Adolescent LitBlog 7

Boy, what a beginning of a discussion on Alexie's Absolutely True Diary we had today in class. Among the topics I'm sure will come up again this coming Wednesday and next Monday is how to use this book in a secondary classroom. There is the issue of langauge and content, what one student described as graphic (not overly-so; though just enough), that are likely to keep this title from an all class read in public schools across the country. In spite of these issues, we agreed that it's a worthwhile title to introduce students to, but how? is the question. Any ideas?

Adolescent LitBlog 6

Freeman, Yvonne and David Freeman. "Connecting Students to Culturally Relevant Texts." Talking Points 15.2 (April/May 2004): 7-12.
Among other of the Freemans' ideas like culture being more than one's enthicity, the following struck me especially: "Readers like Francisco can more easily construct meaning from a text that contains familiar elements because their background knowledge helps them make predictions and inferences about the story" (7). Especially helpful is I'm not pigeon-holing culture; that is, insisting that culture is nothing more than just his/her race and or ethnicity. One's faith, for example, makes up part of his culture. His politics. His geographic locale. Where he grew up, around whom versus where he lives now, and with whom he interacts. So many more criteria go into who a person is well beyond who he is in the context of his ethnic/racial group. But to get back to the Freemans' very valid assertion: it's these familiar elements that make for engagement with a text. So a kid who grows up loving to play football will be more inclined to read stories (fiction and nonfiction) and poetry that has to do with football and less interested in an awesome book like Hattie Big Sky that has nothing absolutely to do with football but with a girl taking charge of her life by trying to handle her now-deceased uncle's several hundred acre stake in Montana. Someone, though, who grows up in a more rural area, guy or girl I'd argue, would better appreciate Larson's novel because of the man-handling of the land. You see how that would work. Find out what is a child's culture, introduce him/her to stories that respectfully and accurately represent that aspect of a child's life, and you're more likely to help that kid on the path toward true literacy.

Adolescent LitBlog 5

Alexie, Sherman. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. NY: Little, Brown, 2007.

This'll be my second go-through this novel, and I can't believe how much I'm seeing this time than I did the first. I'm referring specifically to all the religious and mythological allusions: the wacky eyesight (one near-sighted eye and the other far) brings to mind Tireseus and other like prophets (weirdo vision is what I mean: blind prophets, heads turned backward prophets, etc. that allow for a different sort of vision from your regulrar, run-of-the-mill prophets, you know); from the Bible, Christ's statement about prophets not appreciated by their communities; and also from the Bible, Christ's talking to Nicodemus concerning begin born-again, and Nicodemus wondering, incredulously, that he could return a second time into his mother's womb. I don't know that Alexie (like most other writers) does all this on purpose, but because these folks are so well-read, learned, they're able to throw it subconciously into the mix, which makes for a richer and fuller story experience. (pp. 1-53).

Book Talk on The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

Sherman Alexie, better known for his fiction and poetry for adults, ventures into the young adult market with his latest novel, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, in which he explores identity as it works itself out in the life of Junior, who considers himself “a zero on the rez,” and whose best friend, Oscar, is a mixed breed dog that one day gets so ill that he’s got to be “taken care of,” an all too common euphemism for “shot dead to alleviate his suffering.” His home life is no better: his parents are poor, too poor to have a right to even think they ever had a choice to choose otherwise. His “best human friend” is named Rowdy, whose drunken father beats on him so badly and so regularly that he’s taken to calling his bruises “war paint.” Junior has long looked forward to getting into high school, and when that day comes, he is utterly disappointed: he sees that his Geometry textbook used to “belong” to his mom, some thirty years prior. Angry at the afront, he chucks the book in the general direction of the front of the classroom and hits his white teacher, Mr. P, on the nose. Junior is summarily suspended. He is a “big, goofy dreamer,” though, in spite of it all, so he decides to take Mr. P’s kind advice after the book incident—Junior will follow after hope, but to do so he has to leave the reservation to attend high school in Reardan, a small hick, racist town some 22 miles off the reservation, but a great school, never the less. This decision causes a rift between Junior and Rowdy; and to make matters worse, he begins to feel “like two different people inside of one body.” At Reardan High he finally knows what it means to feel Indian; on the rez, because of his seemingly traitorous act, he feels white. While some on the reservation call him a warrior for stepping foot off the safety of their land, others shun him, Rowdy included, physically going after him during a basket ball game between Junior’s new team and his old. The book is about the self divided, but how this sort of dichotomous existence doesn’t have to mean a negative one. As soon as this title appeared, it caused some excitement, and a couple months back it won the National Book Award for Young People. Surprisingly, though, it was passed over for the ALA's Printz Award, not even getting an Honors nod. How disappointing a decision on that committee's part. This book is gads better than anything on the Printz list this year.

Reading Life 21

Terry Trueman's done it again, but in the unlikeliest of ways: absent in Hurricane is the gritty darkness of his other books. In his latest novel (originally published in the UK back in 2003), Trueman once more introduces us to strong characters and an uplifting tale that is set in Honduras right smack dab in the middle of Hurricane Mitch (1998), which obliterates Jose's small, rural town. Jose is forced into the position of "man of the house," as his father and older brother, Victor (along with their sister) have left on business right before the storm strikes. When the boy steps out of his home on the morning after to survey the storm's damage, he sees and hears complete and utter destruction. A mudslide and category 5 winds have torn apart his pueblo, leaving standing only his family's house and a lean-to on the town's edge belonging to a family recently moved in. Jose considers the several meanings of pueblo: the nation (as in the people), the town proper (that is, the place called thus and such), and the folks themselves (who make up the town and the nation, much more close-knit, in one anothers' lives daily, those in whom we place our trust); Jose concludes that a hurricane, even one that kills off a huge portion of the townspeople cannot destroy the heart of the people, el pueblo. Some, undoubtedly, will argue that the story suffers from a Hollywood ending, that so much suffering concentrated on such a small area must affect even Jose's family directly, that at least one member of his family has to die as a result of the hurricane. (You'll be happy to know that even their dog survives.) Well, I'm glad for a happy ending like this; we've gotten, recently, inudated with just the opposite kinds of stories with dark and dreary endings, nothing uplifting, nothing to look forward to, it seems (realism, some will say, though I'd argue that even these more realistic tales are never the less made-up tales which serve as escapism; it is all fiction). I say it's time to make room for these happy ending sorts of stories; because in real life, we experience joy in addition to sadness.

Children's LitBlog 1

Wong, Janet S. Apple Pie 4th of July. Illus. Margaret Chodos-Irvine. Orlando FL: Voyager Books/Harcourt, Inc., 2002.
Our young narrator doesn't understand exactly why her family is keeping their store open on the 4th of July while everyone else in the neighborhood attends the Independence day parade taking place just down the street, so close in fact that the unnamed girl can see and hear it from the front door to the family business. And when she smells apple pie wafting from an upstairs neighbor's, the chow mein and sweet-and-sour pork smells coming from their kitchen seems just that much more out of place, and she becomes ever-more-so frustrated because according to her, "No one wants Chinese food / on the Fourth of July" (5). Never mind that folks do drop in throughout the day: they are not there for the food, she reasons, but for "soda and potato chips" (9) and other items for their own celebrations. All the while, she and her family are missing out on the parade! And having to eat the food that no one came in to buy. She dismisses her parents' steadfastedness because they are not American: her parents were not born in the States and so it makes sense then that "they do not understand all American things" (14). But oh, the lessons she'll learn by night's end. Perhaps what I find most appealing about this picture book is how the illustrations by Chodos-Irvine so perfectly mesh with Wong's text from beginning to end. The girl's frustration is so very obvious in the opening illustration. She just doesn't understand why day in day out her family just cannot blend with American customs and celebrations, instead choosing to stay open for business except on Christmas. Her look softens toward the end; as a matter of fact, she must have learned her lesson (that sometimes we have to think of others rather than ourselves) because even though we see she is present, she disappears into the background: we see her hand turning the sign on the door to Closed and later into the shadows on the rooftop with so many other folks.

Wong, Janet S. Buzz. Illus. Margaret Chodos-Irvine. Orlando FL: Voyager Books/Harcourt, Inc., 2000.
Buzz I love because it is so very playful (did you catch the color of the mother's socks there at the end and the visual and textual circle we travel as a result?) and for how both poet and illustrator teach us that there is art in the common, the every day. Furthermore, can you see, as future teachers (and parents and older siblings or aunts and uncles) the myriad ways we can use this book to teach a ton of stuff to our kids in and outside of class. Don't be fooled into thinking this is an overly-simple book. It is deep, the kind of deep I don't mind getting into way over my head. I love it!

Tunnell, Michael O. and James S. Jacobs. Children's Literature, Briefly. 4e. Upper Sadle River NJ: Pearson/Merrill Prentice Hall, 2008.
Most impressive about tonight's reading, I feel, is the distinction the authors make between unengaged and engaged reading, classifying the former as "the reading of necessity," the latter as personal motivation (4). In my own experiences as a reader, I want to recall that as a child I loved to read, in and outside of class; I was benefiting in so many ways, especially in my language literacy growth; but man, I was also having so much fun: See Pug Ren, Wet Albert, and other titles. Reading became a chore when my teachers failed to marry necessity and enjoyment. Instead, I got the impression that, in terms of reading, the fun was over. And now, having read a ton of literacy theory and conducted some informal research on my own, I can see clearly what Tunnell and Jacobs mean when they speak to the differences between being an engaged reader and an unengaged one. If we, as teachers, encourage this sort of engagement in our own students.

Adolescent LitBlog 4

Soto, Gary. Canto Familiar: A Poetry Collection. Orlando FL: Harcourt, 1995.

With Soto's works, for me anyway, it's an on-again-off-again affair. One book I'll absolutely love, the next I'll despise. When I come across one I don't much care for, I think, Man, this guy is over-rated. He's among the first Mexican American writers teachers brought into the classroom, and so this is why he's publishing even this drivel. But then I come across a book like Canto Familiar, and I'm floored by its beauty and its power. This is a book of poetry! I love the seeming simplicity of the poems. Not a one reads like it's very deep and inaccessible, like a ton of poems I was exposed to (a better word: over-exposed) as a middle and high schooler. Had I been made aware of this sort of writing when I was younger, then perhaps I would've enjoyed the form some, at a quicker pace. I would've understood, perhaps, the power of my world expressed through poetry, because this is the very lesson Soto is teaching us in this book: that we are allowed to write about the everyday, the silliness of today in my life, the heartbreak but in terms I can grasp or wrap my brain around. For example, in the poem titled "Music for Fun and Profit," a boy makes instruments of the most common of house-hold objects: "an oatmeal box," "a comb and waxpaper," "a coat hanger," and other various and sundry things. It is a fun and funny poem, but the theme runs deep; the poem's about family dynamics: kids getting on parents' nerves, kids discovering one way after another to get on their parents nerves, and more importantly, how to manipulate this newly-uncovered information to their benefit. It doesn't have to speak in dark and dreadful language; it doesn't have to be about death and blackness and bleakness. But about the everyday, the common, the me. So thanks to Soto for that. And just get a load of the magical language and imagery in this collection!

Other books of Soto's worth picking up: Mercy on these Teenage Chimps (read note below), A Fire in My Hands, Baseball in April: Stories. Ones to avoid: Poetry Lover, The Skirt.

Adolescent LitBlog 3

English, Cathie. "Finding a Voice in a Threaded Discussion Group: Talking about Literature Online." English Journal 97.1 (Sept 2007): 56-61.

I very much appreciate English's suggestion that any sort of online discussion is an extension of the in-class discussion (57 and 58), a forum that serves the majority of our students, with a few exceptions (those who do not want to participate period will not do so in class nor in any other venue we offer up, but as educators we must provide as many opportunities to our students to succeed; we never know which format will work for this student or that one; and if these ways don't work, well, we tried, and sometimes that's all we can do). But in a class there will be those quiet students who hardly ever will throw out an answer, or a well-developed one, or another student will interrupt, or an unscheduled announcement from the principal will break the flow. Quiet doesn't necessarily mean unintelligent; it doesn't necessarily mean genius either, but how would we know unless we have the chance to assess a kid's understanding? Because of the confidence due to this format's near anonimity (that is, the threat or anxiety that comes with the face-to-face or very public participation allows for the near-invisibility) a student is more likely to take a risk, it allows for students to "really flesh out their ideas" (Douglas, qtd. in article), and requires "students to reflect a little more and not just give a spur-of-the-moment response" (59).

I wonder what other ways (technology-based or otherwise) can we come up with to encourage the sort of particpation that English and we teachers dream of for our students? Any suggestions?