Constant Craving

I woke up with red bloodshot eyes after barely sleeping a wink, my mind racing with thoughts about you. I went through my day like a zombie, going through the motions in the hope of returning to you. Food tasted like sawdust in my mouth when all I wanted to do was engulf you. Okay, I admit it. I have a problem. I am chronically addicted to The Hunger Games* by Suzanne Collins. Within 48 hours, I consumed this book like my last meal. I put my phone on silent and I continued procrastinating from my work to read this riveting post-apocalyptic tale of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, two teens who are selected to be tributes in an all out battle to the death. Think of it as Survivor on steroids, or the Real World with real blood, or better yet, Big Brother (and not the CBS one). Reality TV might be entertainment to us, but what if we were forced to watch our loved ones murder other children to survive? The questions that The Hunger Games poses are essential issues to think about as we embed ourselves deeper into virtual worlds where we relinquish privacy and freedom for the sake of safety or worse, fun. Even more than the deep messages it conveys, it is a relief to finally find a new obsession with a female protagonist who can kick butt (sorry, Bella, but it's true...). Luckily, the newest book in this trilogy is due Sept. 1, and until then, I will be salivating...


* Special props go to Mrs. Rosen, master librarian, who recommended this book to me and changed my life.

Teaching Tolerance: The Hundred Dresses

Once in a while, in the process of reading all the Newbery Medal books, I come across a book that is not only high quality children's literature, but meshes with my philosophy as a teacher. As a teacher, I want to teach my students to appreciate diversity and value people for themselves. The Hundred Dresses* by Eleanor Estes, a Newbery honor book for 1945, is a perfect book for encouraging children how to treat others who are different than them. In the story, Wanda Petronski is a poor, friendless girl who is teased unremittingly by the popular girls when she tells them that she has 100 dresses at home. Without giving too much away, the children learn a unforgettable lesson about the impact of their actions. More than that, Maddie, the resident mean girl's best friend, finally comes to terms with her role as a bystander, and gains the courage to stand up for what's right. This simple story is full of real-life applications for our children. Children are not born bigoted or intolerant and it is up to us as educators to provide models of compassion and tolerance.

*Try compare and contrasting this book with Molly's Pilgrim by Barbara Cohen, a book about a Russian Jewish immigrant who is mocked by her classmates for her nontraditional pilgrim doll, until her classmates learn a lesson in what it means to be a real pilgrim.

What a stupid lamb ... What a sick, masochistic lion

With the exception of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIHM and the Kenneth Opell’s Silverwing series, I never liked animal stories. I find it difficult to suspend my disbelief as animals are anthropomorphized to act, dress, and talk like humans. Sure, I can believe in urban faeries, soulless mermaids, and telepathic dragons, but rabbits in waistcoats? Never! Still, animal stories are a cornerstone of children’s literature, and they can convey messages in a different context that make them easier to absorb. In the same way that Shakespeare set his plays in Italy to protect his English interests (namely, keeping his head on his shoulders), animal stories give very human messages that we are more likely to understand. Rabbit Hill by Robert Lawson, winner of the 1945 Newbery Medal, and Miss Hickory by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey, winner of the 1947 Newbery Medal, are both timely animal stories with important messages for a post-World War Two world.

The animals of Rabbit Hill are afraid of the “New Folks” who are moving into the big house until the humans prove to be sympathetic to the plight of the indigenous species that inhabit their land. They go out of their way to provide for the creatures, sharing their food, caring for hurt animals, and maintaining the peace. After a bloody war, we need to be reminded that it is possible to live in harmony with each other. The special relationship between the humans and animals shows that we are all interconnected and dependent on each other.

Miss Hickory definitely stretches the limits of disbelief. Made from a hickory nut for a head and apple twig for a body, she learns to live in harmony with the other creatures of the forest when she is displaced from her perfect man-made home. She learns to live in peace with Squirrel, who resides in the hole beneath the tree she nests in. Finally, when she rags on him for being a “brainless wastrel,” he flips out and eats her head. Without her head, she follows her instincts and grafts herself onto an apple tree, making the dead wood come alive once more. I’m not exactly sure what children are supposed to learn from Miss Hickory’s example; maybe if you push others too far, you might get eaten, or maybe life just happens. Maybe it’s how you deal with life that matters. Miss Hickory deals with her challenges with equanimity and grace, ever a little lady. All the other animals teach her how to survive and in the end, she is immortalized in the rebirth of a tree that will bud, blossom, grow fruit that will have seeds to continue the journey. There is life even in dead wood if we work to restore it. Miss Hickory shows that the reward for pushing ourselves outside our comfort level is that we can grow beyond our wildest dreams. After a war, it’s always difficult to start over, but it must be done. And if we fight for peace, like fictional animals, we might be able to act like human beings.

If I Could Turn Back Time …

Can you smell the intoxicating aromas of a medieval marketplace, combining the rich scent of roasting meat on a spit and the latest spices from faraway lands? Do you hear the sound of the smith beating his anvil as a traveling minstrel regales a nearby crowd with the latest tale, eliciting cries of horror, excitement, and humor? Do you see the lush countryside dotted with thatched roofs, herds of sheep, and peasants with towering castle looming in the background? If so, you must be reading high-quality historical fiction. Good historical fiction should transport you back in time to almost experience life in a “simpler, gentler” time. The winner of the 1943 Newbery Medal, Adam of the Road by Elizabeth Janet Gray, and Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes, winner of the 1944 Newbery Award, stand out as books that recall times long ago.

Adam of the Road takes place in 13^th century England and shares the episodic tale of Adam, the son of a minstrel, who travels with his father across the country, singing folk songs, telling tales, and performing gymnastics. His troubles begin when his faithful dog is stolen by a fellow minstrel and must journey on his own to rescue him. On the way, like Blanche Du Bois, he depends on the kindness of strangers to host, feed, and help him. Adam’s travels are filled with the realistic sights and sounds of medieval life, but at the same time, it is hard to believe that people would so easily help a stranger out of the goodness of their hearts. This picture of medieval life is tainted by a wholly unrealistic cast of kind characters. Looking back into the past requires being faithful to the events and people of the time. Adam of the Road represents sugar-coated history that deceives the reader.

However, some ideas are offensive to our modern sensibilities and even if people believed them in the past, it takes special care to express them properly in a modern novel. When I saw Johnny Tremain expertly performed at the Lifeline Theatre, I was unaware of the darker message that permeated the text, which I suspect the adaptation toned down. In the story, Johnny Tremain is a bit arrogant and self-satisfied in his skill as a silversmith. His life comes crashing down when he (gasp!) violates the Sabbath and attempts to finish a sugar bowl. The crucible he is using breaks while he is firing the bowl and his hand is crippled. This horrible event is seen as a “dire punishment from God for your pride” (29), instead of a purposeful act perpetrated by his fellow apprentice, Dove, who had switched the crucible with an old, cracked one to teach Johnny a lesson about breaking the “holy” Sabbath. Even if the historical events and characters are depicted vividly to make history come alive, it is this premise that makes me reject this novel. In the past months, I have been trying to undo years of indoctrination that stress that God throws lightning bolts for target practice. If this were the case, wicked people would be charred to a crisp and good people would be enjoying the barbeque. The American Revolution not only gave people freedom to practice their religion in their own way, but also freedom from religious dogma. Johnny Tremain shows the valiant efforts of the patriots who gave up their “lives, property, safety, skills . . .{so} that a man can stand up (180). However, it also shows how tyrannical fear-mongering made it impossible for anyone to stand up against their make believe God. While the American Revolution may be ancient history, the struggle for religious freedom will continue to be fought. And I am armed and ready.