Here's part II of my new series reviewing speculative fiction books for kids that feature strong female characters. Last week, I introduced books for younger middle grade readers (ages 8-10). This week, it's all about the tweens. Check back; I plan to update this list regularly, particularly with more culturally diverse authors and protagonists.
Middle Grade Ages 10-12
The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill
This Newbery-medal winning novel blew me away. This exciting adventure begins with a village, shrouded in despair, that must leave its youngest baby in the forest for a witch in order to ensure another year of survival. Of course, one mother does not give her child willingly, setting off a chain of events within the village. When we meet the witch, and the baby she collects, delightful surprises involving moon-magic, a tiny dragon, and a poetic swamp monster propel events toward an inevitable reunion/conflict between the village and those who would try to control its people.
The language, the surprising plot, and the engaging characters entranced me. I loved the witch who is considered a healer in one town and evil in another; the village elder with the vicious heart of a tiger; the apprentice witch who doesn't know her own power; and the gentle, creative male "hero" who is rescued by the women that form the core of this story.
Subtly subversive, beautifully written, and deeply engaging--I cried!--this is an amazing book. It does have elements that sensitive readers might find disturbing (the willingness to sacrifice babies, and the gentle death of a beloved character). But I would recommend this book highly for kids and adults.
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Monday, May 15, 2017
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
Book review: Sisters of the Revolution
Sometimes I forget how fulfilling it can be to read explicitly feminist writing.
So I have been enjoying the heck out of Sisters of the Revolution: A Feminist Speculative Fiction Anthology edited by Ann and Jeff Vandermeer.
Speculative fiction is a catch-all phrase for science fiction, fantasy, and other harder-to-classify writing with a fabulist "what-if" slant. What if employees were encouraged to conform to corporate culture through biological additions, as in Eileen Gunn's "Stable Strategies for Middle Management"? What if there was "The Woman Who Thought She Was a Planet" as in Vandana Singh's story?
This book encompasses an excellent selection of stories from the 1960s to now by a diverse group of writers, both well-known--Angela Carter, Octavia Butler, Ursula K. Le Guin, James Tiptree, Jr. (really Alice Bradley Sheldon)--and up-and-coming--Nnedi Okorafor, Rachel Swirsky.
Although this collection is definitely for adults, I was excited to see a couple of my favorite kidlit authors, Catherynne Valente and Kelly Barnhill, represented. I was also thrilled to discover writers like Nalo Hopkinson and Hiromi Goto.
Some of the stories are familiar, like "The Screwfly Solution" and "The Evening and the Morning and the Night," but these are woven artfully among others arranged so that stories "speak" to one another across time and space. I loved the combination of styles: a journalist's "report" ("The Forbidden Words of Margaret A." by L. Timmel Duchamp) horror, surrealism, sci-fi (Elisabeth Vonarburg's great reimagining of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep), sword-and-sorcery, fairy tales, and more.
The strains of feminism are diverse too, with varying degrees of satire, uplifting hear-me-roar grrl power, and horror-filled dystopian warnings. These stories represent women of different cultures, ages, sexual orientations--even species. Each selection is delightful reading and a thoughtful commentary on women's roles in society. These are stick-to-you stories. I know that Susan Palwick's "Gestella," about a werewolf in love, will haunt me.
Highly recommend this book, and I can't wait to dig further into the oeuvre of many of these writers.
Special shout-out to publisher PM Press, an amazing, socially conscious publishing organization out of Oakland. Looking forward to exploring their collection further, too!
So I have been enjoying the heck out of Sisters of the Revolution: A Feminist Speculative Fiction Anthology edited by Ann and Jeff Vandermeer.
Speculative fiction is a catch-all phrase for science fiction, fantasy, and other harder-to-classify writing with a fabulist "what-if" slant. What if employees were encouraged to conform to corporate culture through biological additions, as in Eileen Gunn's "Stable Strategies for Middle Management"? What if there was "The Woman Who Thought She Was a Planet" as in Vandana Singh's story?
This book encompasses an excellent selection of stories from the 1960s to now by a diverse group of writers, both well-known--Angela Carter, Octavia Butler, Ursula K. Le Guin, James Tiptree, Jr. (really Alice Bradley Sheldon)--and up-and-coming--Nnedi Okorafor, Rachel Swirsky.
Although this collection is definitely for adults, I was excited to see a couple of my favorite kidlit authors, Catherynne Valente and Kelly Barnhill, represented. I was also thrilled to discover writers like Nalo Hopkinson and Hiromi Goto.
Some of the stories are familiar, like "The Screwfly Solution" and "The Evening and the Morning and the Night," but these are woven artfully among others arranged so that stories "speak" to one another across time and space. I loved the combination of styles: a journalist's "report" ("The Forbidden Words of Margaret A." by L. Timmel Duchamp) horror, surrealism, sci-fi (Elisabeth Vonarburg's great reimagining of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep), sword-and-sorcery, fairy tales, and more.
The strains of feminism are diverse too, with varying degrees of satire, uplifting hear-me-roar grrl power, and horror-filled dystopian warnings. These stories represent women of different cultures, ages, sexual orientations--even species. Each selection is delightful reading and a thoughtful commentary on women's roles in society. These are stick-to-you stories. I know that Susan Palwick's "Gestella," about a werewolf in love, will haunt me.
Highly recommend this book, and I can't wait to dig further into the oeuvre of many of these writers.
Special shout-out to publisher PM Press, an amazing, socially conscious publishing organization out of Oakland. Looking forward to exploring their collection further, too!
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Book Review: The Hate U Give
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Labels:
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Thursday, February 9, 2017
Book review: March
Happy African-American History Month!
To celebrate, check out the #1 New York Times and Washington Post Bestseller March by John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, and Nate Powell, winner of:
Is this the same Rep. John Lewis our president recently derided as "all talk...no action or results"? Yes, it is.
As this graphic novel trilogy artistically demonstrates, John Lewis's legacy of action and results began with the Civil Rights Movement, when he was a college student. All three volumes flash between Lewis's participation in President Obama's Inauguration Day in 2009 and Lewis's recollections of his experiences as a young black man in America in the early 1960s, making the first black president's inauguration all the more profound.
Powell's black-and-white illustrations capture emotion and action cinematically, bringing scenes and individuals to vivid life. Lewis and Aydin write matter-of-factly, sticking close to events as they happened from Lewis's inside perspective. Yet the inherent drama--whether a SNCC meeting or a violent conflict with police--keeps pages turning, even if you think you know Civil Rights history.
The book's tone echoes the tenets of nonviolent civil disobedience. The calm, factual rendering of each situation contrasts sharply with the irrational absurdity of the violence and rhetoric against the demonstrators. Who are the "bad guys" here, those steadfastly protesting unjust laws and accepting prison stays, or those hysterically screaming, hosing, beating, and killing people to defend the status quo?
Insane as the words and deeds of people like sheriff Jim Clark, governor George Wallace, and even President Lyndon Johnson ("You've gotta get 'em by the balls and you gotta squeeze!") seem--officials covering the murders of activists' bodies, beating activists in jail, assaulting unarmed marchers--readers will draw parallels to current events.
March serves as a reminder of what the "good old days" were actually like for millions of Americans.
It also offers inspiration for those working for further reform and change to ensure that all Americans are truly equal and free.
I highly recommend this collection for readers age 13 and up. The language and violence--while accurate and effective--may be too challenging for children younger than 8th grade to truly understand, and the heroic acts may be too complex for young kids to appreciate.
That said, I hope that families, classrooms, and book clubs will read and talk about March (and John Lewis) as we honor heroes of our recent past--with the intention of encouraging heroes for the near future.
To celebrate, check out the #1 New York Times and Washington Post Bestseller March by John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, and Nate Powell, winner of:
- National Book Award for Young People's Literature
- Coretta Scott King (Author) Book Award, which recognizes an African American author of a book for kids
- Michael L. Printz Award for excellence in young-adult literature
- Robert F. Sibert Informational Book Award
- YALSA Award for excellence in young-adult nonfiction
- Robert F. Kennedy Book Award
- Eisner Award
- One of YALSA's Outstanding Books for the College Bound
- One of Reader's Digest's Graphic Novels Every Grown-Up Should Read
Is this the same Rep. John Lewis our president recently derided as "all talk...no action or results"? Yes, it is.
As this graphic novel trilogy artistically demonstrates, John Lewis's legacy of action and results began with the Civil Rights Movement, when he was a college student. All three volumes flash between Lewis's participation in President Obama's Inauguration Day in 2009 and Lewis's recollections of his experiences as a young black man in America in the early 1960s, making the first black president's inauguration all the more profound.
- In Book 1, Lewis describes his childhood in rural Alabama during Jim Crow, his desire to grow up to be a preacher, and how meeting Martin Luther King Jr. influenced his participation in the Nashville Student Movement's lunch counter sit-ins.
- Book 2 begins in Nashville, 1960, as nonviolent sit-ins are met with both success and increasingly violent response. The Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) works with other Civil Rights leaders and groups to organize Freedom Rides, actively demonstrating for integration. The book ends with the 1963 March on Washington.
- Book 3 begins with the horrific bombing of a church in Birmingham in September 1963. Civil Rights leaders, activists, and supporters are mobilized, but the accompanying rise in violence divides even as it galvanizes. Stakes continue to rise as people suffer and die. The book culminates in the historic Selma to Montgomery marches. It ends, after a long, difficult road, with the passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act.
Powell's black-and-white illustrations capture emotion and action cinematically, bringing scenes and individuals to vivid life. Lewis and Aydin write matter-of-factly, sticking close to events as they happened from Lewis's inside perspective. Yet the inherent drama--whether a SNCC meeting or a violent conflict with police--keeps pages turning, even if you think you know Civil Rights history.
The book's tone echoes the tenets of nonviolent civil disobedience. The calm, factual rendering of each situation contrasts sharply with the irrational absurdity of the violence and rhetoric against the demonstrators. Who are the "bad guys" here, those steadfastly protesting unjust laws and accepting prison stays, or those hysterically screaming, hosing, beating, and killing people to defend the status quo?
Insane as the words and deeds of people like sheriff Jim Clark, governor George Wallace, and even President Lyndon Johnson ("You've gotta get 'em by the balls and you gotta squeeze!") seem--officials covering the murders of activists' bodies, beating activists in jail, assaulting unarmed marchers--readers will draw parallels to current events.
March serves as a reminder of what the "good old days" were actually like for millions of Americans.
It also offers inspiration for those working for further reform and change to ensure that all Americans are truly equal and free.
I highly recommend this collection for readers age 13 and up. The language and violence--while accurate and effective--may be too challenging for children younger than 8th grade to truly understand, and the heroic acts may be too complex for young kids to appreciate.
That said, I hope that families, classrooms, and book clubs will read and talk about March (and John Lewis) as we honor heroes of our recent past--with the intention of encouraging heroes for the near future.
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Short review: Shirley Jackson biography
I just finished Ruth Franklin's marvelous biography Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life, which would make a great gift for
writer-mamas.
Best known for her short story "The Lottery," Jackson wrote six novels--one of which was nominated for a National Book Award and another made into a movie--five story collections, four children's books, and two hugely popular comic memoirs about her family. She managed all of that while raising four children in the 1940s, '50s, and '60s with little support from her husband--in fact, her writing income supported the family for many years. (Her advice? Do less housework.)
Franklin engagingly weaves aspects of Jackson's personal life with summaries of her work and its critical reception. I particularly enjoyed the head-scratching from critics who didn't understand how the same writer could publish funny stories about her kids and literary fiction that explores the human capacity for evil.
Fascinating and inspiring, Franklin's book ought to reinvigorate interest in Jackson's work; her titles are on my wish list! (I'm already obsessed with We Have Always Lived in the Castle... just look at that cover!)
Best known for her short story "The Lottery," Jackson wrote six novels--one of which was nominated for a National Book Award and another made into a movie--five story collections, four children's books, and two hugely popular comic memoirs about her family. She managed all of that while raising four children in the 1940s, '50s, and '60s with little support from her husband--in fact, her writing income supported the family for many years. (Her advice? Do less housework.)
Franklin engagingly weaves aspects of Jackson's personal life with summaries of her work and its critical reception. I particularly enjoyed the head-scratching from critics who didn't understand how the same writer could publish funny stories about her kids and literary fiction that explores the human capacity for evil.
Fascinating and inspiring, Franklin's book ought to reinvigorate interest in Jackson's work; her titles are on my wish list! (I'm already obsessed with We Have Always Lived in the Castle... just look at that cover!)
Labels:
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Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Books, books, books
Checked out a stack of recent goodies from the library...
Looking forward to settling in with a cup of tea and Mom's crocheted afghan! (I'll let you know which ones keep me up all night...)
Looking forward to settling in with a cup of tea and Mom's crocheted afghan! (I'll let you know which ones keep me up all night...)
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Post-election review: Boxers and Saints
Today, when our country feels so divided, I’m gonna
recommend a good book. Actually, two: a pair of YA graphic novels that tell the
same story from two opposing perspectives.
Gene Luen Yang’s Boxers and Saints, a 2013 National Book Award Finalist, can be read in either order; I read Boxers first. Set in Northern Shan-tung Province, China, in 1894, Little
Bao loves spring in his village because the festivals feature operas that
convey stories of gods and heroes through costumes and music.
But when foreign missionaries and soldiers begin bullying
and robbing Chinese peasants, Little Bao’s brothers begin to train in kung fu
with Red Lantern Chu—and so does Little Bao, in secret. Over time, Little Bao
gains the ability to harness the powers of Chinese gods as he assembles a
people’s army to free China from “foreign devils”: the real-life Boxer Rebellion.
Battle scenes are gorgeously rendered, vivid and violent,
with gods and humans engaged simultaneously. Yet Yang also demonstrates Bao’s
growing unease as he recognizes the humanity of the people he’s killing. Bao
must make increasingly awful decisions: what should he, as the army leader, do
about Chinese peasants who have converted to the foreign religion? Is the “glory
of China” worth killing innocents for?
In the other volume, Saints,
a young girl grows up unappreciated and unwanted—her family doesn’t even bother
giving her a name, calling her Four-Girl because she is the fourth daughter.
Her vibrant personality makes her sympathetic and lovable—even when she decides
that she might as well be evil.
When she’s 8 years old, Four-Girl is taken to a Christian
healer because she keeps making a face like a horrible mask. Dr. and Mrs. Wan
treat Four-Girl well, telling her stories about Christianity. Four-Girl begins to
have visions of Joan of Arc, who encourages Four-Girl to believe in something
bigger than herself.
Finally finding a place where she belongs, Four-Girl chooses
a name—Vibiana—when she converts to Christianity and leaves her family. Anyone who
has created their own family or found a new home will relate to Vibiana’s
newfound peace, as well as her struggles to simultaneously embrace and leave her past.
But the Boxer Rebellion is underway, with young men (and
women) throughout the countryside murdering Westerners and Chinese Christians
alike. It’s fascinating to see the same characters—heroes in Boxers—as villains to Vibiana and her
friends. Vibiana has friends and family on both sides of the conflict. Although
she admires Joan of Arc’s sacrifices, Vibiana is unsure: can she give her life
for a cause? And if she does, which does she choose, her country or her faith?
By portraying both sides of a historical conflict, Yang shows
that there are no “good guys/bad guys”; it’s all perspective. He humanizes
people trapped on both sides, demonstrating that the lines between them are blurred.
I found this pair of books engaging, diverting, and hopeful
as our country attempts to resolve its differences. They reminded me that we may be
more alike than we think, if we can see each other as individuals with hopes and dreams for our futures.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Spooky book review: Hoodoo
What's worse than being six years old and too sick for trick-or-treating on Halloween? Not much.
My youngest is home with a fever today, and between Dan TDM videos (Minecraft fans know what I'm talking about), we're reading spooky books.
Ronald L. Smith's Hoodoo is a little intense for a six-year-old; I'd say it's geared for 10 and up. And it's creepy as all get-out, so make sure your reader likes a good, scary story.
Twelve-year-old Hoodoo Hatcher lives with his grandmother, Mama Frances, in a small Alabama town in the 1930s, conveyed through Hoodoo's wonderful voice and observations: "Supposedly [my daddy] went and put a curse on a man in Tuscaloosa County, but I didn't believe that. I didn't think I'd ever know the real truth."
Mysteries surround Hoodoo. He comes from a family that practices "folk magick," but he's never shown any abilities, despite the heart-shaped birthmark on his cheek that inspired his name: "That child is marked. He got hoodoo in him." Yet suddenly a Stranger is after him, growling strange things about "The One That Did the Deed."
As Hoodoo's nightmares start to affect the waking world, Hoodoo needs to solve mysteries: What does the Stranger want? And how is his father mixed up in it? When Mama Frances and Pa Manuel finally tell him the truth, Hoodoo must learn some serious magic fast, or his entire family--and his town--will be destroyed.
This is a real page-turner, and Smith creates an immersive world where the line between natural and supernatural is believably thin. Hoodoo and the other characters are warm, loving, and funny, overcoming their flaws in interesting (and sometimes heartbreaking) ways. Hoodoo learns about bravery, loyalty, self-sufficiency, and family bonds by the satisfying conclusion.
I'd recommend this for older fans of Goosebumps, the later Harry Potter books, and other scary titles. Sad and frightening things happen in the story; characters kill and die. It's not for sensitive readers. But this is a great, thrilling read. It's such an immersive experience that I found myself jumping at noises in the dark!
Worthwhile, especially for a dark and stormy Halloween night.
My youngest is home with a fever today, and between Dan TDM videos (Minecraft fans know what I'm talking about), we're reading spooky books.
Ronald L. Smith's Hoodoo is a little intense for a six-year-old; I'd say it's geared for 10 and up. And it's creepy as all get-out, so make sure your reader likes a good, scary story.
Twelve-year-old Hoodoo Hatcher lives with his grandmother, Mama Frances, in a small Alabama town in the 1930s, conveyed through Hoodoo's wonderful voice and observations: "Supposedly [my daddy] went and put a curse on a man in Tuscaloosa County, but I didn't believe that. I didn't think I'd ever know the real truth."
Mysteries surround Hoodoo. He comes from a family that practices "folk magick," but he's never shown any abilities, despite the heart-shaped birthmark on his cheek that inspired his name: "That child is marked. He got hoodoo in him." Yet suddenly a Stranger is after him, growling strange things about "The One That Did the Deed."
As Hoodoo's nightmares start to affect the waking world, Hoodoo needs to solve mysteries: What does the Stranger want? And how is his father mixed up in it? When Mama Frances and Pa Manuel finally tell him the truth, Hoodoo must learn some serious magic fast, or his entire family--and his town--will be destroyed.
This is a real page-turner, and Smith creates an immersive world where the line between natural and supernatural is believably thin. Hoodoo and the other characters are warm, loving, and funny, overcoming their flaws in interesting (and sometimes heartbreaking) ways. Hoodoo learns about bravery, loyalty, self-sufficiency, and family bonds by the satisfying conclusion.
I'd recommend this for older fans of Goosebumps, the later Harry Potter books, and other scary titles. Sad and frightening things happen in the story; characters kill and die. It's not for sensitive readers. But this is a great, thrilling read. It's such an immersive experience that I found myself jumping at noises in the dark!
Worthwhile, especially for a dark and stormy Halloween night.
Labels:
book review,
children's books,
diverse books,
kidlit,
literature
Friday, October 28, 2016
Socially conscious kidlit
A recent New Yorker piece got me thinking about how we define "good" kidlit.
Using Goosebumps books as an example, the New Yorker author questions whether financial success, awards, psychological value, or popularity makes a book "good"--by which he means lasting, rereadable, culture-changing "literature."
I found his discussion of "socially conscious" children's books particularly interesting. There seems to be a resurgence in content-driven kids' books with Important Messages for Children. Perhaps this trend is a long-overdue response to the lack of diversity in children's literature.
Many of the books I'm reading lately are excellent: beautiful images, artistic language, powerful messages. I'm proud to share them with kids, and I'm glad the books are getting attention in the world of kidlit.
Of course, now I want more. I'm looking for books from diverse perspectives that aren't explicitly about identity, race, or social status. I'm on a quest for science fiction, slipstream, fantasy, action, and humor that bucks the tradition of white, middle-class, cisgender, able-bodied characters as the norm.
Any suggestions?
Using Goosebumps books as an example, the New Yorker author questions whether financial success, awards, psychological value, or popularity makes a book "good"--by which he means lasting, rereadable, culture-changing "literature."
I found his discussion of "socially conscious" children's books particularly interesting. There seems to be a resurgence in content-driven kids' books with Important Messages for Children. Perhaps this trend is a long-overdue response to the lack of diversity in children's literature.
Many of the books I'm reading lately are excellent: beautiful images, artistic language, powerful messages. I'm proud to share them with kids, and I'm glad the books are getting attention in the world of kidlit.
Of course, now I want more. I'm looking for books from diverse perspectives that aren't explicitly about identity, race, or social status. I'm on a quest for science fiction, slipstream, fantasy, action, and humor that bucks the tradition of white, middle-class, cisgender, able-bodied characters as the norm.
Any suggestions?
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Review: Poetry for Kids: Emily Dickinson
I was lucky enough to snag a copy of the gorgeous, brand-new Poetryfor Kids: Emily Dickinson from Quarto Publishing. If you love poetry and art--or heck, just appreciate thoughtful contemplation of the seasons--check out this book.
Divided into seasons, 35 of
Dickinson’s nature poems edited by Dickinson expert Susan Snively dance among beautiful ink-and-watercolor illustrations by Christine Davenier.
Classics such as “Hope is the thing with feathers” and “There’s a certain slant
of light,” as well as lesser-known poems, are celebrated with bright, lively flowers,
insects, birds, and children dancing, reading, cloud-gazing, and running in
tall grass (while a snake slithers in the foreground); my only complaint would
be the lack of people of color in the paintings with human characters.
Definitions
of challenging words, such as “troubadour” or “pensive,” appear in unobtrusive,
italicized text near the bottom of each page (thank goodness poems are not
marred with asterisks).
At the end of the book, two pages titled “What Emily
Was Thinking” offer short summaries of each poem, providing not only context (“A
cricket’s song helps the sun finish its daily work”) but also simple
explanations about how the poem’s craft affects our understanding (“The poem’s
gentle rhymes…create a hymn of farewell”).
This lovely book, a wonderful gift
for budding poets, is also appealing for teachers to encourage students’ careful
observation and inspiration to write—and paint—our world.
Labels:
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Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Review: Brown Girl Dreaming
How did I not know that Jacqueline Woodson's Brown Girl Dreaming was a book in verse?!
Highly awarded, this memoir (in verse!) describes the author's childhood in the 1960's and '70s in Iowa, South Carolina, and Brooklyn. Woodson paints portraits of places and people with spare-yet-lush poetic language. Each poem could stand alone, some moreso than others. Together, they offer a prismatic collection of memories crafted into a gorgeous merging of form and subject.
Beginning with the day she is born, Woodson introduces a marvelous voice: an adult Jacqueline who knows things the infant Jacqueline couldn't know. Yet later poems are imbued with a childlike quality that allows the reader to hear the young Jacqueline's adoration of her grandfather, confusion at moving from her beloved South Carolina, and wonder at her ability to tell, and later write, the stories that pour out of her.
Born in Iowa to a mother who misses her family in South Carolina and a father who can trace his family's heritage to a son of Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings, Woodson sets her narrative firmly in a historical continuum. The second poem describes Martin Luther King, Jr., planning his march in Birmingham, John F. Kennedy as president, and Malcolm X "standing on a soapbox / talking about revolution."
Without going into much grown-up detail--the narrative stays close to what the child Jacqueline knows and experiences--Jacqueline's mother leaves her father and takes the three children to South Carolina to live with their grandparents. In a big house in a small town, their grandfather--who the children soon call Daddy--is a supervisor at a printing press who loves to garden and their grandmother teaches part time and takes on "daywork" cleaning white people's houses.
The Civil Rights movement is a constant. In "south carolina at war," young Jacqueline describes "teenagers...sitting / where brown people still aren't allowed to sit / and getting carried out, their bodies limp, / their faces calm." In another poem, their mother participates in "the training," where demonstrators learn nonviolent techniques:
When Jacqueline's mother leaves for New York, where an aunt and other family lives, the children ache for her return while reveling in their grandparents' love. Returning from her second trip with a new baby brother in tow, the mother and four children move to New York, eventually settling in Brooklyn near an aunt, an uncle, and friends from South Carolina. Still, the children feel torn between worlds: North and South, urban and rural, parent and grandparents.
Bit by bit, Jacqueline finds her talent despite feeling overshadowed by her brilliant older sister and brother and "the new baby." Although sad events take place, Woodson handles them with tenderness and gentle honesty, never getting too deeply into the world that the adults must be experiencing yet remaining clear-eyed. This child-focus makes for a YA-appropriate portrayal of a girl coming of age surrounded by a loving family in a time of tremendous change.
A portrait of the artist as a young girl, inspirational for all ages.
Highly awarded, this memoir (in verse!) describes the author's childhood in the 1960's and '70s in Iowa, South Carolina, and Brooklyn. Woodson paints portraits of places and people with spare-yet-lush poetic language. Each poem could stand alone, some moreso than others. Together, they offer a prismatic collection of memories crafted into a gorgeous merging of form and subject.
Beginning with the day she is born, Woodson introduces a marvelous voice: an adult Jacqueline who knows things the infant Jacqueline couldn't know. Yet later poems are imbued with a childlike quality that allows the reader to hear the young Jacqueline's adoration of her grandfather, confusion at moving from her beloved South Carolina, and wonder at her ability to tell, and later write, the stories that pour out of her.
Born in Iowa to a mother who misses her family in South Carolina and a father who can trace his family's heritage to a son of Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings, Woodson sets her narrative firmly in a historical continuum. The second poem describes Martin Luther King, Jr., planning his march in Birmingham, John F. Kennedy as president, and Malcolm X "standing on a soapbox / talking about revolution."
Without going into much grown-up detail--the narrative stays close to what the child Jacqueline knows and experiences--Jacqueline's mother leaves her father and takes the three children to South Carolina to live with their grandparents. In a big house in a small town, their grandfather--who the children soon call Daddy--is a supervisor at a printing press who loves to garden and their grandmother teaches part time and takes on "daywork" cleaning white people's houses.
The Civil Rights movement is a constant. In "south carolina at war," young Jacqueline describes "teenagers...sitting / where brown people still aren't allowed to sit / and getting carried out, their bodies limp, / their faces calm." In another poem, their mother participates in "the training," where demonstrators learn nonviolent techniques:
How to sit at counters and be cursed atLittle Jacqueline absorbs the quiet determination and bravery of her family and community as she learns to write her name and have her hair pressed in her grandmother's kitchen. Woodson balances a child's preoccupations with the grown-up world's slow progress, creating a textured narrative that works on multiple levels.
without cursing back, have food and drinks poured
over them without standing up and hurting someone.
Even the teenagers
get trained to sit tall, not cry, swallow back fear.
When Jacqueline's mother leaves for New York, where an aunt and other family lives, the children ache for her return while reveling in their grandparents' love. Returning from her second trip with a new baby brother in tow, the mother and four children move to New York, eventually settling in Brooklyn near an aunt, an uncle, and friends from South Carolina. Still, the children feel torn between worlds: North and South, urban and rural, parent and grandparents.
Bit by bit, Jacqueline finds her talent despite feeling overshadowed by her brilliant older sister and brother and "the new baby." Although sad events take place, Woodson handles them with tenderness and gentle honesty, never getting too deeply into the world that the adults must be experiencing yet remaining clear-eyed. This child-focus makes for a YA-appropriate portrayal of a girl coming of age surrounded by a loving family in a time of tremendous change.
A portrait of the artist as a young girl, inspirational for all ages.
Labels:
book review,
children's books,
kidlit,
literature,
poetry,
poetry review,
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Monday, October 3, 2016
Review: The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
It's been a while since I've read a book for adults, and Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle had me rubbing my eyes. Some things you can't unsee.
I recently encountered the term slipstream, fiction that crosses boundaries of sci-fi, fantasy, and literary fiction, or "the fiction of strangeness." The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle fits that bill. It reminded me of magical realist books that explore a moment in history, such as Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude or Roy's The God of Small Things. Unlike those novels, however, I felt lost and a little annoyed with Wind-Up Bird. More of a mashup of Camus' The Stranger and Burroughs' Naked Lunch, this novel lingers between existentialism and surrealism, finding meaning--and escape--in the bottom of a dry well.
Strange things happen to Toru Okada. He wants only a quiet life with his wife Kumiko, but when their cat disappears, Toru--having recently quit his job--is tasked with spending his days finding it. Soon he begins receiving mysterious phone calls, meeting strange people, and exploring an abandoned house at the end of the street, known as the "Hanging House" because of the awful ways the family died.
A sense of ennui and foreboding surround each odd interaction, from retrieving the laundry to chatting with teenage May down the block. This subtle sense of disparate elements building toward something kept me reading, but Toru Okada is a difficult character to care about. Languid and aimless, he drifts along, listening to the bizarre stories of the people he meets and quietly struggling to make sense of the nonsensical. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there about modern society ignoring a spiritual and historical past it doesn't want to remember. But I found myself distanced and frustrated.
Mysteries deepen when Kumiko disappears and Toru is pulled into a world of surreal psychic phenomena, including a "prostitute of the mind" and a politician with a false face (surprise!). The story is bizarre enough that I wanted to know how everything came together, and I wasn't disappointed by the ending, though I did feel as though I wasn't quite "getting it" when reality and dream-reality finally collide.
I was turned off by some of the explicit violence, most of which occurs as part of elderly Lieutenant Mamiya's stories about his service during the Japanese occupation of Manchukuo before WWII. This seems to be the history modern Japan hopes to sweep under the carpet, but its horrors won't go away easily. And now they're in my head, too.
By all accounts, Wind-Up Bird is a revered work of literary fiction by a modern genius. I had high hopes when I picked it up. Unfortunately, its combination of existential detachment and detailed gruesomeness didn't speak to me as a reader.
I recently encountered the term slipstream, fiction that crosses boundaries of sci-fi, fantasy, and literary fiction, or "the fiction of strangeness." The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle fits that bill. It reminded me of magical realist books that explore a moment in history, such as Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude or Roy's The God of Small Things. Unlike those novels, however, I felt lost and a little annoyed with Wind-Up Bird. More of a mashup of Camus' The Stranger and Burroughs' Naked Lunch, this novel lingers between existentialism and surrealism, finding meaning--and escape--in the bottom of a dry well.
Strange things happen to Toru Okada. He wants only a quiet life with his wife Kumiko, but when their cat disappears, Toru--having recently quit his job--is tasked with spending his days finding it. Soon he begins receiving mysterious phone calls, meeting strange people, and exploring an abandoned house at the end of the street, known as the "Hanging House" because of the awful ways the family died.
A sense of ennui and foreboding surround each odd interaction, from retrieving the laundry to chatting with teenage May down the block. This subtle sense of disparate elements building toward something kept me reading, but Toru Okada is a difficult character to care about. Languid and aimless, he drifts along, listening to the bizarre stories of the people he meets and quietly struggling to make sense of the nonsensical. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there about modern society ignoring a spiritual and historical past it doesn't want to remember. But I found myself distanced and frustrated.
Mysteries deepen when Kumiko disappears and Toru is pulled into a world of surreal psychic phenomena, including a "prostitute of the mind" and a politician with a false face (surprise!). The story is bizarre enough that I wanted to know how everything came together, and I wasn't disappointed by the ending, though I did feel as though I wasn't quite "getting it" when reality and dream-reality finally collide.
I was turned off by some of the explicit violence, most of which occurs as part of elderly Lieutenant Mamiya's stories about his service during the Japanese occupation of Manchukuo before WWII. This seems to be the history modern Japan hopes to sweep under the carpet, but its horrors won't go away easily. And now they're in my head, too.
By all accounts, Wind-Up Bird is a revered work of literary fiction by a modern genius. I had high hopes when I picked it up. Unfortunately, its combination of existential detachment and detailed gruesomeness didn't speak to me as a reader.
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