The Diamond in the Window

Bedtime Stories, 10-Year-Old Edition

I recently wrote a mawkish post about reading to Chestnut and how it seemed like she was maybe getting done with it, and lo how quickly the years pass, etc. When all of a sudden, Diana started wanting some bedtime reading action.

Now, Diana has been reading her own bedtime books for about 6 years now. She'll appreciate a good read-aloud as much (or more) than the next girl, but mostly she likes to read alongside another person, reciting choice paragraphs aloud as the spirit moves her. Then without warning, this request.

The book? This:

Doesn't it look cheery? Though, to be fair, this is not the cover we have. It's a very goofy book; the central character of the trilogy—this is book two, I believe—is the very full of himself Bartimaeus. There's a lot of the seemingly inevitable snarky dialogue between characters, where toughness (particularly in female characters) seems always to be telegraphed by wise-ass commentary. It's got more than its share of magical creatures. It's got a sense of humor, though it is the sense of humor of a ten-year-old. And rightly so, of course.

My reading this aloud gives Diana a glowing pleasure that it's difficult to convey clearly. She beams over there in the bed next to me. Every time we hit one of the jokes (her favorite is one in which Bartimaeus is razzed for his lame magic-wall-building skills, with a reference to his building the walls of Jericho) she looks over at me as if to say, See? Didn't I tell you? This stuff is gold!

Reader: this is not a book meant to be read aloud. The dialogue gets confusing. The pacing is weird when read aloud. The words have uncertain pronunciations (afrit?). The plot slows down too much. And yet. And yet, I suppose, it is just the exact right thing to read aloud for someone who wants to hear it. There are many books out there that are excellent and can be thoroughly enjoyed by parent and child. This is not one of them. But then again, it sort of is. Because when kids get bigger, and they get so thoroughly captivated by something of their own, it's kind of excellent to be able to get in on it.

Reading and Boys

A commenter suggested I check out the guys read site  from John Scizseka, and I did. 

First of all, it's excellent, and I highly recommend all parents of boys, boys, and other interested parties go there at once.

I've just spent quite a bit of time writing a long post about the various reasons boys might feel shut out of reading, and the possible historical and sociological roots of this, but then I realized that the only really useful thing to do, was to tell you all to go there. And, if and when possible, to let the boys—and all of us—read what they really, truly want to read. It seems to me the best possible hope we have of peace, and as much happiness as we can muster, in our time.

We Recommend: Christian Themes?

Yet another We Recommend. If you would like a book recommended, just e-mail us at thediamondinthewindow@gmail.com with the child's name, background, books liked, anything else in the world you can tell us, and we will try to come up with something!

When I got an email asking if I had any book suggestions for chapter books that addressed Christian themes, I was taken aback. I'm Jewish. I have a deep-seated, if not entirely accurate sense that most books are Christian themed by default in our culture. But trying to think about it further, when I read the request more carefully, I realized I didn't have an easy answer for this writer. Here's what she said:

My daughter is almost eight and a big reader. Mysteries are her favorite, but she also likes Ramona, Judy Moody and American Girl books. I was wondering if you had recommendations for chapter books with Christian themes? Not as the main focus of the book necessarily, but characters who pray and go to church and maybe face some issues of right and wrong. My daughter has First Communion coming up this year, and I would like to find some literary characters (preferably a series) that have some kind of faith life. Thanks!!!

So I thought and I thought. It's one thing be the default framework of a culture; it's another to be true to it, particularly in its full meaning. Communication with God. Churches. Praying. Moral guidance. I normally shy away from books I see as explicitly giving a message, but it didn't have to be that, did it? So I did what I do when I am deeply confused. I went to my eight-year-old and explained the situation.

"I know," Chestnut said with a certain affecting earnest seriousness that just kills me. "The Courage of Sarah Noble."

This book is a little bit complicated in a few ways: there is the handling of "Indians!" and their strange ways, and the issues of colonialism and proselytizing. But that is, of course, part of our history here in the U.S., so it makes sense to talk about it. Chestnut referred me to "the part where she's alone in the woods, and the Indians come surround her, and she is so scared and she doesn't know what to do, so she thinks about God and what she read in the bible the night before, and it helps her know how to act."

This was a challenging request for me, but we tried to handle it as thoughtfully and respectfully as we could. Maybe the rest of you have excellent ideas?

Lame No More!

I left my wallet home today. I didn't manage to get the treats I made to the 5th grade bake sale. I spaced out informing you about Wendy Raven McNair's Borders reading/book signing on October 17. And oops, there was a reading at Brooklyn College for all you NYC readers that was, oh, on October 26. Two days ago.

NO MORE! I am going to pull it all together, from here on in, by

1) posting on readings etc THE DAY I GET THEM.

2) setting up some alarm or other on my gmail (it must be possible, right?) to remind me close to the actual date so I can let you all know about the events when they happen.

In honor of my intentions (let's hope they're not paving the way to hell), here is another reading at Brooklyn College that sounds pretty great. Upcoming! Not already happened! Check it out, if you can, and always feel free to e-mail me here to let me know about readings and other children's literature events.

REBECCA STEAD
Monday, November 16, 2:30-3:30
Woody Tanger Auditorium

Rebecca Stead will be reading from and discussing her middle grade
novel, WHEN YOU REACH ME, in which twelve-year-old Miranda tries to make
sense of a series of mysterious letters. Set in the 70s in the Upper
West Side, the novel carefully weaves in the element of fantasy, but
also beautifully portrays Miranda's efforts to understand the great
mystery of normal human behavior.

WHEN YOU REACH ME hit The New York Times bestseller list the week after
it was published (July 2009). Rebecca is also the author of FIRST LIGHT.


COE BOOTH
Wednesday, December 2, 2:30-3:30
Woody Tanger Auditorium

Coe Booth will be reading from and discussing her young adult novel,
TYRELL. Set in the South Bronx, TYRELL portrays a fifteen-year-old boy's
struggles with homelessness, romance, and his mother's efforts to turn
him into a drug dealer. TYRELL won The Los Angeles Book Prize in 2007.

Coe is a judge for the National Book Award. She has been a social worker
and teacher of creative writing in the Bronx, where she currently lives.
Her second novel, KENDRA, was published in 2008.

The Possibility of Consolation

I got a publicity email asking if I want to review Winter's Tail. And since I can't resist a good Shakespearean pun, and it was 11 at night, I said, "Sure!"
I got an email back thanking me in advance for reviewing it.
"Oops," I returned. "I can't promise to review it, I can only promise to read it and consider reviewing it."
"Fair enough," (or something like that) the next email said. And there's a giveaway. The book was on its way.
It got to my mail box this past Tuesday, where I picked it up on my way to a middle school fair, which is a herd-like gathering of nervous parents, middle school principals, lots of tri-folded promotional leaflets, and sweet 7th graders who shove the leaflets parents' hands while everyone circulates sweatily in a stifling gym and worries about the future. I jostled around with Winter's Tail weighing down my bag, then dragged it along with me on my ride home (I ran into a neighbor there), then wedged it in my armpit just a few doors down from my house. Almost home—and then I ran into another neighbor who told me something that changed the way I viewed everything: earlier that day, at our school, at pickup time, a little boy in pre K had run into the street and been hit by a car. He was going to live, but it looked like he had lost his foot.
Something like this, of course, erases everything else, because keeping one's children safe is the most important thing in the world. Nothing else matters when put next to it.
Later that night, I read the book.

Winter's Tail is not a well-written book. Its tone never wavers from cheerfully earnest. The sentences can be strangely convoluted. There are A LOT of words, so it's a bit much for a new reader; it's more for a teacher to read to a class.

But.
The story it tells is deeply moving. A baby dolphin (cue the cries of "Cute!" from far too many little girls) gets caught in a net and is rescued, but loses her tail. She can't swim well and stay healthy without it, so scientists and doctors work together to create a prosthetic tail. The innovations made while creating the tail have now helped many others with prostheses, including Iraq war veterans. And Winter herself now serves as a powerful example to children, especially those who need technology to function. Her very existence, and her struggle, serves as consolation and inspiration, I think, to them.
While I am leery of "issue" books, there are far too few books that acknowledge the many among us who face these sorts of struggles, whether with health or other issues. This book may not be told or presented exactly how I would wish, but I am deeply grateful for its existence.

I found out later that the little boy at our school is recovering, and that it seems that he will keep his foot, for which we are all profoundly grateful, though many other struggles present themselves. Here's hoping that this post finds you all well and healthy and as whole as you can be.

Now for the giveaway (could there be a more crass transition?). The publisher wants to give one of this blog's readers a "Winter pack," which consists of the book, a keychain, a stuffed animal, and a Winter DS game. So if you are interested, or want to give this to someone who is, how about you give us a recommendation of a book that offers consolation. The winner will be selected randomly (numbers out of a hat is what we're thinking over here...) Oh, and there's also an essay contest on the scholastic website, if you're so inspired.

Promotions, Reviews, Integrity, Plus a Certain Amount of Contrariness: The Truth Will Out

When I started this blog, one of the things I used to sort-of-jokingly say was that the whole point was to get free books, as the laudable reading habits of the two smaller people with whom I share a house make for a lot of money spent on books. But lo and behold, when I actually got my very first bona fide review copy, my feelings were more complicated.

Because the review copies were always accompanied by a friendly, inquiring email from a publicist, wanting to know whether I wanted this book or that, extolling the virtues of this book and that, and I felt...uneasy. I felt pushed. Why would I review those books with enterprising publicists and not other books? Would getting the book for free compromise my judgment? I don't exactly feel that book reviews are what I'm doing here, it's more like recommendations, and did that matter?

What was the right thing to do?

So when I got a hearty promotional email about the Horrid Henry books, offering Author Interviews! Giveaways! Amazing Results! Check Out Our Reading Guides! See What Other Media Are Saying! I just—backed away.
The books still came, though, 6 in shiny covers. I read one and it seemed fine and then I didn't think anymore about it.

Not so for my children.

This was in the summer, when Chestnut was just breaking through the barriers of a very rough ride in learning to read, and she picked one up. Then she picked up another, and then another, and before I knew it I was finding them in all those places that indicate true love: on the bathroom floor, on the back of the toilet, at the side of the tub, under the covers of the bed, on the kitchen table.
OK, I thought to myself. She likes them because they're something, finally, that is right at the level she is starting to rock at, and it's a real thrill. It may not necessarily be the books.
Then Diana started reading them.
Now, Diana is happy to read just about anything: the newspaper, the back of the cereal box, an advertisement on the subway. So I was not surprised to see her start. But then she, too, kept on going. And going. And going. Before I knew quite what was happening, they were packing them to take with us on our trip to Sweden.
The books are about the naughty (though not very) title character and his travails, particularly when contrasted with his brother, Perfect Peter. They are not books that an adult will want to read. But kids? Especially kids for whom the world of reading has proved resistant? For kids, they are magical in a way I cannot understand but have witnessed with my own eyes.
There, I said it. And yes, I got them for free. And I am sorry to the author if this is going up too late to do her any good in the U.S. market due to my inner conflicts. But for kids, they are amazing.

Murder!

The other day I was sitting at the kitchen table, spacing out, when slam! onto the table comes this book.

"This book is bad!" she said (pretty fiercely, I can tell you).

"Oh, did you read it?"

"Of course not!" (Try to imagine someone very small looking as outraged as possible.) "I'm not going to read this book. I'm going to throw it!" (She does.)

"What seems to be the problem?"

"This is supposed to be a book for kids, right? But look!" She points to the back of the book (after picking it up), and show me with a particularly insistent finger where it reads: "With disappearances, a possible kidnapping, and maybe even a murder or two, it's anything but a boring weekend at the Blossoms'."

"Hmm," I started to say, but the truth is, it couldn't have mattered less what I said, because she was off and running, both thrilled and horrified by her proximity to something so dangerous.

I do care about what my kids are exposed to, in a general sort of way. When Diana read so early, it was a real focus of mine to try to keep her away from the Metro section of the New York Times, where she was always just about to begin on some article about a man who impregnated his daughter multiple times, then threw the babies down the air shaft. But that is, I think we can agree, a fairly easy call, parent-wise, when you have a six-year-old. It's other things, things in some YA and kids books, that are trickier, as I have already talked about here and here. But that's been coming at it from a whole other angle, a child hungrily reading everything in sight comes upon a few weird things, most of which will fly right over her head. This was a child finding a book that I am all but certain had nothing weird in it, and being tantalized. Horrified, indignant, but without question pretty thrilled.

I am not sure what to think about it. It calls to mind the fervor with which my friends and I swore to each other that we would never try cigarettes. Or drugs! Or anything with boys! Never! Never! Never! I'm guessing you know how that went.
It's the old "Methinks thou doth protest too much."

At any rate, the next day Chestnut was looking for poor old Mud Blossom. "Why?" I asked her. "I thought you..."

"Yeah, but my friend at school heard about it, and her sister's been calling her a girly-girl, so she asked me to bring it to her so she could prove her wrong." I'm still wondering how that went.

What will come next, I can't imagine. Will Chestnut read Mud Blossom? Will Chestnut read any of the maybe 50 or 60 books that have been rejected as being too scary? Is this the dawn of a new, tough age? I wonder.

Controlling the Narrative

Diana has long been a fan, via a heartfelt first start from her father, of the Choose Your Own Adventure series. These are books that her dad loved in his youth, and I had no experience of. I vaguely remember a prescient history teacher (does that make sense?) in 8th grade telling us that "vast technological changes were happening that we going to allow readers to actually participate in the stories they read..." but I remember thinking (in best profoundly-miserable-and-

sneering-eighth-grade-girl-fashion), So?
For those unfamiliar with them, these books are sort of interactive metafiction adventure stories set in the second person, so they begin, "You are in Osaka, where you are furthering your study of Aikido, with your good friend Nada." It will continue for a few pages in this vein (with notes at the bottom like "Continue to the next page. or Turn to page 17, which are necessary given their insane narrative and structural demands) until you get to your first choice: If you want to go back in time immediately, turn to page 24. If you want to be put into a trance, turn to page 37.
When Diana started going for them, I didn't think much about it other than to appreciate the groovy 70s covers and to have my mind briefly blown by a mispaginated one about the Titanic. One wrong page number in those babies and all bets are off.
Then this past weekend, Chestnut, who seems as partial to realistic fiction and heartfelt, earnest storytelling as Diana is to fantasy and alternate worlds, asked me to read this as she was heading to bed (yes, there has been a remission for the formerly close-to-death practice of reading people bedtime stories).

She brought me into things because she had made a choice on one of the pages that led her somewhere she really didn't want to go, so she wanted us to start back at the beginning. And as we started reading, I realized that these books were basically attacking everything I understand and hold dear as a reader. Here, my concerns:
1) It's too much responsibility! I know I make the wrong choices all the time in life, why do I have to be reminded of that—and do it all again—here?
2) I want to know which one is the real story. My dearly-held (if slightly whacked-out) belief is that all fiction came from some stream of stories in another world, where they all exist intact. If they don't get told well, they're false, false to their origin, false to their alternate existence. Which disturbs the universe in some deep invisible way. Yeah, I know, I know. This might not be true.
3) I feel judged. "Are you going to turn back because you're feeling nervous, or take out your sword and fight?" I mean, really, I feel a bit pushed here. I know which is the cooler thing to do certainly, but why must I make this decision? Isn't that the author's job?
4) It resists narrative drive. I want to get swept along. This is not possible when you are doing the sweeping.
5) I can't help thinking the whole time, But how do they manage this manuscript? I mean, really? Is there a program for this? Some sort of mathematical formula? How do they get all the pages in the right order? Which doesn't help me enjoy the story all that much.

Clearly, this is a question of taste. And/or cherished beliefs. But as much as I am trying to be a good and fair person by saying that, in my heart I think these books are sort of, um, wrong. Which belief is in and of itself wrong. The whole thing leaves me feeling slightly out-of-step with the rest of my metafictional family.

My Agenda

There's an almost endless amount of noise out there in the world about what parents ought to do for their children (eat dinner with them, read to them, keep them organized, bla bla bla) and most of it I try to let fly over my head. I try to tell myself that one of best things I can do for them, in the larger sense, is to be calm and not worry about all the things I'm supposed to be doing. Besides, there are enough things I like doing (reading to them, having dinner with them) that making any of these things into things I'm supposed to do would kill the fun and make all of us miserable.

The thing is, I hadn't so much thought about what the children themselves want, when I thought about that.

I mean, for the longest time they've just wanted to have dinner with us, or to have us read to them, so it's all worked out. And while I know I am coming on up to the time when they're going to intermittently hate me, I still felt that, more or less, I was the desired one. There's a certain arrogance one gets from being, you know, Mommy. In a small circle, at least, everyone wants you all the time. It's enough to go to a girl's head.

Last night, when Chestnut was getting ready for bed, I asked her where The Secret Garden was.

"You know, I think I'm just going to play until I fall asleep," she said.

Huh?
"But I can read to you," I helpfully explained. "We can read anything you want. And then we can cuddle," just sort of assuming, you know, who could refuse that?
"Oh, no thanks," she said cheerily.
My throat got kind of tight, I looked around the room for some support. Nothing. Diana was reading on her bed (she prefers having a reading cuddle to being read to, a reading cuddle involves an adult and her lying in the big bed each reading their separate books and every now and then discussing them. It's awesome). Chestnut was busy with some plastic stars arranged on her pillow and a strange folded up piece of paper.

Now I know that

1) this does not mean I will never read her another bedtime story,

2) this is as nothing compared to the way I will be shunned in just a few short years, and

3) it's amazing and excellent that she can be engaged by a few plastic stars and a piece of folded paper. What was she doing with it? What could it mean? It looked really fun and it's none of my business.

It's just that I wanted to read to her; I really did. And I didn't—it didn't work out for me on that particular night.
I used to wonder at what age kids stopped crying every day. I would ask various parents of older kids, whining "When does it end? The daily crying over every little thing, it's killing me." And now it turns out (duh!) that all of it ends, the good and the bad both. I don't think the bedtime stories are ending exactly. I have no idea when this happens for other people, it wasn't something I ever thought to ask. But I do think they're on their way out. And it's too bad. It turns out, as hard-to-get as I sometimes played, I liked those weird things you're supposed to do for people as much as they did. And soon I'll be the only one who does.

We Recommend, How About Some Great Nonfiction?

A stepmom writes in concerned about her stepson, who just doesn't want to read. That's all, he just doesn't. Especially fiction. Everyone tries to get him to read, and he's not into it. He likes comic books though, including Donald Duck, Bone, etc. He also loves movies, of all kinds. He tried Harry Potter and it left him cold (though he did like the films). The last book he remembers enjoying in school was—a biography of Henry Ford.
Wow.
He said he might be interested in reading about World War II, but most of his family members seem to want him to read fiction.
What do we have for the guy?

Well, I must say, that as someone who is ridiculously biased in favor of fiction, and who knows how unpleasant it is to be asked to read something you don't want to read, I say, let this person follow his heart. If he doesn't want to read fiction, then by all means, don't make him. That doesn't mean he shouldn't read, though. If he was good with a biography of Henry Ford, by God, he's got the will and the imagination to be thrilled and amazed and transported by reading all sorts of things, I would think. The thing that gives me pause in coming up with a recommendation is his age; 13. That's a big kid, but not yet a grownup.
I thought of a lot of things: of Asterisk and Obelisk, of Tintin, of Bone. Maybe Maus,by Art Spiegelman, a brilliant graphic novel that's certainly about World War II. Maybe Persepolis, another amazing graphic novel, this one about the Iranian revolution as seen through the eyes of a teenage girl. And heaven knows that there's nothing wrong with watching the movie version of a story first, and getting to the book from there.

I thought, too, of my own favorite biography from when I was a kid: The Story of George Washington Carver (I thought it was the world's coolest thing that he made his own microscope). But the truth is, these were all thoughts, when my real answer is from a blind gut feeling (one which apparently has no respect for age-appropriate reading levels):

That's right, Seabiscuit.
Here's the crazy thing: I haven't read this book. And I know it's not specifically a book for kids. But it just seems so right, somehow. What can I say, it just leapt to my mind as though it was meant to be there.
But really, probably the reason I don't have enough to recommend is my fully-acknowledged weakness in the nonfiction arena. So everyone: what can we give this guy to read?