he finds he is.

Another aspect of this text that appealed to me was the amibiguity of Skellig’s origin and nature. Though there are details that point to a possible angelic origin, this is not told to the reader directly. I like to have questions remaining at the end of any text, and Almond left some room for thought with his reading audience. We do not know who or what Skellig is, and we do not know exactly how Joy’s healing came about – just as there are many questions in life that are left unanswered, these are left for us to figure out on our own.

Works Cited:

Latham, Don. “Magical Realism and the Child Reader: The Case of David Almond’s Skellig.” The Looking Glass – vol. 10, No. 1 – Alice’s Academy. 2 January, 2006. Web. 30 October, 2009.

Kira Kira reflections

Kira Kira did many things very well, in my opinion. The struggle that Katie has with her identity struggles seemed very genuine. The underlying plotline with the unionization of the workers was interesting to me from a historic standpoint, as well as from a cultural perspective – Mrs. Takeshima’s prideful opposition to unions created engaging conflict. At the same time, this was my least favorite of the three novels that I read for this week – the reason I think this is so is that this text offers the fewest personal connections to me and my life. I tell my students that they should either read for enjoyment or for learning, but never for the sake of finishing. This generally comes up when kids complain about being required to read a text that they don’t like (not terribly often, but at least once per curricular unit) – my ready response is that we’re reading to learn, and though I hope they enjoy it, I can’t guarantee anything. I went against my own words with this one. I read to finish, because I had difficulty relating to the text in a meaningful way throughout. It definitely does not help that I have fallen behind in grading due to a sickness last week, and am treading water in school this week – this has caused me to treat some of my work and reading without the time and attention that I would otherwise like to. No doubt many of the subtle details that help make this text as celebrated as it is fell by the wayside as I read. I trust that my experience with Kira Kira would be very different if I were reading it for fun and learning at a time when I could afford to do so. At this time however, I can at least speak to those elements of this title that did speak to me.

The American Dream

This is one of my favorite themes to discuss throughout the school year, as it is covered in The Great Gatsby. I have enjoyed many very fruitful discussions with my students about whether the American Dream exists at all, or if it is a lie and always was a lie. Students traditionally love this – it allows their inner cynic or rose-tinted sunglasses side to come to the surface. In Kira Kira, I connected to the Takeshima’s drive to own a home, though it cost them all so dearly as a family. In spite of rarely seeing their children, Mr. and Mrs. sacrificed their time, energy, and health in alarming amounts in order to own a home. At first this seemed strange to me as a reader, and I remembered many of the discussions I have had in class with my students, and I came to understand this motivation better as a part of the Takeshima’s need to reach their own American Dream – to own their own property, to be better off than their parents before them, and provide a better opportunity for their children than they were given. The house was the evidence of their improving status in society, and the promise it meant for their children justified the long hours they spend in the poultry farm.

At the same time, the image of the house is aptly contrasted with Mr. Lyndon’s house, which is described as being “as big as a castle.” Mr. Lyndon’s despicable character helps to highlight how “unfair” the disparities are between the classes – not much unlike how Fitzgerald uses the Buchanans to contrast with the Wilsons. In both cases, the reader is privy to the truth that material possessions do not define character. This brings about my favorite part of the text – when Mr. Takeshima brings Katie with when he apologizes to Mr. Lyndon for damaging his car. The lesson that he teaches his daughter is both noble and unforgettable, and it leaves her with an understanding that dignity is more important than the material, and that it does not share a correlation with stereotypical American prosperity.

A Northern Light

General thoughts and reflections

I teach postmodernism during the spring trimester to my 11th grade English classes. We study this in accompaniment with The Things They Carried for the purpose of students being able to have a starting off point to understand the text better, and in order to give them specific qualities to look for and annotate for. After first learning much about postmodernism, and then teaching it, I find myself often surprised at how pervasive the elements of postmodernism are in our modern literary culture. One of the qualities of postmodernism I have students pay attention to is fragmented narrative. In my experience, students have often complained about the difficulties they have with comprehension when reading texts with a fragmented narrative structure. My heart goes out to those students; this has become a trendy or popular choice for many texts and authors to employ for little more reason than for the sake of being different, or being hip and modern. However, there are occasions (like in O’Brien’s novels, and in Donnely’s Northern Light) where this is different.

In Donnely’s text, the double narrative is crafted thoughtfully – I did not find it confusing or disorienting, like others (including the text I read for my choice novel). The double narrative is also carefully and purposefully written as a device that works toward the text’s larger whole, bringing our focus to the point of their merging, when Mattie finds resolve and shares the letters with others. Additionally, there is unity given to each chapter through the vocabulary words that Mattie studies – though the separate timelines are divisive to the plot’s structure, the vocab unites them by linking descriptions and content. I focus on this literary device only as an example that proves a larger whole – that Donnely’s text is very carefully and purposefully constructed. This was something that I was delighted with in the text, and I am finding more and more that adolescent literature is not exactly what I had imagined it would be as a genre.

My original conception of most adolescent texts was something far more similar to Sweet Valley High books, or titles where the main conflict centered on whether the cool boy/girl thought the main boy/girl was cute, and wanted to smooch later. I know much better now that while a multitude of those texts do exist, there is much deeper literature being written and marketed for young adults as well. What I found in Northern Light was a difficult coming of age story of a young woman complete with very complex themes of duty and responsibility to one’s self vs. family and community, and the disheartening realizations that come with learning of the disparity between appearances and truth in character.

After I finished with this text, I had to chew on the theme of responsibility to self and others for a bit. I struggled with the Awakening by Chopin the first time I read it, as I had difficulty with Edna’s all-or-nothing approach to answering this question. In Northern Lights, Mattie is very conscientious of both sides – she wants to pursue her dreams, though at the same time, she is very sympathetic to the needs of her father and others in her immediate community. The struggle is real, and the tug-of war she goes through is not simple or one-sided. I appreciated the complexity of this struggle, and think that the author gave it the involvedness that it deserves.

There is much to be enjoyed about in this text. On the other side of the coin however, by main criticism is that the text’s ending does not remain consistent to the larger whole. Mattie does not need to make a significant sacrifice in the end – she finds a way for every major need at the farm and with the neighbors to be met, and is even able to be the financial means for nearly everyone she cares about to be happy and secure. Were I reading only for plot, I would look at this happy ending as a relief that “everything worked out” at the end. However, since this text is as rich in theme as it is, I found myself reading below the surface – and I was a bit disappointed when it was not necessary for Mattie to make a choice between the two. The choice book I read had an almost too satisfying ending that was similar in this fashion as well.

The People Could Fly

Reader response approach:

Coming into the reading for this week, I didn’t know what to expect. I had a reasonable amount of exposure to folklore through a survey course during my undergrad years, and during my teaching practicum I taught a lesson on folklore and oral tradition. Now, at my high school, we have a well-known story teller come once a year and perform for tenth graders. All of these experiences have been positive, but none of them (in my mind) fell into the category of adolescent lit. For this reason, I was curious to see what I would find.

The folklore that I have been previously familiar with generally followed archetypal patterns and contained a central theme or “lesson” that the hero needed to learn. There was usually a trickster (especially in the anansi folklore - often times a rabbit), and a mentor in addition to the hero. The lesson that needed to be learned by the hero was the lesson that the audience needed to learn - in order to pass down cultural values and beliefs. In my experience, this kind of oral folklore’s main purpose was to instruct and educate a younger generation. This tale broke that mold, however. The People Could Fly does not morally instruct, and there is no specific lesson for either of the main protagonists to learn. The traditional archetypal roles are not fulfilled, nor is the story structure the same. Rather than teach, this text offers hope to the hopeless, and reinforces a drive to “fly away” to those audiences that need it.

In pondering this difference, it occurs to me that what all of folklore tales have in common is that they offer their audiences what is needed. The Arthurian legends teach about the importance of virtue and honor, while teaching a valuable lesson to young generations about trust and self-control. Many other tales teach about creation, and instill values for how to live according to a specific culture. Many of the anansi tales I am familiar with teach that behaving poorly will eventually catch up with an individual, and there will be consequences to taking advantage of others (“what comes around goes around,” Karma, etc). 1001 nights taught the value of intelligence, wit, and perseverance. The cultures that created and sustained these stories had a need for them. They were told and retold for hundreds of years, not only for their entertainment value, but for their cultural value as well. The culture of African American slaves in the ante bellum South had many distinct needs from cultures that were not facing such cruelty and despair. While it is impossible for me - in my experience - to fully understand and appreciate the experience of slaves in America, I am not blind to what struggles were had, or what feelings and needs those struggles would have brought about. Hope is something that was needed by many. Something to dream about must have been needed for others. Power over the whites on the plantation for others. Regardless of what the specific need was, there was reason enough for this tale to be retold tens of thousands of times and preserved over hundreds of years. Those themes of hope, escape, power, and survival are what I recognize from my experience. Reading this text was very valuable in my understanding folklore as a genre, and I’m glad that it made our reading list.

Critical approach:

The People Could Fly, as told by Virginia Hamilton, takes few liberties from the traditionally told tale other than assigning names to the male and female protagonists, according to the forward and other information contained in the book jacket. I find it fascinating that the traditional telling of this tale does not include names for the slaves, though there were often names for white owners and overseers in African American folklore, according to the notes in the text. The inclusion of the names Sarah and Toby is interests me; I understand that these were traditional names in slave culture, and the inclusion of them takes away a sense of anonymity, and give the characters more of a human identity. However, I had the understanding that the names Sarah and Toby were common due to their biblical significance (Toby being a shortening of Tobias, and Sarah being the wife of Abraham). The notes in the preface mention that Toby carried meaning of a certain day of the week in a native African language. I learn something new every day. I like that the author chose to include these names; I feel that details such as these are ones that are changed from author to author for each teller’s individual purpose. In my opinion, the variety of such details from various tellings is one of the variable that makes oral tradition so rich. I really enjoyed the illustrations in the text as well. The illustrations in the beginning of the wings being stripped, and of people being crowded into the ships are very powerful. There is an incredible amount of emotion in the expressions of the individuals throughout the tale, and they seem to tell the story on their own at times. Without a doubt, the illustrations in this book are reason to give it a read by themselves.

19 Varieties of Gazelle - reflections

My first reaction to 19 Varieties of Gazelle was one of curiosity, I guess, at the title. I tried my best to make sense of it, but could not. It did not seem like a title that would help the book fly off of shelves at the local Barnes and Noble. When I came across the word "gazelle" in the intro (xii) I did not notice it until a second read-through. When I came across the poem with the same title, I paid special attention to the content, hoping that I would be able to discover something new and especially wise. I believe there may be something there, but I was unable to discover it with the time and attention I was able to afford this particular poem. It is easy to tell that the subject is of great import to the author, and that the gazelle is an important symbol. I am not able to decipher this poem, however, be it for lack of cultural or literary understanding. I am no more able to tell another the importance of the book's title that I was when I found it, but at the same time, I'm not bothered by that.

This text is my favorite of the three that I read for this week (Others include The New Kid on the Block and Joyful Noise). Before diving in to this title, I performed my typical ritual of reading both covers, all the introductory notes, and dedications, and then the introduction. I was moved by the introduction to this text, and felt an overwhelming but very subversive sadness coming through in the author's notes. Starting with the note on how none of the three major western religions take the commandment "thou shalt not kill" seriously, and moving toward "Flinn, on the Bus," there is a lot of pain - pain of death, and pain from wrongful association and discrimination. The final line of "Flinn, on the Bus," captures the sentiment well - "He'd find out soon enough - Flinn, take it easy. Peace is rough." The narrator in this poem reflects about the difficulty that a newly released prison inmate will have when faced with the ugliness of the world. There are several vague references to the terrorist attacks from September 11 2001, and then the poem concludes with that memorable dateline, and it is made very clear to what the author is referring. From there, the author recollects with great fondness her father, his love for the Middle East, and her childhood with his story telling and fig tree. The author then transitions to a post 9/11 experience, and the juxtaposition goes further to establish a transcending theme. I found the following text to be tremendously thoughtful, deep, and filled with very real emotion that was easy to tap in to.

One example that I see of this comes in "Her Way" on page 22. When I read this, I envision a woman who has lost her family to war, and with it, everything. She copes with her loss by keeping busy at menial tasks which don't need doing - "dragging [the mops and buckets] from room to room in a house that already looked clean." She has replaced what once meant everything in life to her with chores - "She could place a child in a bucket and bathe it, could stitch the mouth in the red shirt closed." Nye's use of language is extremely precise in this poem and others. In this poem, with very few words, the narrator communicates very much. Nye tells about how media coverage minimizes the humanity and intimacy of war's casualties; though we can see the subject of this poem is devastated by war's casualties and the loss of her family, her experience is contrasted by "the men who editorialized blood till it was pale and not worth spilling..."

Another example comes from "For Mohamed on the Mountain." The hurt that the narrator feels for her own sake and for her father is sharp. I made the assumption when I read this that the narrator is the author - a sometimes careless assumption, but a safe one with this text, I think. This made the uncle's choice not to meet his brother all the more painful, as I recalled how proud the father was in the introduction, and how much he loved and longed for the Middle East. A happy and generous man by nature, it must have been tremendously difficult for him to face his own brother's complete rejection for the sake of living in and working in the United States. It must have been even more difficult for his daughter, the narrator of the poem, as we see that she continues to dream up scenarios that can explain away the very clear and painful truth of uncle Mohammed's rejection.

"Jerusalem" opens with the line "I am not interested in who suffered the most. I am interested in getting over it." One thing that I love about good poetry is that it speaks to more than its own immediate context. The history, war, death, and killing in Jerusalem's history is a great source of pain in countless peoples' lives throughout the world. I find it curious that I have not more often what Nye has to say about moving on and healing. The poem speaks on one level of boys fighting, and tender spots on men's heads "where hate won't grow." At the same time of course, it speaks of Jerusalem, and thousands of years of soldiers and fighting. When reading this - focusing on these themes, and of the line "a child's poem says, 'I don't like wars...'" I was brought back all the way to the introduction, and the author's reflection that "If grandmothers and children were in charge of the world, there would never be any wars."

I very much enjoyed this collection of poems, and I am very glad to have been introduced to Nye's literature. She is masterfully precise and purposeful with her use of diction and syntax, and her end product is overflowing with emotion and truth. The only thing that I am sorry for is that I felt rushed to push through a volume that I would have preferred to savor slowly... it felt at times like I was gulping down an 18 year old scotch for the purpose of finishing - rather than appreciating its finer details. I am a slow reader by nature, and when I come to work like this, I prefer to put the brakes on, hoping to understand each poem line by line, annotating the whole way through. This week, life did not allow me to take such a course.

Joyful Noise - reflections

Joyful Noise Pre-reading reflections:

Before diving into this text, I skimmed through some of the pages, looked at a handful of illustrations, and read both covers. My initial reaction is mixed between awe and intrigue. I use the word awe to describe my reaction to the astounding praise this text has received from such a wide range of critics - including the “Trophy Newberry” listing and two awards from the ALA. Additionally, I think that the illustrations for this text are amazing. I have enjoyed drawing (specifically with charcoal) since I was a teenager, so the drawings in this book especially appeal to me. At the same time, the book and its praise are intriguing to me for the sake that it seems to live in the world of children’s literature and young adult literature at the same time. The drawings that I get such a kick out of are mostly playful, and the brief and lyrical text that I skimmed seems very much like many children’s books I have read… though not many young adult books. As I begin to read, I will be very interested in finding out how this text falls within the category of adolescent (or young adult) literature.

Reflections during reading:

• Did Paul Fleischman name his porch light “Seth” and then dedicate his book to it? Seems strange, but goes hand-in-hand with the focus on insects, I guess.
• I have a hard time imagining adolescents reading this text as a “musical duet” as called for in the forward note. Seems more like a bedtime story book for parents and children.I really like “Water Striders.” Humorous and lyrical; has much more depth than the intro poem… makes me curious about the author’s choice to open the book with “Grasshoppers,” which I feel is very plain in comparison to the following few poems. Is the author creating a rising quality to the work?
• I love the first drawing for “Fireflies.” “Light is the ink we use… Night is our parchment…” - beautiful metaphor.
• Book Lice offers a new treat to the reader both in an extended metaphor of lifelong lovers with his and hers parts.
• “The Moth’s Serenade” left me wondering why it made the collection. Reminded me of the opening poem. Maybe I would think differently if I were reading this aloud with another, rather than quietly by myself. Alas, it’s Friday night, and I ain’t got nobody.
• “The Digger Wasp” was bittersweet and complex - in that it speaks to the literal insect and also to another, deeper, human experience. Carefully done, and very nice to read.
• “The Honey Bee” has structure that matches the content - the queen’s lines are minimal, just as her tasks are. Contrastingly, the worker’s lines are many, and are with little break - just like the worker’s described daily toils.
• “Requiem” had me wondering Where’s this going? the whole way as I was reading it. The ending lines made me smile.

Reflections after reading:

After finishing this text, I went straight back to one of my initial questions - How does this fit within the genre of adolescent literature rather than children’s lit? I really did enjoy reading this book, and a part of me is sorry that I was unable to read this aloud with another, as the book was intended to be taken in. This text’s strengths seemed to me to be in its playfulness and beauty - with the illustrations and lyricism. All the same, it did not seem to have many of the qualities I have come to associate with adolescent literature - a focus on human experience and a search for meaning/identity. Perhaps my perspective of adolescent literature is limited due to my exposure to it… still, I think Joyful Noise is a beautiful children’s book. I will be very interested in hearing what others have to discuss about this title regarding this topic.

Looking For Alaska - reflections

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How I live Now

I must begin my response with the very first thing that I had a truly personal reaction to. When I first found this text in my school’s media center, I flipped through several pages throughout the book and read paragraphs at random to get a taste of the author’s style. Though I did not notice the shift in syntax (from the first part to the last) while superficially perusing the book, I did notice the stream of consciousness style of narration.

This brought me back to one of the single most frustrating experiences I had with another title a few years ago: The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. This book was recommended to me by a friend after I read and loved 1984 by George Orwell. I was studying abroad in Spain at the time, and my reading time was one of the only times I had to think/immerse myself in the English language. Partly because of this, I looked forward to reading every day – I read novels on the bus to school, in plaza cafés with a coffee, at a bar with a drink while waiting for friends… you name it. The Handmaid’s Tale was one title that I simply could not get through. I got roughly 80 pages into the text before putting it down for another title. I ended up trying The Handmaid’s Tale two more times before giving up for good. It was the stream of consciousness that did it. I have a very difficult time keeping focused, and in the case of Atwood’s novel, the writing style just bothered me.

Now, a few years later and a few years older, I find myself taking a different approach to literature. While I still do not prefer the style, I found this time around that it was not nearly the stumbling block that it had been in the past. I found myself able to focus on and appreciate the aspects of the book that I did understand and enjoy. What I may have most enjoyed about this book is the authenticity of Daisy’s character. I felt that she was an honest and very real girl. She is complex – what she does not say is sometimes as important as the things she says. For instance, when she describes the train station bombing, she describes the casualties as “seven or seventy thousand people got killed.” Her seeming ignorance (or is it apathy) of the war going on around her speaks volumes, I think, about her character. I then found myself wondering if the vagueness of the war was due to Daisy’s narration (the girl will focus on what is important to her, and in the beginning of the novel, what is important to her is frolicking in the countryside with her dapper cousins).

On the other hand, I thought at times that the lack of specific detail about the war may have been Meg Rosoff choosing to stick to what she knows well, and can write well… the author has done a great job of capturing the world and innocence of a young girl, and explored the complex feelings of love for her cousin very effectively. Could it be that she is not as comfortable writing about war as she is about love and (loss of) innocence? I read some Dan Brown on a car trip a long while back, and wondered to myself all the way through why he even bothered to include a love story at all – his was putrid, and he would have been better off avoiding that which he does not write well, I think.

I prefer to believe that the former is true – that Meg Rosoff constructed a character whose world is the here and now, and whose narration reflects that world. On that same note, I came to be at peace with Daisy’s stream of consciousness – though it is not my preferred style to read, it is crucial for constructing Daisy’s character. Later in the novel, as her character changes and adapts to loss, toughens up, and needs to become more independent, her narration style changes and adapts, too. I really liked that the author did this, because it serves to allow us to see the change happening in Daisy both internally and externally – rather than just be told about what change is occurring.

As much as I did appreciate Daisy’s character, I felt the other characters – the cousins especially – fell a bit flat. I do not entirely understand the author’s choice of purposefully constructing an incestual relationship. The only thing I can think of is that it helps to establish an unsettling world and atmosphere in the text for most readers… and the world that Daisy lives in is unsettling, to say the least – so why not create feelings in the reader that are similar to what is being felt by the narrator? Additionally, I do not generally enjoy the hopeless romantic’s perspective in literature. I’m simply not that interested in Daisy’s attraction to her cousin, just as I don’t have any interest in reading titles like Twilight (since I have not read it, this may be a poor comparison – but from what I’ve been told, it seems to strike a similar chord).

The Absolutely True Diary... Response #1

The Absolutely True Confessions of a Part-Time Indian
Reflections and reactions

I read this book after discussing it for over an hour with classmates – that is to say, I did not finish my homework on time. Coming to this text with so much knowledge ahead of time no doubt colored my response to the piece, but many of the pieces that had an impact on me were not discussed at length in class.
I found myself often engaging with the characters’ relationships with others. We talked in class about trusting the narrator out of the gates when he talked about being such a huge loser on the rez, by being liked by so few people and picked on by so many. In class, while listening to others speak, I was quick to assume that Junior was putting us on a little – either exaggerating for effect, or remembering things inaccurately. In reading, however, I did not have a hard time believing these details. In recollecting the beating he took from the triplets, the detail seemed very authentic to me – their being thirty years old, and Rowdy’s retribution. Then, later in the book, I found a detail which helped me to better understand how/why Junior had such a tremendously difficult time on the rez with others, and why he was more able to successfully find friends at Rearden.
On page 133, Gordy tells Junior about how anybody who is considered “weird” gets cast aside and trampled by the society that they do not fit in with. This phenomenon is not specific to Junior’s experience, but transcends time and culture. I think this helps Junior understand himself a bit better as he struggles with his own identity, and the inner conflict of “becoming white.” This kind of revelation helped me to understand why Junior was able to make friends outside of the rez at his new school. All the same, it helped to create a new kind of tension and conflict for the protagonist, insomuch as his alienation from Rowdy became highlighted, and his basketball win over his peers from the rez seemed to act as a kind of climactic point which provided very interesting contrast to the walk-out scene in class.
Because of this, I had no trouble accepting Junior’s account of being picked on and bullied (black eye of the month club, etc) as being accurate. As a matter of fact, I took this detail as being crucial for setting the tone with Rowdy. In Rowdy, we have a fiercely loyal and protective friend who cares so deeply for Junior that it scares him, and makes him feel weak and vulnerable. His being protective helps to set the tone for their relationship, and his nearly kicking Junior before trashing the minivan (near the opening of the book) helps to establish the weakness/vulnerability of his character. These are necessary details, I think, in establishing what becomes one of the book’s central relationships.
I have had relationships that included elements of Rowdy’s and Junior’s. Not to the extreme level that it is presented in the text, but relationships where loyalty and abandonment lived in the same place. When I read the final recapturing that Junior tells about playing basketball one-on-one, I liked that he respected the reader enough to know how hugely important a game of basketball was at that moment without knocking us over the head with it. The game was bigger than itself, and it fit well. The conversation that they had did stray from what we could expect from Rowdy, but it was not too much of a stretch for me. Actually, it kind of reminded me of the ending to Good Will Hunting.