Leaving one world for another

Ghostbread, by Sonja Livingston (2009)

A couple years ago, I took a creative non-fiction writing class “for fun” to round out my last semester of college. It ended up being one of the most consuming classes of my college career. It’s a difficult thing to write interesting, purposeful, and honest prose featuring your life, and have it be something you’d actually be okay with someone else reading. Ghostbread is the kind of thing I aspired to write. It is just lovely.

Sonja Livingston grew up as one of seven children in a single parent household. While providing for seven kids is difficult for any family, Sonja’s mother struggled particularly, and the children grew up in extreme poverty, moving from apartment to house to reservation to motel to friend’s house to another friend’s house to home. It was far from a stable environment. And yet, the love and sibling bonds held the family together throughout the turbulence and uncertainty.

The story arc isn’t what captured my heart on this one, though. Instead, I was fascinated by Livingston’s prose. Let me tell you, each sentence packs a punch. She structures the narrative into compact 1-2 page stories, and each is led by a powerful first sentence that sets the tone for that piece. “When you eat soup every night, thoughts of bread get you through,” she writes as she begins discussing the meals while on the reservation. Or of elementary school, “At school, I learned to read and write and use spit in creative ways.” And later, revealing a thought common to many of us in adolescence, “No one told me the thing I most needed to know.” Each beginning line carries you to the next line and you can’t help but read through the rest of the story. To put it simply, it’s captivating.

The well-deserved winner of the Award for Creative Nonfiction (from the Association of Writers and Writing Programs), Livingston’s book is highly recommended for any fans of this genre or any readers wanting to get an inside view of what it’s like to grow up hungry.

2 stars

Who knew?

Who knew plucking one's eyebrows dated back to the 1700s?

Fever 1793, by Laurie Halse Anderson (2000)

An American Plague: The True and Terrifying Story of the Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1793, by Jim Murphy (2003)

Okay. Jig’s up. Who knew about this? Because I certainly didn’t.

If you are like me and were completely unaware of the horrifying Yellow Fever epidemic that swept Philadelphia a little bit after the Revolutionary War, you should probably go ahead and grab one of these YA books and enlighten yourself.

This semester I’m taking Information Books & Resources for Youth and in a couple weeks we are discussing the unique relationship historical fiction can have with your more standard-fare non-fiction. This coupling was one of the pairs we will be reviewing. And while I’m pretty familiar with the idea of using historical fiction to bridge kids to non-fiction (or the other way around), I have never seen a pair of books that do this so seamlessly.

As you may know, I have a habit of reading lots of books simultaneously. I have my blow-drying book, my waiting-for-the-bus book, by bedtime book, and sometimes another one thrown in there for good measure. So, needless to say, I was reading both these books at the same time. And I found myself forgetting which one had already told me one thing or another. I would come across a character in Fever that I forgot I hadn’t met in the context of Mattie’s story yet, just in the non-fiction version I read while in the kitchen. (It got a bit confusing, and I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this concurrent reading approach for these two.)

The good thing this proved to me, however, is how extremely detailed and impressive the research was that went into both books. Anderson spins an exciting tale of teen Mattie as she and her family and friends (and the rest of the city) contract and fight the disease. As I mentioned, interwoven throughout Mattie’s fictional story are plenty of historical characters and astonishingly accurate details. Meanwhile, Murphy has a knack for making death and disaster particularly engaging, as he pulls together primary documents and quotes from all the major players of this catastrophic event. (I’m serious, though. Catastrophe. In our country. That I had never heard of. Likely over 5000 people dead due to this 3-month-long epidemic. Did I miss that day of American History class in 8th grade? Sorry, Mr. Owen.)

So I don’t care if you prefer fiction or non-fiction or are a teenager or a retiree. Either of these books are extremely well-prepared to inform you about this bleak time in our history.

PS: ALSO — Did you know that Yellow Fever has no known cure and that any day now the mosquitoes could decide to spread it all over again and we would be totally unprepared because no American company manufactures the vaccine? OH GREAT.

2 stars (Fever) / 1.5 stars (American Plague)

(This is a total personal preference of fiction over non-fiction. I have a deep-seated prejudice that books like Murphy’s are beginning to dislodge. The quality of Murphy’s book is definitely high.)

The Great American Novel…or something…

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925)

It’s hard to know what to say about this book. I hardly need to tell you why I read it, as I often do at the beginning of reviews. I’ve never read, it’s been burning a whole on my bookshelf for a while, and John Green did a series of vlogs about it over the summer that I purposefully didn’t watch even though I wanted to because I hadn’t read it yet. So, Christmas break (after doing a lot of no-thinking-required reading) seemed like an appropriate time. Oh, and the new Leo movie is coming out before too long, so you know I had to read it before that happened.

The basic plot points are as follows (for those few of you, like me, who somehow missed reading this in high school): Nick Carraway is the narrator. Young and somewhat rich (from inheritance), he buys a house on Long Island, situated next to millionaire Jay Gatsby’s mansion. On the other side of the bay lives Nick’s second cousin or something, Daisy Buchanan and her husband Tom. They’re super rich. Nick attends various dinners/teas with the Buchanans and Daisy’s friend Jordan, who he sort of dates throughout the novel. Meanwhile Gatsby throws extravagant parties every weekend, and Nick finally goes to one. Soon he and Gatsby become friends and he learns that the fact that he lives next door is not a mistake. Gatsby has been pining for Daisy Buchanan for the last five years (they were in love before he went to war), and he needs Nick to set up a date. And then a lot of roller coaster stuff happens with Nick often being the third wheel to multiple affairs, people mowed down in the street by hit-and-runs, and bullets being shot at the wrong people. It’s very messy.

It helps that I live alone, so the fact that I read the majority of this out loud to myself (yes…using voices…) was a lot less embarrassing. (I’ve always found though that reading somewhat dense or confusing stuff out loud helps enormously with my comprehension. I think it must be the dual tracks of both seeing and hearing it… All I know is that I would never have made it through as many Shakespeare plays as I did. Or sonnets for that matter.) But, as I’ve been told by lots of people, there’s a reason this book is frequently assigned in high school. It’s the kind of book you have to read with a class. Or a book club at the very least. It needs to be discussed. And I feel like I kind of missed out on a lot by reading it as a solitary person.

Here is what I did get out of it though: Fitzgerald is so very purposeful about his writing. I was drawn in by his subtly, his foreshadowing, and, yes, his symbolism.  More than a few times I looked back to previous passages to re-read something I wasn’t sure if I had caught before but had a gentle impression of. The variance of his pacing is methodical, too. At times the parties seem to drag on for an eternity, but then the violence at the end is so quick, you will definitely miss it if you aren’t paying attention. And by the last chapter, like Nick (the narrator), you’ve come to care about Gatsby without really being sure of why.

So while I feel like some of the actual meat of the book was lost on me, I still really appreciated it. I’m glad I finally read it. And although I still think Grapes of Wrath is a much better “Great American Novel”, I’m okay with this being up there.

2 stars

Apologies for the rambliness of this post. No excuses.

I now present Mindy, my new BFF.

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns), by Mindy Kaling (2011)

I have a thing for female humor writers. They’ve gotten me through more than a few tough times. I first read Laurie Notaro’s The Idiot Girl’s Action Adventure Club after getting a bad health diagnosis. I read Heather Armstrong’s It Sucked and Then I Cried when I was lonely living on my own for the first time. And now, with the death of a loved one, I read Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Most of you probably know Mindy Kaling from her role as narcissistic, boy-crazy, somewhat-idiotic Kelly Kapoor on NBC’s The Office. Many of you probably don’t know that she actually plays a much bigger role behind scenes, writing, producing and directing episodes of the show. In fact, she is responsible for my very favorite episode (The Injury) in which Michael steps on his George Forman grill and Dwight gets a concussion. It makes me chortle every time. I’ve been following her for a while on Twitter (@mindykaling), so I knew that Mindy is much more hilarious and way less annoying than her Office character and I’ve been anticipating reading this for months. But she went above and beyond my expectations with this one. It was like a love letter to me the reader, acquainting me to my new best friend.

It goes without saying that I’ve never actually met Mindy. But to me, this read so honestly that I feel like she is a completely normal human being that would probably be my friend if we had gone to the same elementary school or lived in the same building. We have the same concerns, problems, and hilarious opinions, which she organizes into chapters like, “I Am Not an Athlete,” “Best Friend Rights and Responsibilities,” Non-Traumatic Things That Have Made Me Cry,” and “Why Do Men Put on Their Shoes So Slowly?” The chapters are short, lists and embarrassing pictures appear throughout, and it’s real fun to read aloud, even if the only person around to listen to you is your father or a fish named Charles.

Pick this sucker up, but only if you don’t mind snorting in public.

2.5 stars

2012 Reading Challenges!

As I am entering into my third year of book-blogging (however few-and-far-between my reviews are), I decided that it was time I jumped on the bandwagon of attempting some reading challenges over the year. For those of you not as seasoned in the book blogosphere as others, annual book challenges are very common and extremely varied. There are scillions of book challenges out there. The basics are that each challenge has some common theme (genre, format, level, location, etc.) and the reader selects a goal for themselves for the year, posting about it and submitting a final list if they met their goal. Some challenges have prizes, but mostly it’s just to get people motivated about reading. As a future librarian, I’m all about that.

So: for 2012 I have selected three challenges to participate in. Who knows if I will meet my goals or not (who knows if I’ll even sign-up correctly or not), but I’m ready and excited to give it a go! YAY READING.

Off The Shelf Challenge 2012

For those of you who know me personally or have ever been to my apartment, you know that I am an active book hoarder. I love books so much, and just like having them all around me. There’s nothing better than having a whole pile of books spread out all over the table and stacked in various mountains  next to said table. Some of my favorite places include the public library’s weekend book shop and the Half Price Bookstore by my grandma’s house. I buy books by the bag-full. And yet, most often, the books I end up reading are ones borrowed from the library. THUS: this book challenge is definitely for me.

The Challenge: To read as many books as I can that I have acquired previous to 2012. Let me tell you, I have a lot to choose from. I decided I’m going to play it safe though, and aim for the second level, Trying, and read at least 15 books.

 

Historical Fiction Challenge 2012

I’ve always had an affinity for historical fiction, a genre that is popularly over-looked. This dates back to the imaginative play of my youth, when, instead of the more typical game of “house”, my sister and I would play “Christy” in our backyard (named after the Catherine Marshall novel set in early 20th century Appalachia). I think I just like imagining a world like mine, but with clear differences. In any case, naturally this challenge appealed to me.

The Challenge: I chose the Struggling the Addiction level, meaning 10 historical fiction books in 2012.

 

2012 Debut Authors Challenge

This one seemed like a good idea, considering my future as a school librarian. I’m a little nervous about it, though, because you have to blog about every book you read for this, and let’s be honest, I’m not the best with the review follow-through. It’s probably the challenge I’m most excited about, though!

The Challenge: Read & review a minimum of twelve young adult or middle grade debut novels between the dates of January 1, 2012 – January 31, 2013.

I’m going to have to fiddle with the blog a bit to see about how to best keep track of these things, so you may see some changes in the coming weeks.

Here’s to an exciting reading year!

Winter’s the worst…

Shiver, by Maggie Shiefvater (2009)

Riding on the coattails of the Twilight phenomenon, Shiefvater’s Wolves of Mercy Falls trilogy has been on my radar for a while. I didn’t know much about it, except that it had an appealing cover and that it was one of those werewolf teenage romances that seem to be so popular. So as I was creating my stack of winter break reads, I added Shiver to the list.

Yesterday, when I was eating dinner with my dear friend and new librarian Laura, I mentioned that I had started reading it. When she asked how it was, I told her it was pretty much like Twilight, except that it was missing that need-to-read quality that unwittingly captured so many of us. I was 50 pages in and not very hopeful.

But. Obviously, as I am writing this today, less that 24 hours later, things picked up. I’m a slow reader, and I tore through those last 340 pages faster than anything I’ve read since the last HP. Oh BOY.

In alternating chapters, we get the story of Grace and Sam. When she was younger, Grace was attacked by a group of wolves, nearly died, until one wolf with golden eyes carried her home, saving her life. Ever since, Grace has watched the golden-eyed wolf who sits at the edge of the woods by her house through the winter months each year. Grace dreads summer, when the wolf disappears.

Sam, however, loves summer. When the weather gets warm, he is able to transform into his true human body. Except each year, the human transformations get shorter and eventually will stop forever. In fact, this year the summer months fade to fall and his wolf body remains.

Then one evening, a group of hunters take to the woods to kill all the wolves, and Sam is shot. Somehow, he shifts and makes his way to Grace’s porch, where she finds him bleeding and naked. When she looks into his eyes, those same golden eyes, BOOM. LOVE. The pair spend the next weeks and chapters navigating their new human relationship while simultaneously tackling complication after complication, including troubling parents, a new rogue werewolf, rocky friendships, and the ever-growing threat of winter.

It sounds a bit formulaic, I realize, but I’m not sure that really matters. Any book that can make me tear through nearly 400 pages in 2 days is okay in my book. And Stiefvater doesn’t stick to the conventional myths of werewolves either, making things more interesting.

Book number 2, Linger, has quickly been added to the winter break list.

2 stars

All I’m saying is give peace a chance.

Blubber, by Judy Blume (1974)

This was one of the books scheduled for “Controversy” week in Children’s Lit (along with Tango Makes Three and The Clique). For those of you who haven’t read this one, the one sentence summary goes like this: Jill is part of a group of girls that finds it funny to pick on fellow fifth-grader Linda, taunting her, calling her “Blubber” incessantly, until the tables turn and Jill becomes the one being bullied. Pretty straightforward middle-grade narrative. And upon initial reading of this one, I felt like it was all right, not great, and probably would have given it a 0.5/1 star on my rating scale.

But as I closed the book after finishing, and took another look at the cover, wondering why it’s been on the 100 Most Challenged Books List each decade since it was written, it struck me. These kids are young. Look at that cover image. Although it’s not a great cover (I would never have picked up a book with this cover), it does drive home the point that Jill and her gang are ten years old. Ten. And they are capable of terrible, terrible things. Like making Linda say “I am Blubber, the whale of class 206″ before she eats her lunch or goes to the bathroom. Or lifting up her skirt to  show the whole class her underwear during recess. Or getting the whole class to go silent during one word of the music assembly so Linda’s the only one who sings “breast.”

And I suddenly realized why this is constantly challenged and why it left me feeling really unsettled: it’s terrifying for adults. We would never raise children so cruel, we think. We would never allow our classes to get so out of hand. And yet, it’s happening, whether we like it or not. Now those taunts have taken to cyberspace, but it’s still the same. Even though 37 years have passed since Blume wrote this book, it’s as real today as it ever was. And I have no idea how I’m going to handle it.

1.5 stars, because it’s scarier than anything I’ve read in a while.

“Sad words are just another beauty…”

Little Bee, by Chris Cleave (2008)

It took me like a gazillion days to read this novel, because I kept being interrupted by children’s books like Nate the Great and The Golden Compass and (UGH) Nancy Drew, although under normal circumstances, I would have blown right threw it. Because it’s easy to get lost in Cleave’s exquisite prose.

Through the voices of two women, one Nigerian and one English, Cleave tells a story of inexplicable connections and tragic circumstances. A story, that despite its horror, somehow makes you feel a little hopeful.

Sarah is a successful editor of a women’s magazine, mother to a four year old who refuses to take off his Batman costume, and wife to a man she has given up on long ago. Little Bee is a young woman growing up in a violent, warring country, fleeing to a land as foreign to her as sand is to a polar bear. And the only thing she has brought with her is the driver’s license of Sarah’s husband, Andrew.

Little by little, through alternating chapters, we learn how Little Bee came into possession of the license, why Sarah’s missing a finger on her left hand, and what happened to make Charlie insist he is a superhero. We also learn how single days can turn the world upside down, and what it means to save someone. Cleave’s artful way of building sentences, paragraphs, pages made me forget where I was and quite nearly took my breath away.

However. I know I was only there for four months, and I know that I am a very white American, but whenever I read a book set in Africa by a non-African, my hackles get raised. Because it seems that, more often than not, these portrayals end up being ones of horror or pity, and Cleave didn’t disappoint. And when authors (film-makers, journalists) do this, it feeds the world’s misconceptions. Instead of picturing the powerful waterfalls, the colorful fabrics, the beautiful smiles, we see AIDS, civil wars, refugees.

So even though I was blown away by Cleave’s writing and taken in by every character, I couldn’t quite love Little Bee.

Gentle and heart-stopping, 2 stars.

Dear Carolyn Keene

The Ruby in the Smoke, by Philip Pullman (1985)

I’m feeling really sleepy after a long weekend and don’t have much to say about this selection for Mystery Week this Wednesday in Children’s Lit, but I can’t help but say this one thing:

THIS IS WHAT I THOUGHT NANCY DREW WAS GONNA BE LIKE.

Scary. Mysterious. Complicated. Bloody. Dynamic characters. Clever dialogue.

Sometimes I wasn’t really sure what was going on, and it didn’t thrill me. But so much better than N.D. Get a clue, Carolyn Keene stock-writers.

1.5 stars

Building friendship through lizarding-catching

  Minn and Jake, by Janet S. Wong (2003)

This week is poetry week in Children’s Lit! I was excited to see an atypical selection on the reading list, a novel written in verse. While this format has been made famous in the YA section with books like those in the Crank series by Ellen Hopkins, I haven’t seen much of this for younger readers yet. (Granted, Minn and Jake is 8 years old, so maybe I’m just unaware.)

Here is a story of two ten year olds, one girl who’s way too tall and one boy who’s way too short, both of whom are struggling to find someone to trust amidst their gossipy fifth grade class.  More than anything, Minn loves catching and observing lizards at The Screep, and while Jake just wishes he could move back to L.A. where he has friends who don’t stare at him or mock him for his height. When Minn and Jake get shoved together at the hands of their parents, the city-boy and the lizard-girl seem to be the last two people to form a friendship. But lo and behold, they find that each can teach the other something new, and maybe even save each other from loneliness.

I can imagine what this book would be like as a classic prose novel, and I don’t think it would carry as much charm and authenticity as it does in its current state. It brought me straight back to life in the fifth grade, and all the joy, fear, bonding, fascination, and isolation that accompanies it.

2 stars.