Mr. Robinson Reads

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Mark Haddon

221 pages, general fiction

I feel like I’d been looking at the cover of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time in Borders (RIP!) and/or Barnes and Noble for a few years now. The cover art is eye-catching and the title intriguing. I didn’t actually pick up a copy until I found it at Saver’s for $1. Best book-dollar spent this year, I think.

The story is a first-person account of a boy who has a form of high-functioning autism, Asperger syndrome, or savant syndrome—though the disorder is not explicitly mentioned. He finds a dog that has been killed in his neighbor’s yard, and embarks on a quest to solve the mystery. The details lead him to deeper mysteries about his life and his parents, and it’s all he can do to fit everything into his unique world—once whole and simple, now broken.

The book is candid and hilarious and terribly sad. I recommend it to anyone reader, from early high school all the way up. The conversations that surround the book—about autism/savantism/Asperger’s, about truth and lies, protecting the ones we love, doing the best we can, and overcoming betrayal—are so important.

The protagonist’s narrative, though coming from a world perspective colored by his disorder, is refreshing, and leads us to question our prejudices about these disorders. If anything, the protagonist’s clarity is stunning, yet his limitations (food cannot touch on the plate, etc.) point up his humanity in a touching way, not a pitying or insensitive manner. I think Haddon avoided naming the disorder so that the theme here would not be limited to the way we see Asperber’s per se, but the way we see everyone.

In short, read it. Now.

The Girl Who Fell From the Sky, Heidi W. Durrow

264 pages, general fiction

The Girl Who Fell From the Sky is an intense novel about family secrets, pain, race, despair, violence, and beauty in brokenness. I won’t reveal the major lynchpin of the novel, because it’s what the whole narrative builds around. It’s enough to say that the book is powerful and gritty and important; achingly sad but equally vital.

I’d recommend the book to any adult reader, and any teenager who is ready to approach the topics I listed above, and ready to dialogue about them openly. It would be a great book for an adult mentor to go through with a teen.

One last idea that Durrow’s work showcases is that you can never tell exactly what people are going through. Pain on the surface may be rooted depression underground; words may hint at irrevocable actions; and no one can afford to feel like she’s been left alone.

Chasing Brooklyn, Lisa Schroeder

412 pages, young adult

Chasing Brooklyn was a recommendation from a student (here’s her own reading blog). It was a quick read—even though it’s 412 pages, it’s written in free verse poetry, so the flow is quick and there’s plenty of white space on the page. Which is not to say that there isn’t a hearty story here, but you could probably make this an afternoon read (ok, I took 2 afternoons, but I had homework to grade…).

Chasing Brooklyn deals with high school love and death, brings in a supernatural element (the dead are invested in the lives of the living, and give them guidance), and ends redemptively—if a bit predicatably. It’s a book I’d pass along to a student who considers him/herself a reader and enjoys thinking through more somber issues. It’s a book that will certainly appeal more to girls than boys (sentimental romance, poetry, reading…not what most high school boys are tuned into), but everyone can appreciate the pain of losing a loved one, and the hope of new love.

I will say that about 3/4 of the way through, the protagonists indecision to trust and love again gets a bit repetitive—it seems to be a loop of “almost trusting—pulling back. Almost trusting—pulling back. Almost trusting—pulling back” that threatens never to end. I feel the author could have told te same story in fewer pages.

The end, like I said, was clearly predictable, but not entirely unsatisfying. It’s certainly not the YA fiction read of the year, but considering the low time and effort investment of the read, I’d pass it along (with all the above caveats).

The book could be a good conversation starter with students about death, the afterlife, drunk driving, and suicide—all of which are addressed here. These are conversations that need to happen, and Chasing Brooklyn could be a catalyst for those who go through its pages.

Mistborn (Book I), Brandon Sanderson

643 pages, fantasy

Mistborn (Amazon link to the boxed trilogy set, of which this is book I) is a deeply engaging fantasy novel. It’s not the best fantasy I’ve ever read, but it shines where a lot of fantasy writing is formulaic, lackluster, and trashy (obviously these are generalizations, but even a fantasy junkie has to admit there’s a lot of swill out there. See my review of Robin Hobb’s Farseer Trilogy for what is probably my favorite fantasy romp; and notice that on the cover of this novel that Robin Hobb recommends Mistborn to “anyone hungry for a good read.” I agree).

I want to zero in on one way that Mistborn stands out from a lot of fantasy—it avoids the trap of including overt (or even subtle) references to characters’ sexual activity, focusing instead on the events of the world and the heroes’ actions. There is love, but it’s couched in a wholesome tone, and therefore this fantasy series (and all of Sanderson’s work that I’ve read) is an easy recommendation for younger readers, though its category is not “young adult.”

The premise is engaging—swallowing and “burning” certain metals and alloys allows gifted individuals (some are powerful “Allomancers,” or “Mistborn”; others are lesser-skilled “Mistings”) to manipulate their own strength, alertness, and mental capacity, as well as manipulate any metal around them. Book I of the trilogy focuses on the repressed people rising up in an attempt to overthrow their “god”—the Lord Ruler, a king who is said to be both the savior and oppressor of man, immortal.

Even deep in the midst of a unique fantasy realm, Sanderson weaves a story that is ultimately about people, trust, betrayal, sacrifice, and redemption. As I noted with the Hunger Games Trilogy, the power is in the characters and their humanity, not in the novelty of the fantasy world. It’s a reminder that for human existence, we’ve been relying on stories to teach us truth and beauty—most religions’ histories and scriptures are ultimately stories; Jesus himself taught through parables and hypotheticals; the Old English Beowulf is fantasy epic at its finest, long before “fantasy” was a writing market—and these stories (the ones that stay with us) are powerful because they teach us about what it is to be human, to search, and to find.

I will say that some of the dialogue in Mistborn could be a bit more polished—some of the exchanges sound a bit unnatural to me, a bit forced. The end of this novel also feels a little rushed after the 600-page build to its climax. It’s still a good read, and still leaves you (well, in this case, me) eager to pick up the next volume.

Stay tuned…

Half Magic, Edward Eager

192 pages, young adult

As all good young adult fiction (and even all good children’s fiction), Half Magic gets my recommendation for both children and adults. It’ll take you a short afternoon to finish, and leave you satisfied with its playful concept and happy-but-thoughtful ending.

Half Magic is the story of 4 siblings and a magic coin that grants half of what you wish for. The whimsy of that concept brings in a lot of silly fun, but also a lot of critical (if hypothetical) thinking on the parts of the characters and readers—how do you wish for exactly double of what you really want in order to get exactly what you intend?

The book also leads both the characters and the readers to the knowledge that life is not about what you wish for, and not even about what you get—it’s about the decisions you make as a result of those things, and about the people you share them with.

Hanalani Reads

I am part of a reading initiative at the school where I teach. Hanalani Reads rewards our teachers and staff for reading broadly and reflecting on that reading in blog form. Check out the site for details as well as a list of our “Hanalani’s Readers”—the reading blogs of all participating. My own reading entries for the program will be tagged here as “hanalanireads”—the goal is 40 titles by May. Here’s to it!

A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L’Engle

256 pages, children’s

This was my second spin with the Murry family. I read A Wrinkle in Time first in the 5th grade (I think). I remember doing a book report complete with illustrations of Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which and a homemade board game that tracked Charles Wallace, Meg, and Calvin through their journey (Let me just say that I had great elementary teachers. Here’s to Kohl Elementary School in Broomfield, Colorado).

As an adult, I found the book was shockingly brief. That makes sense, I know, and I mention it only because it was a marvel to me how L’Engle poured so much truth, beauty, and excitement into this little read for young minds.

I also found more of L’Engle’s recasting of the battle between Good and Evil than I did before. Sure, I knew it was a story about fighting the Evil Black Thing that threatened—and sometimes overcame—planets and people. But the Scripture that L’Engle puts in the mouths of characters flung out across the universe is subtle and powerful, and challenges the idea that Good vs. Evil is anything we can fully understand or fit into neat compartments. Love is the Prime Mover, and it alone overcomes the Darkness. It’s a book at once philosophical and theological.

A Wrinkle in Time is only the first book by L’Engle about the Murry family. Five titles comprise the Wrinkle in Time Quintet, and she even wrote a few more after that. I have still only read this first volume; even though the story continues, and I’d like to get around to the others someday, there is good closure at this book’s end. You finish reading feeling that you, too, have come home—but not without questions. And that’s exactly the point.

I happened to pick up an anniversary edition of the book, in which L’Engle pens an introduction. I want to pull a quotation from it:

In each book, the characters are living into the questions that we all have to live into. Some of these questions don’t have finite answers, but the questions themselves are important. Don’t stop asking, and don’t let anybody tell you the questions aren’t worth it. They are.

So if you somehow made it through your childhood without having tessered with Meg and Charles Wallace and the Mrs. W’s, grab a copy one afternoon (that’s all it’ll take to read it) and wrinkle time. Travel to planets that are battling evil, ride a centaur, meet a star, feel the pulse of IT and escape with your wits, and rescue your father.

The Farseer Trilogy, Robin Hobb

Fantasy

Book I: Assassin’s Apprentice, 448 pages

Book II: Royal Assassin, 688 pages

Book III: Assassin’s Quest, 757 pages

Robin Hobb’s Farseer Trilogy has been a pinnacle reading treasure for me ever since my buddy recommended the books to me in high school. I just finished reading the trilogy for the third time (I think. But if it’s not three times, then it’s four). I still read every word and feel every ache.

I hesitate when it comes to genre because I have to admit it’s “fantasy,” and that conjures up a lot of connotations about a lot of bad fiction. Yes, the world of Hobb’s construct is different from ours, one with ancient magics and mysteries—but more than that, it’s a book about the human condition, relationships, duty, deceit, pain, prejudice, desire, destiny, loyalty, and love. Really. And if that sentence seemed cliche in its description, it’s only because too much poor fiction has been described as if it were good.

I won’t dive into details too much. The plot is sweeping and complex, and wouldn’t bear up to a summarization anyway. The bones of it is this: Fitz is a bastard of a prince of the Farseer line, trained as an assassin for the crown. His role as a catalyst in the fate of the country of the Six Duchies propels the book as much as his humanity and pathos tie you to him as a character. There are two old hereditary magics in the world—the Skill, a royal magic that allows a connection of minds and wills; and the Wit, a magic shrouded in superstitious fear that allows its practitioners to sense life force and bond with animals. From there, you really just have to jump in.

If any of that sounded too close to dime-store fantasy, I can only say that you’d be missing out on an a lot if you write it off that easily. As an English graduate and an English teacher, I recommend these books not as guilty pleasures, but as good literature. Just trust me: buy it (the paperbacks are cheap) and read it. You’ll be glad you have the copies to go back to every few years.

Final notes: Hobb followed up The Farseer Trilogy with another trilogy, The Tawny Man (Amazon link to the first book), which picks up 20-odd years after the first trilogy ends. It’s also worth a read, but for me, didn’t have all the guts that the first series did.

And Hobb has written even more trilogies. Some of them relate tangentially to the Six Duchies, and some are completely different worlds. Check out her novels page to browse.

P.S. Here’s what the covers of the edition of Farseer books I own look like. The cover art is also everything that’s awful about the fantasy genre; I think you’ll see why I chose a more recent edition to grace the top of this post:

Link

This isn’t a proper reading blog post, as I haven’t read many of the books in this document (in fact, at the time of this posting, there aren’t even that many books on the list). Instead, these are some education books that I’ve thumbed through, made some notes on, and wanted to remember for future reference.

If you have a book for me, send me recommendation to my Twitter handle: @mrnrobinson.

Ship Breaker, Paolo Bacigalupi

336 pages, young adult

The night I finished Ship Breaker, I was kind of shocked at how quickly 336 pages went by. It’s a “ravaged-future” dystopia that follows scrapping crews of old era (our current era) ships to sell copper wire, etc. and merely survive while a rich elite lives in a world apart, cruising on futuristic “clipper ships” that elicit envy from the “ship breakers.” The rapid-paced series of events centers around a major storm that washes a crippled clipper ship into the ship graveyard where the protagonist, Nailer, and his crew work. Nailer and friends find a passenger on board along with the loot—a rich young “swank” girl whose identity and motives are a bit murky.

As engaging as the storytelling was, the end of Ship Breaker was a little anticlimactic, a bit of a let-down. I had to check why I was left feeling a bit empty, wanting more—here’s what I found:

Nita, the young swank girl, is basically a flat character. Bacigalupi tries to develop her, tries to show her changing from “just a swank” to a “real” person who cares about the lower caste of ship breakers she finds herself with, but I don’t think he quite gets there. She’s opaque to me, 2-dimensional. Her almost-romance/connection with protagonist Nailer doesn’t elicit any real connection with me, and I find myself not really caring what happens to her.

Pima, Nailer’s friend-girl and life-long companion really suffers from the same weaknesses. She doesn’t show up enough in the storyline or fit well enough into any fully-developed position in Nailer’s life—Is she the “BFF”? Sort of. The love interest? No—which is fine, actually, but where does she fit? As the “sister” figure he never had? Um…I mean, you know, sort of. As Nailer’s loyal “crew”? Yes, certainly—I mean, that’s what Nailer keeps saying, so…I guess he means it, and they’re loyal and everything. The trouble is, after all those pages, I still just don’t care that much (sorry, Pima!).

So: Bacigalupi seems to hit Nailer’s character “on the head” (get it? ha ha), but doesn’t get it quite right on some of the other characters who I really wanted to like!

Also, the conclusion to the book seems far too quick, and the denouement doesn’t connect enough with the emotions to leave me satisfied with the way they’re sailing off into the sunset (no spoilers, but it’s a bit of a happy-sappy ending). Even if this does end up being a “book one” in a series (which some people may use to forgive the “not-quite-resolved” feeling), compare Ship Breaker’s ending to the gut-pounding ending of The Hunger Games (book I) and you know what I mean—even one episode in a series should have its own satisfying close.

Okay, all that said, I enjoyed the read (now who’s being contradictory?). Bacigalupi definitely has a real knack for energetic storytelling; I’d like to see how he improves in character depth, deeper connections to the emotions, and more satisfying denouement. He’s early in his publishing career, so I’ll certainly keep an eye out for more of his titles.

Be More Chill, Ned Vizzini

287 pages, young adult/teen.

Be More Chill is another title I snagged for a buck at my local Borders (which, incidentally, is closing—a very sad thing) during a liquidation sale. I picked it up not knowing it’s by the same author as It’s Kind of a Funny Story, a book that I haven’t yet finished, but whose film adaptation I loved and recommend highly. I actually didn’t recognize the connection until now, when I was typing the title and author—so it was a bit of a serendipitous find, I guess.

The premise of the book is that an utterly uncool high school kid ingests a quantum computing microchip (called a “squip”) that travels into his brain and tells him exactly what to do to obtain status in any given scenario. It’s the classic “bug in your ear” advice-giving concept, only with a super-intelligent computer that you can communicate with via thought instead of some detached onlooker with a pair of binoculars urging you on.

The story is engaging enough, and encourages the consideration of just what must be sacrificed to be “cool.” That said, it’s not as if the protagonist is a golden-but-geeky normative character that becomes a callous jerk as he climbs to the top. Rather, he’s already an oversexed porn surfer who really is, actually, a loser. The squip allows him to achieve social conquest through superficial changes (dress, language, dandruff shampoo), ushering him into a world of drugs and actual sex (or pretty close to it). He is, for what it’s worth, off-put by the ecstasy tab he’s given, and would rather sacrifice casual promiscuity for the affection of his adored girl of choice—but overall, the book rings in a bit (or maybe a lot) oversexed and unhelpful.

At the end, the squip malfunctions, he ruins his chances with the girl of his dreams, and must try to set things straight by writing his chronicle out in book form for her. Presumably, we’re to hope she forgives him.

I think the moral overall is, “don’t be the loser that you are, but also don’t become the loser that you think you want to be.” Which can be valid, I guess. The slew of “under-morals,” though, are a bit foggier, and not as helpful: “don’t look at porn; instead, have sex with real girls (at least try to)”; “drugs aren’t so bad themselves, but you probably won’t like Ecstasy”; “lying’s not such a big deal as long as you’re not too big a jerk to your friends and you still get the girl”; “when all else fails, you may have to tell the truth and just hope for the best”; etc.

I’m not trying to be prudish here, because I think some gritty fiction has its place and its purpose (I’m a huge Catcher in the Rye fan, and I think Louisa Luna’s Brave New Girl [click for my thoughts] and Sapphire’s Push [click for my thoughts] have a lot to offer). But Be More Chill isn’t my first choice to hand causally to one of my students, no matter how much they could “handle it.” I think other titles can turn their brains on more helpfully. Sorry, Ned.

(On an unrelated note, it looks like Mr. Vizzini needs a web designer. Yikes.)

Unwind, Neal Shusterman

352 pages, young adult

Another day, another dystopian young adult novel—so was my initial thought. I was also a bit tempted to judge the book by its cover (above), which looked a bit cheesy, complete with a lame teaser tag-line in the artwork. Instead, I found a book that both deserves a better artistic cover treatment, and deserves a wide readership.

Unwind’s premise is that a child can be “unwound” between the ages of 13 and 18—all his organs harvested and distributed to others, his life “distributed,” not destroyed—at the signed order of his parents. The practice is an answer to a future war that occurs over the issue of abortion—a war that divides along pro-life and pro-choice army lines. The passing of a “Bill of Life” finally outlaws any abortion, but maintains a caveat that allows parents to “abort” the child once he’s turned 13 for a number of reasons—overpopulation, causing trouble, etc. At age 18, any child is safely an adult.

The basic idea rings in as original, but at first also seemed as a bit far-fetched to me—too overreaching. It took getting into the book to have it actually ring true (but it does!). I’ll say that if the idea seems off at first, give it an afternoon and see where it takes you. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

The book is full of action, significant emotion, and plenty of “big idea” thoughts to chew on. While it’s a theme-driven book, it’s not preachy. Also, while there is plenty of “thematic content,” I’d call it a solid read for mature younger students as well as older. As usual, I also recommend any good YA fiction to adults, and Unwind makes that cut.

My only reservation about the book is its rapid shifting of point of view: it’s a series of mini chapters that have headings indicating which character is being “followed” for those pages. I tend to prefer a more unified point of view; the artificial technique of shifting character emphasis and calling attention to the device by including the character’s name is a bit distracting to me. That said, you get used to it, and it’s mostly a stylistic note.

P.S. Here’s an alternate cover image that I vastly prefer—it’s the UK paperback version. Props to Simon and Schuster UK.

Blue Pills: A Positive Love Story, Frederik Peeters

190 pages, graphic novel

Blue Pills: A Positive Love Story was $1 today at my local Borders. I finished reading its 190 pages in the store over my double-shot breve latte, but still bought it. It’s true that it wasn’t too much of a monetary commitment at one dollar, but the story and its storytelling are worth well more than 100 pennies.

The book’s title hints at its content—yes, it’s a love story, and a redemptive, patched, and optimistic one—and it’s also a love story shot through with a positive diagnosis. The storyteller’s girlfriend and young son are both HIV+.

Let me take a tangent for a moment to say that I teach creative writing to high school juniors and seniors, and I am constantly encouraging them to write about things that are real, and things that matter. I steer them well clear of clean-cut resolutions and Hallmark-endings because that kind of writing doesn’t usually relate to real life. Real life, which is gritty and tough, needs to be dealt with in honesty. Picking it up, I hoped this book would be an example of this.

It was. The scenario is accessible no matter the reader’s proximity to HIV; it’s a story about real characters and real commitment during real issues. The relationship between the 2 lead characters is funny, somber, frightening, imperfect, and perfect—usually at the same times. The drawings are not shining works of polished art, but sketchy stylizations of a story that is both dark and light, tough and simple, rough and beautiful.

Halfway through the book, I noticed the protagonist’s name mentioned in dialogue—Mr. Peeters—and I did a double-take at the book’s cover. It turns out Frederik Peeters is both author and protagonist, and without meaning to, I’d picked up his memoir. I usually feel like memoirs are self-indulgent and arrogant, and avoid them pretty categorically, so I am glad that this one sneaked into my hands today. It was not self-indulgent at all, rather telling a real story in a real way that opens the pages up to the world (I had the same experience with another memoir I hope you’ll read). I hope I am helping my students aim for this type of writing, and I hope my own reflects those qualities, whether it is fiction, essay, poetry, or whatnot.

A few final notes on appropriateness: As would be expected in a book dealing with HIV (or any STD), the characters’ dealing with sex is a front-and-center topic—both in theory/theme and in visual portrayal. Because it’s a graphic novel, there’s some nudity at times in the black-and-white line drawings, but nothing that approaches pornographic or voyeuristic content. That said, I’d carefully consider age and maturity before handing the book casually to a younger reader; but the themes and actions would certainly merit some great conversations between a youth and mentor (Another topic, for example, is that although the book’s theme is one of wholesome commitment and fidelity, the characters don’t marry—conversation and instruction/advice/morality around that topic is also one that a mentor should be happy to approach and guide).

The Lion & the Mouse, Jerry Pinkney

40 pages, children’s/picture book

Jerry Pinkney illustrates this classic fable in gorgeous, wordless spreads. This Caldecott Medal winner is a delight for readers and aesthetes of any age. There really isn’t anything else to say except put your eyes on The Lion & the Mouse, and more than once.

So Yesterday, Scott Westerfield

238 pages, young adult

I’ve thumbed through Scott Westerfield’s Uglies Quartet a few times, and found its concept and characters intriguing. That said, the series itself is quite a chunk to sit down with—and if I’m going to read a series, I’m going to attack the whole thing in one run. Before making that leap, though, I wanted to see what Westerfield had to offer as a writer—so I picked up his brief, stand-alone novel So Yesterday.

Since my first goal was assessing Westerfield’s style, I’ll mention first that it is easy and engaging. His 17-year-old protagonist (Hunter Braque) seems a bit sophisticated for his age, and his detailed historical mini-lessons also seem a bit out of character for most high-schoolers. My conclusion regarding Westerfield as an author, though, is that his other works will be worth a read after all. This is good news.

I won’t summarize the storyline per se, except to say that Westerfield develops the idea of a “hidden” hierarchical “cool pyramid” that analyzes trends and fashion. Hunter, as a 17-year-old, is a regularly-paid consultant somewhere near to top of this pyramid. This rigid structure along with some larger-than-life action in the book seem a bit artificial, but I forgive the artificiality for what the structure and action accomplish: pointing up the hidden connections and assumptions embedded in the consumerism and popularity cycle of modern life. In this way the whole plot structure acts more like a modern allegory than straight fiction, and to this end it is a profitable read.

On another note, the book was first published in 2005, and as such, it’s an interesting blend of relevant modern references (WiFi, smart phones, Google, etc.) and laughable anachronisms (in order to learn how to tie a bow-tie, Hunter calls the public library using a land line to ask the librarian to find a book on etiquette and read him the bow-tying directions. The characters also watch an old dub of an anime episode on a VCR. And these were not intended as jokes). This is inevitable, of course, since innovations are happening more quickly all the time, but some items seem out of place even for 2005. In a book titled So Yesterday, it’s ironic that many of Westerfield’s references live up to the title so well. (In all of this, though, the message and application still come through.)

A caveat on “the objectionables”: the book does contain a few “entry-level” swear words (shit, etc.), and this should be considered as educators or parents look to the book for sharing, reading and discussion. Let me say, though, that shared discussion between parent, mentor, or teacher and child is the best place for material with objectionable content, and open dialogue about it is probably the healthiest thing for pre-teens and teens as they live in and are bombarded by far worse every day. Trying to cloister a child not only stifles intellect and discernment, it is also impossible to do in the first place.