The Diamond in the Window

On Sad Books

For all my crowing about One Hundred Spaghetti Strings, I had never had Chestnut read it. It's funny, because when Jen was working on it, I kept thinking about how great it would be for Chestnut—food, and family drama, and love. All of these are things that she's really interested in, she's that sort of reader. Sara Plain and Tall, for instance, was incredibly important to her.

But that was back in the day. She's 15 now, and she reads newspapers and adult novels and complicated philosophers. She reads books on education policy and gets really angry, and she reads sophisticated science fiction (Stephen Baxter FTW!) and is moved. It seemed like the time for the moving, realistic middle grade novel had passed her by, just because it takes too long for books to be published, and too short for kids to grow up.

But I got my copy at a reading, and I brought it home, and I said (diffidently, I swear it), "You might like this, it's by a friend of mine, you know her, she's—."

"Fine, whatever." It did not get picked up in that moment.

But canny parent that I am, I left it there on the coffee table, knowing people forget to bring things with them, and are compulsive readers, and will likely pick up any book that is at hand. And so she did.

I saw her reading it on and off through the day, and that evening when friends came over for drinks (our friends, don't worry, not hers) she skulked upstairs without even saying much of a hello. And I thought, "Eh, she's 15, that's how it goes."

Except it turns out that she wasn't being 15 exactly. She was crying—over Steffy (the book's heroine), over how families are supposed to work in a certain way, and sometimes they don't. Just over a sad book. Like one does.

She told me all this the next day, when we were getting ready to head out of town. "It was so good, but so sad."

"Yeah."

And then as we were packing, she said, "Do you have any other really sad books? I want to read one. Do you ever think about how sometimes reading something sad, and being sad, feels like it fixes something inside you?"

I do think about that. I think about that now.

Another World

Even with Ye Olde Blogge's age and infirmity in this ongoing internet revolution, people and companies still send me books, either in a corporate sort of way, or a "Hey, my friend wrote this, do you want to write about it?" sort of way. All of these suggestions I view with great skepticism, as suits my perverse and contrary nature. "Oh, you have a book you think I'll like? Then I won't like it very much, will I?" seems to be my gut response.

However, I like to believe (or at least, hope) that beneath my hard-shell exterior lurks an open mind. And maybe it's even true? Because guess what, everyone: my friend recommended that I read this book, and it is kind of amazing:

It's a young adult book (I guess? Maybe?) and the most important and central thing I can say about it is that it did that thing where it brought me to another world so I could see it and feel lit and believe it. The basic setup is way too of-the-moment: A mother and daughter come from Haiti, the daughter makes it through customs since she was born in the US, the mother is detained by immigration, the daughter goes on alone to live with her aunt and cousins in Detroit.

The author, blessedly, doesn't skate over the complexity here, and no one is a saint—or even a full-on sinner. Instead, we meet characters who are complex and torn and troubled, and we end up having to see the world from their point of view.

Caveats: The story gets caught up in itself, if that makes sense: too focused on what will happen next rather than the people. The symbolism can be heavy-handed. And I am not particularly fond of the interwoven chapters in each character's voice device. But? These are quibbles: the book is well worth reading, and it pulled at me in some essential way. Read it, give it to a reader, expand your world.

We Recommend: Social Justice for a Teenage Girl

I have no idea what is happening with our sudden spate of We Recommends, but I am happy about it (even though I may have forgotten how to spell recommend, or at least, I've lost my confidence about it). If you know a kid who needs a book to read, send us (thediamondinthewindow (at) gmail (dot) com) his or her likes, dislikes, favorites, quirks, and any other reading information that might be helpful, and we will think on it, and pose it to our oh-so-helpful readers. And look in the comments—all the best recommendations are there.

For those of you who like a challenge, we are here for you! Here we go, with an email from a devoted aunt, whose niece is about to turn 17 and requests a book for her birthday:

She's read and loved Jacqueline Woodson's books, including, recently, Another Brooklyn.

In life she cares about social justice. Recently said she she might want to go into politics which if she does, wow! She's also liked baking and seems to like shopping. Is going to be a peer leader at her school next year - something she worked hard to compete for.

I think she wants novels now, which is great. She's an avid reader. 

And not to get too tedious and demographic, but, I think it'd actually be cool if she read a book with an Irish, or part Irish, female main character, or even character somewhere! And another with a Jewish, or part Jewish, female main character, or again, a character somewhere. The book doesn't have to be a social argument, that's not what I'm saying. Not sure how many of those titles have ever crossed her path. Or if they have, not for a very very very long time. Maybe for the first, Charming Billy? I've never read Allegra Goodman - one of hers? 

But maybe those are too old for her? I don't know. Hmm....

Sure, you're thinking, social justice for a teenage girl is a piece of cake. But then you add on all the things and you feel like: eek, does the right book exist anywhere? That elusive beast, the perfectly right book?

 

When I first wrote back to her, I thought about That Night by Alice McDermott, and also Allegra Goodman's sci-fi novel. Neither of these felt just right. Then I thought about The Poisonwood Bible, but again—close, but no cigar. Social justice, but not the demographic particularity (that while not essential, is still a fun challenge). I thought about A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, but that might be too young? Ditto All of a Kind Family. Then I thought about the excellent story collection, Fools, by Joan Silber, but a story collection might not make sense?

Oh! OK, this is all over the news, and maybe she already read it, and it doesn't correspond to anything she's asking about, but here's my crazy left-field guess:

 

Maybe? Possibly? 

Anyway, I bet many of you have better ideas than I, and if any of you hit all these requirements? You win a prize.*

 

*Fair warning: It is possible that the prize will be the satisfaction of knowing you've done an amazing thing.

Something to Give Your Earnest, Yearning, Hopeful Reader

It may sometimes seem (sometimes) that life is an endless slog through a morass of hypocrisy and cynicism. Which—OK, maybe it is. But we can all work and try for it to be otherwise, plus there is the issue of: If that is a big part of what life is, what can you give a kid to read that will help them to rise above it? Or at least, convince them that life is bigger than the petty television politics they may see around them?

Well first of all, the truth is that almost anything a kid reads is going to be larger than what they see on TV, for instance. But I can tell you, that what worked for Chestnut lately, was this:

This book moved my girl. Which is, admittedly, not such a difficult thing to do. But she is still grappling with the ideas and geographies and questions it brings up long after reading it for the first time. Which is, right now, an extremely helpful antidote. 

Weird, or the Benefits of Continuing on With a Book You're Not Sure About

So many—perhaps too many—feelings about the word weird. 

I spelled it wrong for a long time.

I vacillate (or vacillated) between being shamed by it and viewing it as a badge of honor.

I spent some time acknowledging that it is a useful word, and frightening, because truly some people, things, occurrences ostentatiously don't fit into our expected experience, and there is a deep fear with leaving that behind.

I want to accept all weird things, in part because I know myself to be at least somewhat weird (though I believe I generally pass as not weird, but I could be wrong about this).

But sometimes the weird scares me. And I retreat from it.

So I read a book for my book group, one I highly doubt I would have picked up had I not been in a book group.

When I first started reading it, it made me mad. Defensive, somehow, as though I was being accused of not being smart enough, or hard working enough, or ambitious enough (in the large intellectual sense). I wanted to put it down, and I would have put it down had I not been reading it for book group.

But I didn't, and things began to change. It hit me, perhaps one third of the way through, that she was weird. I mean, really weird. Weird enough to connect to a guy in the book who is completely and totally weird, and they were weird together. Weirder—at least as far as I can tell—than I am.

And I wonder: is that part of it? Like, weird is OK if you're as weird as I am and no weirder? Except, isn't that pretty much running from weirdness? Because if everyone thought that, no one would really be OK with weirdness at all.

I'm not being as clear as I mean to be, in part because I'm still grappling with the ideas in the book, which are wide reaching and interesting and surprising. The book made me think anew in all sorts of good ways, it reminded me that the world is larger and allows far more than we ever really take or acknowledge.

Maybe it begins with not saying weird? With somehow not typing or labeling behavior at all, merely witnessing it? Is that even possible? What do you think?

A non-novel interlude, in which hearts are touched

We do still get the odd review copy down this way at ye olde Diamond in the Window, and generally Chestnut has at it. Despite her advanced age (14!) (!!!) she is ready to get down with picture books, middle grade, romance, anything really—she is a curious and voracious reader, and generally has strong opinions, which are about as forgiving as 14-year-olds are in general (ie: NOT AT ALL).

This book showed up in our mailbox last week:

Chestnut picked it up. As she does.

She reads fast, and after a while, she said, "I don't think this is that well written." But she kept reading.

A while more: "I don't think this book is all that great." She did not put the book down.

A while more, and I looked next to me on the couch, and there was Chestnut, looking intently at the book, with tears falling. Actual tears, not just "wet eyes" or getting choked up, or—or anything. Reading and crying.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah." Tears continued to fall. "It's just that." Painful pause. "This book isn't that well-written." Another painful pause. "And I don't think it's great, you know?" OK. "But you know, I really know how they feel, do you know what I mean? I know exactly how they feel."

And there it is: empathy, despite our great resistance. In the midst of geometry and Mandarin finals, in between reading about Donald Trump in the newspaper and trying to get things ready for summer and being late for one thing or another, a book reached through all that, through a stalwart 14-year-old's carefully fortified defenses, and reached her heart. This is amazing to me. This matters.

This book (have you guessed yet?) is sad. It is painful. It is about three boys and their feelings and their difficulties and their loves. And their teacher. Do you have a reader who might be needing to feel something? Maybe that person should read it too.

Sci-Fi 'n' Me, Or: What Is WRONG With Me?

Chestnut has become quite the adventurous reader. We are talking wide. She's zipping from The Taliban Shuffle to Bossypants to The Three Body Problem, which is where my troubles began.

See, I till like to, when possible, read books that my kids are reading. When is this possible? When they let me know what they're reading, for instance, and don't squirrel the book away so I can't find it.

Dipping into their reading is especially alluring when it's a book I've never heard of. So when Chestnut started reading—and re-reading—The Three Body Problem, I was intrigued. Award-winning sci-fi by a Chinese author I'd never heard of? It sounded world-expanding in all the right ways.

I was never a big sci-fi buff growing up, but I like to think that I've gotten smarter than I was, and that I'm not as—genre-defensive? Is that a term?—as I once was. So with great anticipation, I began.

Here's where real life creeps in (sort of). Through strange flukes of the NYC public school system, both my kids are taking physics this year. I have never taken physics, and when they have run into problems, I have pathetically tried to google my way towards helping them, with middling success. It has not been...pleasant. And then here comes the Three Body Problem, which is chock-full of physics, nanotechnology (at least conceptually), and many, many scientific and mathematical digressions.

I mean, I get it: Science Fiction. Right? Except, oh! How it made me long for Trollope!

What I want to read about, pretty much always, is people. I feel this is a limitation on my part, but it is a truly felt one. And there were people in this book, of course. But they were not, it seemed to me, the author's main concern. Not by a long chalk (ah! What an excellent expression that is).

So: what gives? What makes someone able to engage fully in science fiction? And why don't I have it? And where or how can I get it? It should be noted that Chestnut LOVED this book, and found it fascinating. I feel like I am missing something, both in the sense that I don't have a quality I should, and because that means there are many wonderful books that I could love that I do not.

Is it just a taste thing? Larger? Smaller? All suggestions welcome.

And I Have Told You This to Make You Weep. And also Smile.

We still get books sent to us here at ye olde Diamond in the Window. Some poor overworked marketing person at a publisher still shoves new books into boxes and/or padded envelopes, and sends them around to bloggers and others in the hopes that people will remember that there are new books appearing in the world, and when you read one of them, it just might...reach you.

Readers: it has happened.

See, Chestnut reads through all of them. And then she gives me her verdict. And because I am her mother, sometimes I don't really listen when I listen, if you know what I mean? I nod and say "Yeah, right, OK," and there are many many levels of me that are not registering her words AT ALL.

So she may have had to repeat herself a few times. She did.

"Mom, seriously, Mom! This book is really good, you have to read it and then blog about it."

I did. And oh! It's so freaking lovely. 

All Rise for the Honorable Perry T. Cook is about a boy who grows up in a prison, because his mom is incarcerated. I have not read any other book in recent memory that talks about this. It is entirely, earnestly, and unutterably sweet. So many books for middle grade readers try to be cool and self-consciously silly, and this is neither of those. It's funny and caring and heartfelt, and there were moments there when I felt like it pierced me to my very core.

I want so many people to read it. I want everyone to read it.

Do I have quibbles? Of course I do! But I can't address my quibbles without talking about the secrets to be revealed, and anyway, they don't really alter my view. Which is: read this sweet book. Or get it for your kid, or your nephew, or your niece, or someone. And you will have given them at least one good thing in the world, which is worth it.

Hope you're all well. Maybe throw in your own recent happy discoveries in the comments?

In Which I Am Highly Suggestible

Thank you all for your incredibly helpful suggestions. Sometimes I don't say anything about having such a remarkably pleasant group of readers here, for fear of jinxing it (I'm mature and reasonable that way), but it must be said: You are all quite wonderful.

And since you all recommended Doll Bones to me, I went out to my local library, which was very helpful, having three (!) copies in stock. I borrowed it and read it right away, pausing only because the dastardly Chestnut filched it from me.

What a lovely book it is! Told from the point of view of the boy in a trio of friends (two girls, one boy), it is spooky and heartfelt and it represents oh so clearly the muddled, conflicted, joyful, fearful state of being in 7th grade and being pulled in a million directions, not knowing who you really are yet, not being quite ready to grow up but here it comes anyway. And it's scary, but not terrifying, more creepy than outright horror. As with so many books, the age of the protagonists seems about three years older than the age of the ideal readers—or maybe that's just my vision?—but it's sweet and, more important, it seemed to thrum with truthfulness: the jealousy towards the kid whose parents never clean the house, the constant conflict among the friends, the wish, so painful and poignant, for magic to be real.

Anyway, this book is another thing to thank you all for. And for those of you who have readers in the house, or awaiting you at holiday gatherings, this is an excellent thing to bring them.

The Opposite of an Easter Egg Hunt

I've been reduced to seeding books around the house, in what is either a Great Mom™ tactic ensuring a life of rich cultural opportunity, or a bummer attempt to control my children and what they read so they will be more like me. Possibly it is some combination? That seems likely.

It's not an easter egg hunt because no one is actually looking for anything. But! A person who is not looking for something, by stumbling across something wonderful left in her path, might find something anyway, right? Maybe?

I "accidentally" left this on the kitchen table.

And I "inadvertently" strewed (strew?) this near the toaster oven. 

This is sitting innocently on the coffee table, should anyone happen by.

And as a coup de grace, I left a printout of a story by Rachilde, translated from the medieval French, about a Plague Doctor (my sister's girlfriend has the French skilz) on the floor of Diana's room. Oops.

Do you have a history buff who actually trusts your opinion and will read what you recommend? Have this person try the M. T. Anderson.

Do you have a child who compulsively reads cookbooks and likes comics? (Bonus points for vegetarian cooks.) Dirt Candy is for this child.

Is your kid a) flattened by the variety of racial horrors of the past year, and wants to feel less alone? Or b) is a very ambitious reader who wants to hear a very intelligent and broken-hearted cri de coeur about America? (No, I don't know why I'm suddenly using French phrases.) If so, you must purchase Between the World and Me at once.

I can't quite imagine who should read the Rachilde story, other than Diana, but it's pretty crazy and amazing nonetheless.

Will my children read these works? (maybe)

Am I totally transparent? (probably)

Is there any hope? (always)