Musings by our guest blogger

I have been thinking about Lindi’s last post on diversity in books and made a discovery. Here is what I have been reading lately:

• ·       An autobiography in verse about an African American girl growing up in the 60’s and 70’s
• ·       Fiction about a young white girl in New York in 1986 whose beloved gay uncle dies of AIDS
• ·       Novel about a young white girl who is raised with a chimpanzee for a sister
• ·       Fantasy about modern Canadian dragon slayers
• ·       A largely autobiographical novel about a girl from Zimbabwe who moves to Michigan
• ·       Non-fiction account about 4 undocumented teens from Mexico, now living in Phoenix, who make a robot and against all odds defeat the team from MIT in a national competition

                You probably noticed it before I did – the novels are about white girls, while the non-fiction is much more diverse.  And yes, you could say it is just my reading this month, but I think it represents a bigger picture. Diversity is lacking in mainstream fiction. Everyday day there are novels published about white characters. Many are excellent, beautifully written, compelling stories. The ones I listed here do have some diversity in them – the gay uncle, the chimpanzee sister, and the Canadian dragons. But who tells the story of learning from her mother how to obey the segregation laws of the South without making trouble – the author herself. Who can describe the longing for guava and the games she played with the other children in the shanty town called Paradise – the author herself. No one else was telling their story so they wrote it themselves. As for the Latino robotics team – it is now a major motion picture but if the author had not followed up a spam-like press release he received and got to the beginning of the story, it might not have been told.

                What I’m trying to say is that diversity should not be delegated to the non-fiction and memoir sections of the library or bookstore. There should be as much diversity as possible in all forms of writing. Documentaries about overcoming challenges and winning the competition should be balanced with everyday stories featuring a variety of characters. If diversity in books acts as a kind of map, then we all need many more signposts and illustrations along the way.

Titles mentioned:

Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson

Tell the Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt

We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler

The Story of Own: Dragon Slayer of Tronheim by E.K. Johnston

We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo

Spare Parts: Four Undocumented Teenagers, One Ugly Robot, and the Battle for the American Dream by Joshua Davis

#WeNeedDiverseBooks

There are some givens in a school library: Guinness world records books and Garfield comic books will circulate until they fall to pieces. Second graders will want to read what their big brothers and sisters are reading, even when those books are really aimed at older readers. Kindergarten girls will want Cinderella books and they don't mean Mufaro's Beautiful Daughters.

Wait. What?

Yes, John Steptoe's stunning, award-winning book, which retells a Cinderella-variant from the Shona people, is just not attractive to young girls. Year after year, we look at which books didn't circulate, evaluating for whether to weed them from the collection, and way too often they are the books with people of color on the cover. The need for children to see themselves in books, in movies, on television, in video games is no longer debated, although the need is still acute. Christopher Myers writes in the New York Times, it is not so much mirrors, as maps. "They are indeed searching for their place in the world, but they are also deciding where they want to go. They create, through the stories they’re given, an atlas of their world, of their relationships to others, of their possible destinations."

But here’s the thing. White kids need diverse books too. When statistics show that whether one believes the shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson was race-based is likely to depend on whether you are white or black; when in 2008 some white conservatives stated that Michelle Obama didn’t “look like a First Lady”; when there continue to be disproportionate rates of black suspensions in school, black incarceration in prison, black foreclosures in the housing market -- this simple fact becomes very clear: white and brown kids, male and female and transgender kids, Christian and Muslim and agnostic kids -- we all need to see maps for all kinds of people.

And isn’t that the beauty of story? That by reading or listening to or watching another’s story, we are reminded of our common humanity and our different experiences.

Three Titles for 5th Grade Boys

I put Alabama Moon in the hands of a 5^th grade boy yesterday. He and his family were headed to the airport and dad had forgotten to pack a book for said child before leaving home. I hope he likes it; it is my go-to book for 5^th grade boys. A mom recommended it to me about 5 years ago and I can’t think of a child who has disliked it in all those years.

Moon is 10 years old; he lives in the Southern backwoods with his father. They hunt and trap and trade for supplies at the local general store. When Moon’s dad is felled by a logging accident, he tells his son to “head to Alaska. There’s folks like us there.” And just like that, Moon’s life takes a sharp turn. He’s got to deal with money and highways and social services people. In his entire life, Moon can remember interacting with one person other than his father. He may know how to catch a fish with his hands, but staying out of foster care is another matter entirely.

Watt Key has written a book beloved by children and adults  – it’s laugh-out-loud funny, edge-of-your-seat exciting and thought-provoking.

I’ve recently read a couple other books that might engage your preteen sons – Here Lies Arthur, by Philip Reeve, and 90 Miles to Havana, by Enrique Flores-Galbis. 90 Miles follows the same fish-out-of-water trope as Alabama Moon: after Fidel Castro’s revolution takes hold in Cuba, Julian and his older brothers are sent to Florida to escape Communism, but America is not the land of dreams he was expecting. At first Julian figures on following his brothers’ lead in navigating this new reality just like always, but he soon learns to think for himself. Again, lots of laugh-out-loud moments and suspenseful scenes enhance a thoughtful and thought-provoking story.

In Here Lies Arthur, the fish out of water is a girl passing as a boy. Myrddin literally plucks young Gwyna from a river and uses her to transform an unlikely chieftain into Britain’s most legendary king. Here’s a book for you lovers of realism. Reeve paints a grim picture of the post-Roman era  – dirty, chaotic, violent, corrupt, and misogynistic. But people are people across time and space. There are also love and tenderness, laughter and bravery. And hope – Myrddin truly hopes that Arthur could unite the land and stop some (most?) of the fighting that destroys ordinary folks’ lives. From girl to boy and back to young woman, Gwyna is on the front lines of a great con job, as Reeve imagines how King Arthur’s legend might have arisen. 

Are you a 5th grade boy? Do you have a 5th grade boy? Were you ever a 5th grade boy? What do you recommend?

In Otherworlds

                One character learns to navigate the afterworld with the help of a sexy Vedic death god. In a very different book, the character uses a pen and old fashioned journal to cross over into the alternate reality. One novel celebrates the diversity of current YA literature; the other focuses on the brief output of Sylvia Plath. Afterworlds by Scott Westerfeld is a huge and fast-paced double story. Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer is quietly and beautifully devastating. While they are very different books, both use the literal act of writing as a way to explore the very real power of stories.

                The first thing you notice about Afterworlds is that it is structured in alternating chapters, helpfully marked with black and white bands on the pages. The black pages tell the story of Lizzie, a girl who survives a terrorist attack and learns she has powers to enter the world of ghosts. She does this by repeating the words of the 911 call she made during the attack at the airport. Once she enters the flipside, her guide is Yamaraj, a Hindu death god. Combining ideas borrowing from the Vedas, traditional crime fiction and supernatural stories, these sections sample many of the themes that take YA fiction beyond the confines of real life. In contrast, the white pages are a realistic story of how Darcy Patel (herself only 18) wrote this book-within-a-book, and describes her life as the rising star in the YA world. For me these were the best sections, with lots of literary scenes: meeting fellow authors at book parties, touring with a John Green-like celebrity (“there were a dozen YouTube channels about his YouTube channel” p. 165), acting as “flap - monkey” at book signings, joking about YA heaven where the NYT bestsellers get to wear black robes with red trim while the Printz winners get the sparkly tiaras, and even the seemingly mundane task of choosing a pen for signing copies (“Take three of each, and a Sharpie for casts, show bags and body parts.” p. 567).

                The very names of Darcy and Lizzie are part of the fun, but alas, there were no further connections to Pride and Prejudice. There are also characters named Carla and Sagan (as they joke, the odd against them knowing why their names are funny together are “billions and billions to one” p. 206). And although it is a minor part of the plot, it is refreshing to see a mention of Aboriginal tales as part of the global range of literary influences.

                As you can tell from my previous run-on sentences, this novel crams in so many ideas. I haven’t touched on half of them – I should mention the lesbian love story, the quest for the best ramen in New York City and the scenes of simply sitting down to write. Afterworlds itself is as huge in size as it is in scope. It does bog down a bit under its own weight, but on the whole, provides a satisfying, entertaining read.

                Saying too much about Belzhar would do the book a disservice. From the beginning Wolitzer is in perfect control; readers are like a thread wrapped around her finger as she reels the story in with her subtle plot line. When the story starts, you think you know how it will go. By the end, you are devastated in ways you never expected.

                When Jamaica, called Jam, is utterly crushed because of a boy, her parents try everything they know, then finally send her to The Wooden Barn which is described as a boarding school for “emotionally fragile, highly intelligent” teenagers. The boy is Reeve Maxfield, an exchange student from England, smart, slouchy, pale and lean, with (of course) a killer accent. Jam falls in love, then he is gone and she can’t cope. At the Wooden Barn, she is put into a class called Special Topics in English, which focuses entirely on the works of Sylvia Plath.

                Jam and the 4 other students of the class are given journals and assigned to write in them twice a week. After writing nothing but a sentence, exactly 5 pages of the journal fill up automatically and the writer is taken to a place where his or her life is restored. Casey can walk again. Sierra has her brother. Marc and Griffin go back to a time before their lives changed and Jam can be with Reeve again, kissing on the grass behind the school. They call this state “Belzhar,” a form of the words "bell jar."

                Then one of the group counts the number of pages in the journal and works out that they will run out of pages right at the end of the semester. What will happen on the last visit? And how can they extend the visits to a place where they are finally happy?

                Writing is the link to the alternate reality. Stories have healing power. Great writing does make a difference. Words matter. With this short novel, Meg Wolitzer makes the most compelling case ever for a class such as Special Topics in English.

               

Messing about in Boats, by our guest blogger

Time and tide and the vagaries of my Seattle Public Library hold queue simultaneously washed up three books related to boats. And so I have spent the last few weeks at sea, drifting away on the sea of words. I have no special knowledge of boats, or of the sea, but as an armchair sailor, these three titles delivered hours of entertaining reading.                

For years, literally, friends have been recommending The Boys in the Boat, by Daniel James Brown, but I kept putting off reading it. Non-fiction books about sports and Nazis are, quite frankly, pretty much at the bottom of my interest list. The recommendations, however, kept coming and finally it was just easier to read the thing than listen to another word of praise. I can’t believe it took me so long. This book is remarkable! The story of the underdog University of Washington crew team and their bid for gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics is exciting by itself. Add to this the historical background of Seattle during the Depression and the rise of Hitler’s power in Germany and the book takes on a larger dimension. But what the author does best of all is get into the minds and aching muscles of the crew. The heart-breakingly difficult personal story of Joe Rantz gives a sharper focus to the historical background. Brown’s vivid writing elevates the book beyond the ordinary sports account and brings each oar stroke, each race, and each triumph dynamically alive for the reader.

The Plover, by Brian Doyle, is a very different sort of book, a kind of road trip by boat across the Pacific. It starts out with one man, Declan O Donnell, escaping his life in Oregon and ends up with nine passengers, not counting the resident herring gull, tiny warbler, snails and all the other creatures who attach themselves to the tiny Plover. All in need of healing. Some are literally burnt, all emotionally scarred. The most touching character is the little girl Pipa, damaged in a bus accident and silent for 4 years until  the herring gull magically, mystically, “opens” her and she is able to speak again. Literary in its roots (think Melville, Stevenson and Coleridge), and peppered with quotes from Declan’s favorite writer, Edmund Burke, The Plover could easily sink under the weight of its concept, but Doyle keeps it flowing smoothly with his lyrical writing style and humorous asides. The gull is especially useful for comic relief as when Declan address the gull at the beginning of the story: “You are most definitely not a metaphor, my friend.” Though not as rich and complex at Doyle’s earlier novel, Mink River, The Plover is a heart-felt celebration of life’s various journeys.

Before it became a cannibal-rat infested ghost ship (really, you can Google it!) I had the pleasure of taking a cruise on the Lyubov Orlova. Though the plight of this modern ship generated some media interest, it is a far cry from the sensation the derelict ship Mary Celeste caused in 1872. The ship was found unmanned and abandoned, but still in seaworthy condition with plenty of food onboard. Taking as her starting point what little is known about the historical ship, Valerie Martin mixes fact and imagination to explore ideas of loss, grief and the power of storytelling in her speculative novel, The Ghost of the Mary Celeste. In her book, as he did in real life, the writer Arthur Conan Doyle hears the mystery of the Mary Celeste while at sea and uses it as the basis for a fabricated story. That story is read by the American psychic Violet Petra, who later meets Doyle to tell him that his story is incorrect and that she knows the family involved. In her possession is the journal, written by Sarah, the wife of the missing captain. These various stories are woven together by Valerie Martin into a multi-layered and complex text, switching back and forth in time and from the various characters. It is complex and rewarding reading.

Now go look up cannibal-rat infested ghost ships. You know you want to.

Book Fair!

It's day two of The Bush School's semiannual book fair. Our amazing volunteer chairman, Julie P., works with the incomparable University Book Store to provide a huge selection of great books for all ages. I'm going up in a few minutes to do a little holiday shopping, but it has gotten me to thinking about buying books.

When my children were young, I bought books all the time. I always attended the public library sales, we scoured the second hand stores, and no gift-giving opportunity was complete without beautiful new books. I love books. I love the look, the feel, the smell. I want to own them. I've been known to buy copies out of recognition and pity. "Oh! I love this book! No one will find you here and appreciate you like I can!" (Said at Goodwill or some sketchier thrift store.)

Now, however, the kids are grown and have moved out (taking some of their books with them). It's just the husband, me, and many linear feet of books that seldom get opened. I have had to re-evaluate my book buying habits. Unless it's a book I know I'll read again, I seldom buy it. I figure that's what libraries are for.

So who am I shopping for? Luckily I have many young people in my life and I continue to believe that a child just can't have too many stories in their life. Actually none of us can, although adults have more mobility and can get out to bookstores, libraries, plays, movies. But kids -- they need choices close at hand.

Hmm, let's see. Maybe Boys in the Boat for the high-school boy, and one of the Bone books for the second grader. Now, what about those toddlers?

Lila, by Marilynne Robinson

Oh my goodness, I am reading and L-O-V-I-N-G Lila, by Marilynne Robinson. Every night, I think -- oh good, it's time to read some more Lila. It's dense though, and so far, I'm only reading it before sleep, so I am forced to take it slowly, which is unusual for me and in this case, good.

Why am I so entranced? Lila, herself, is such a compelling character. A young woman, maybe in her 20s, she's been homeless nearly her whole life. At 4, she was taken away from the people she lived with by the only person who ever showed her any tenderness, a disfigured woman called Doll, and they spent the next 10-15 years "running" from those folks. Eventually Lila walks into a church and feels an immediate and deep connection to the old man up front. Meanwhile preacher John Ames, a widower in his 60s, looks up and notices this woman. She's not pretty, but there is something about her that grabs him. Kismet?

The books starts with their connection and builds out -- Lila's life with Doll, her love for John Ames, Doll's death, how she survived on her own, their marriage, her confusion around faith and existence. It asks the big questions and the small ones. It's funny and heartbreaking and always surprising. Lila is continually distracted by wondering what happened -- to Doll, to her mother, to the folks they traveled with some, to the folks they ran from. Doll would never answer. "Never you mind," was her constant refrain. Her wondering helps her (and the reader) reconstruct or at least imagine the past she was first too young to remember and then was too much a child to question.

I both look forward to seeing Lila through her search for identity and dread coming to the end of the book. When was the last time that happened? I can't think of a time.