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.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, October 19, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
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.
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:
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.
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