Fourth post!

               Wow. McCormick's Sold was awesome in a painful, moving way. I am stunned at the depth and complexity of this simple-in-format text. While perhaps seemingly simple in structure and language, the breadth of emotion embedded within is breath-taking to me. Wow squared. I am all at the same time touched, appalled, disgusted, angry, sorrowful, moved, and blown away by the humanity of this piece. It literally hurts to think about the story within, but it hurts necessarily, and ultimately, for good, I hope. I have always struggled reading stuff about people hurting people because of an overwrought superhero complex I carry in my chest. When I read such things, I want to fix them.

                However, I can't fix it. So, instead I read it and have to "accept" it for what it is: humanity's ugly. It never ceases to surprise me how little one human life is actually worth in the world. 10,000 rupees, right? Well, at least to Mumtaz. Lakshmi was worth even less to her stepfather. While I get the perceived economics of male vs. female child in underdeveloped societies, I don't get the inherent inhumanity of it. I'd like to chalk it up to lack of education, but sometimes it's just ugly? With a global population fast approaching nine billion, how do we ensure people are valued more and not less? I don't know.

                Sold was hard to read for its themes but beautiful in its poetic language and imagery. I liked the series of vignettes as opposed to straight prose. It seemed to fit the consciousness of her character. Her constructions were simple, but the depth and complexity beneath suggested an illuminated fullness. For example, the last lines nearly bowled me over emotionally: "My name is Lakshmi, " I say./"I am from Nepal./I am fourteen years old." These simple words belied the aching facts behind them, and as a repeated element, it worked like gangbusters for me as an ending pang. McCormick created a memorable and masterful ending. Heck, she created a memorable and masterful read, period. The format allowed for a fast reading, yet it was easily broken into smaller sessions for me.  I was able to read some, put it down for a bit, and then return with little or no time spent "reinserting" myself into the narrative. I liked that.

                For the most part, I am left feeling haunted by this book somewhat, and some of the stuff I sort of wish I didn't have in my head currently. The chili pepper punishment is surely something that will haunt me for a good while. I am continually shocked at how cruel we can be to each other as humans, and this adds more proof I won't soon become numb to shock.

                I am glad Lakshmi was saved in the end, but I feel somewhat hollow knowing she is mostly an exception and not the rule. And sad.

Third post!

          I thoroughly enjoyed reading Joyful Noise. It was fun, lyrical, and presented an auditory excursion into YA poetry. It made a joyful noise (please forgive this digression, as you’ve probably read this play on words way too many times…) in my ears. I found myself wanting a reading partner while I was reading, and I actually tried to include another voice in my head to create the effect by myself. It didn’t work very well, but I tried. I could see how the act of reading the poems with someone else would not only create a common bond among the readers but also invigorate the words with a shared aural context. I feel I may have missed out on some of the good stuff in the text.

            I found Mayflies to be particularly good. The imagery was solid, and I enjoyed the complexity inherent in the text. The concept of death is intimately linked to the life cycle of the mayfly, and I thought the poem did a nice job of illuminating this fact. It was tragic, sad, and almost tactile for me. The sense of time, or perhaps the lack of time, was pervasive in the piece. It reminded me of a rock ballad. I kept thinking of Jack and Diane…except they were bugs.

            I was also quite taken with the liberal use of alliteration and onomatopoeia in all of the poems present in Joyful Noise. The liberal use of simple and straightforward rhyme schemes and the special attention given to how the words sound made reading this brief book a joy. Once again, I wanted to “play” with the book with a friend.

            The love story entombed in Book Lice was cute, while the plight of the poor Moth just made me feel a keen sense of melodrama. I felt this same sense of over-the-top melodrama with The Digger Wasp. I’m not saying that I thought these particular poems were weak, but they didn’t speak to me like others did. I enjoyed the humor in Honeybees. It was an interesting contrast between the queen and the workers. I’ve often pondered what it would be like to be a worker bee, and whether or not I would resent the queen. This poem did a nice job of exploring that particular question for me.

            Whirligig Beetles just wrapped me up. I really wanted a reading partner for this poem. It would have been fun to practice this poem with a partner until you could rattle it off really fast and then wait behind something to jump out and unleash this poem on some unsuspecting bystander. It felt like bug-rap.

            Requiem just depressed me. I felt bad for all of the bugs that die in the first frost of the season. The ‘rest eternal’ part made me groan a bit. I felt like I should hold hands with someone and sing Kum-ba-ya. I wanted to reach for the dust to dust and ashes to ashes bit. It was a bit over the top for me, but I don’t tend to get sappy about bugs too often.

            I really enjoyed Chrysalis Diary. It stands out as one of the better poems in the book for me. I think it incorporates everything that I enjoyed from before: alliteration, onomatopoeia, solid imagery, and images of snow—I’m a sucker for poems that refer to snow. I have written many poems about snow in my day, and there is just something about a poem that incorporates the changing seasons, the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butterfly—it’s rich with inherent symbolism and depth of meaning. Know what I mean, Vern?

            Overall, Joyful Noise was thoroughly enjoyable for me. I liked it immensely. I must reiterate: I wanted to find a playmate to play with me in the text. Fleischman did a great job of creating a work that not only invites, but requires, readers to work together to extrapolate the full benefit, meaning, and experience of the text. It rocked the bug-house.

Second post!

          Well, I tried to like looking for alaska by John Green, but ultimately, I was unable to appreciate much for a variety of reasons. I'm disappointed in my inability to have noticed what made this book a Printz Award winner, but the fact for me remains I found the book to be lacking for precisely the same reasons it was lauded by Kirkus Reviews on the back cover of my edition: "What sings and soars in this gorgeously told tale is Green's mastery of language and the sweet, rough edges of Pudge's voice. Girls will cry and boys will find love, lust, loss and longing in Alaska's vanilla-and-cigarettes scent." I disagree.

            I found the singing flat, and instead of flying, there was some hopping about interspersed with a little leaping, perhaps. The language felt contrived and forced, especially when the "locals" talked. Pudge's voice was often uneven for me. One minute he was an astute, wise-beyond-his-years kid, and the next he didn't know what a blowjob was? Yeah, right. I'm not sure if girls will cry or boys will find lust--scratch that, teenage boys find lust in taking out the garbage--but they will surely start smoking cigarettes by the end of this book.

            So, I found the tale sort of boring and predictable, and there wasn't much spectacularly memorable about any of the characters for me. They were stock character designs, really, and I had a hard time believing them. Whereas in Alexie's book, I bought his truth, here Green leaves me flat. The only character I truly liked was the Old Man, but even he didn't get a fair shake, in my opinion, and in the end did something so completely out of character by assigning Alaska's question, that I lost even that connection. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, for some reason, Green's text did not allow me to suspend my disbelief and fully engage with his novel.

            The language felt contrived to me. When Green slipped from voice to voice, it was not fluid for me, and rather, it seemed herky-jerky and lacked honesty. The "y'alls" were supposed to function as a delineator between the "teen speak" and the "adult speak" in some ways, and it didn't work for me. It was too obvious. It wasn't "au natural" the way good dialogue rolls, rather it felt "au forced" to my mind's ear. I lived in the south as a kid too, and Green's language doesn't ring true for me. His caricature of Lara's accent nearly drove me from finishing the book. I've known plenty of eastern Europeans too, and while accurate, Green's display grated on my reading nerve.

            And finally, I realize adolescents are adolescents, but I don't believe Green's renditions completely. Lara and Pudge both knew what a blowjob was, and that whole sequence screamed "tacked-on to further clarify Alaska's importance to the group..." Ugh. And what's with all the drinking, smoking, and yakking about the same shit over and over and over again? I felt like I was reading the same reworked dialogue in different contexts at times. Some stuff felt over-presented and other stuff under-presented, like the pranking-planning by the Colonel. That last prank was so lame, my lame-o-meter went haywire and nearly broke into a million pieces. Sigh.

            Apologies, but I tried to like this book, I really did. However, I found it to be trite and contrived, lacking authenticity, and the story fell flat for me. The language didn't work. The characters were not real for me. And ultimately, I was unable to suspend my disbelief enough to buy what Green was selling.

First post!

            The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian was one hell of a ride. I wasn't sure what to expect when I picked it up, but I was instantly drawn in. The voice was so strong I was "inhaled" by this book. All too quickly, I was immersed in Alexie's page-turner and was almost unable to put it down. It read like candy, if that's possible. Candy for the soul. I was blown away, really. I laughed, was shocked, and even teared-up more than once. I love it when a book plays the strings of my emotions. When my emotions come suddenly and fiercely while reading I know I'm reading something excellent. Grazie, Mr. Alexie.

            Several aspects of this book linger with me as I type this: 1) The language; 2) The candor; 3) The complexity of issues raised; and 4) The sheer exuberance of the style. First, the language is familiar and colloquial, and rolls around the pages in the vernacular of teenagers easily and fluidly. I felt like I was in the head of a bright teenager wise beyond his years. Arnold Spirit used language that was funny and shocked me, but then again, when I really think about it, that is how I talked at that age. Most of the words are the same, I guess, just jazzy all 21st Century-like. Bottom-line: the language was immersive, and I bought Junior's interior monologues.

            I guess I had forgotten how brutal teenagers are. The candor in this book by this character reminded me. It was awesome and human. As much as Junior's candor made me uncomfortable at times, it rang true. As much as I don't necessarily need to be reminded of hormonal overflow, boners at inopportune moments, and gross-out humor, I remember it well, and reengaged with it quickly, maybe too quickly. I typically respond well to reading "truth" from a writer, and I always appreciate it. Truth can be ugly, but it works for me.

            Wow, did Sherman touch on some powerfully complex ideas, or what? I loved it. I am a questioner and a thinker, usually intellectually fearless, and willing to play with ideas when I read. This book rocked me in the way it illuminates issues I have always been interested in, specifically the plight of some American natives. In a simple, yet profound, way, this book speaks volumes about perception, and the way we perceive each other, and I loved it for exposing our shared humanity.

            Finally, the sheer exuberance of style Alexie utilized lingers with me most. I thought the addition of comics was compelling and effective. The words and sentences flowed like stream of consciousness in a way, and I suspect this helped me "breathe through" this book so quickly. I am amazed how deftly Sherman created the space and delivered the goods. It worked for me on so many levels, and I continue to be amazed how easily I connected with this text. The style reflects the breathless drive of the teenage mind for me, and I was engrossed from start to finish.

            So, in conclusion, this book rocked. Thanks.