Finally...?

I've spent the last several weeks diligently writing about the books I read. Most of them have brought me a great deal of joy. Truly, only one book made me unhappy. I've made friends of authors and characters, and revisited old friends, as well. Throughout the course of this exercise, I have learned a great deal about Jews in American history, about human nature, about children's literature, and most importantly, I've learned a great deal about myself.

I am an eclectic reader. The sort of book I wanted to read varied according to my mood, what I wished to learn, and the sort of characters with whom I wanted to spend my lunch hour. These people, fictional as they might be, do indeed become my friends.

I learned that I do have my limits. I had previously thought that I had a compulsive need to finish every book I began, no matter how boring or ridiculous, for fear that it would get better and I would have missed it. This is not the case, however.

What I gained most from this experiment is that I had forgotten how much I love to read and how much I love to write. I used to do both nearly every day, but had gotten away from it when I went back to school. With all of the text books and essays, I didn't make the time for fiction and writing for pleasure. This challenge has been somewhat of a renewal for me.

Professionally, it has been interesting to read books written for children and young adults. I must admit that I have a soft spot for them, anyway. I grew up reading L.M. Montgomery and Louisa May Alcott and revisit Anne Shirley and Jo March often. More recently, I have read books written by Amanda Hocking and Stephenie Meyer. I had considered these books to be guilty pleasures, but then I read The Book Whisperer by Donalyn Miller and I realized that, as a teacher, I should know something about children's and young adult's literature, and how am I going to be knowledgeable about something that I have not read?

I also found it interesting that I could make connections that I might not otherwise have noticed. This week is a prime example. This week I went to the library to find another book to read. Having just spent some time with From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, I decided to see what else I could find that was written by E.L. Konigsburg. I came across a book entitled, The View From Saturday, and without a second thought, I picked it up and took it directly to the circulation desk.

 I read my new book in the space of two days, and made many lovely new friends. The book was unique in that each chapter was introduced in the 3rd person, and then told from the point of view of a different character (in the 1st person). Coincidentally, I was working on a lesson plan to teach point of view. While I didn't use it in my lesson plan, I have it stored in the files I keep, both on my laptop and in the back of my mind.

While my little experiment is over, I am seriously considering continuing on with my blog. Even if no one else ever reads it or enjoys it, I know that I will.

A Change of Pace

This week I decided another change of pace was in order. So far, I have read fantastic historical fiction, not-so-fantastic historical fiction, some pretty great young adult fiction, and revisited some of my favorite children's fiction. Considering that I'm nearing the end of my current semester in college, I thought I'd do something daring. I wanted to do something just for fun. I wanted... non-fiction.

Now, having said that, I understand that the word fun is relative. I know people who love Stephen King novels. I can't stand them. Others were of the opinion that G.K. Chesterton was a genius, and that his book The Man Who Was Thursday was the most thrilling book ever written. If you missed my thoughts on that particular book, you can check it out here. My point is, a lot of people loved that book. (Seriously. Amazon gives it a 4.3 out of  5 stars.) I am not one of those people.

I am, however, one of those people who likes to read non-fiction. This week I picked up a book entitled American Judaism, by Jonathan D. Sarna (which incidentally has 4.8 stars on Amazon). It's an interesting account of the history of Jews in America, and Sarna does a good job of making his writing seem more like a narrative than a census record.

I've only made it as far as the American Civil War, but honestly, it has been an interesting read. It's fascinating to me that, in 1654, Jewish refugees arrived in New Amsterdam (now New York) from Brazil. Up until that point New Amsterdam was officially a Calvinist community. While there were Catholics, Lutherans, Anabaptists, and English Puritans residing in the colony, none had been granted permission to organize a congregation or have a minister. When the Jewish refugees arrived, the director-general sought permission from the Dutch West India Company to tell the Jews to leave for fear that by giving them the freedom to remain (and not practice any form of Christianity, let alone Calvinism) that the Lutherans, Anabaptists, Catholics, and Puritans must be given more freedom. What he failed to realize, however, is that not only was the Dutch West India Company more concerned with their pocketbooks than religion, but that many of the principal share holders of the company were, in fact, Jews. After several petitions, the Jewish refugees were not only allowed to stay, but they were allowed to trade, serve guard duty, own real estate, and worship in the privacy of their own homes, which seems to be more than what other religious sects were permitted. The director-general's fears seemed to be well-founded. By 1663, everyone in New Amsterdam was permitted to worship God how they saw fit, as long as they didn't cause problems. According to Sarna's history, the Jewish refugees paved the way for religious freedom, at least in one Dutch colony.

Cesar Kaskel

I don't know if Jonathan Sarna is my new friend, or if it's people like Cesar Kaskel, who rushed to Washington D.C. to appeal to Abraham Lincoln when the Jews of Paducah, Kentucky were expelled. Perhaps they're all becoming friends, and I look forward to meeting more of these truly amazing people.

I'll keep you posted.

Lunch with Old Friends...

I have recently developed a habit of reading over my lunch break at work. The way my schedule is, I am not generally able to stop and eat until nearly everyone else has left the teacher's lounge, so it's the perfect opportunity for me to spend time with my literary friends.

In the last few weeks I have met some great people. I have spent some time with a professor, English royalty, an annoyingly boring anti-anarchist, and a medieval maiden. I consider all of them to be dear friends, with the exception of Thursday. (He and I are acquaintances, certainly, but absolutely not friends.)

This week I decided to catch up with some old friends and read From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. I have known Claudia and Jamie Kinkaid for roughly twenty-five years. I was introduced to them through author E.L. Konigsburg when I was young. Claudia was the first to become my friend. She and I both had younger brothers and we were both planners, but that was where our similarities ended. While I was introverted and content to stay home, Claudia craved adventure. While I was very analytical, Claudia was a romantic at heart. In short, I was prose and Claudia was poetry. She was everything I was not, and everything I wanted to be.


Thinking about it, though, who wouldn't want to run away from home and hide out in a museum, especially one as grand as the Metropolitan Museum of Art? (If this is a spoiler, stop immediately, put the computer away, and run - don't walk - to your nearest library.) When Claudia determined that this is what she would do, she asked her brother, Jamie, to come along because, "They complimented each other perfectly. She was cautious (about everything but money) and poor; he was adventurous (about everything but money) and rich." In the course of their adventure, they happened upon a mysterious statue of an angel which Claudia surmises was sculpted by the great Michelangelo. They go on a journey to confirm Claudia's suspicions, which leads them to Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

I had read this book so many times as a kid. I had my very own copy, which was well-worn and very loved. As I grew older, I passed my love for Claudia and Jamie on to my own children, who have their own well-worn and much loved copy. I had not read their story as an adult, however, and I realized this week that it was highly overdue.

I still love Claudia and Jamie. I still envy their adventure at the Met. As an adult, though, I have to empathize with Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid. While the book doesn't give the reader any insight into what they went through, I can only imagine how horrific must it have been to have two of their children disappear. I can't say that this particular worry resonated with me when I was a child the way it does now. This knowledge doesn't discount the fun and excitement that I have with Claudia and Jamie, it just gives me a different perspective. And that's what good reading does, really, isn't it? It makes you think about something new and different or makes you think about things differently.

I'll keep you posted.

Anything but Ordinary

I cannot tell you how much I adore Birdy. I adore her confidence. I adore her empathy. I adore how much she loves her mother. I just adore her.

On the "About the Author" page, Karen Cushman is quoted as saying, "I grew tired of hearing about kings, princes, generals, presidents. I wanted to know what life was like for ordinary young people in other times." Thus, Birdy was born. I could tell that Ms. Cushman loves history as much as I do, and has an interest in young people as much as I do. She created a character in Birdy that is very relatable to most adolescent girls. She isn't perfect. She is emotional. She is stubborn. She is easily provoked. But she is also kind, especially to animals. She is fiercely loyal to her friends. She is brave, and honest, and thoughtful.

Throughout the last half of the book, she tried desperately to find a way out of marrying Shaggy Beard, the man her father had arranged for her to marry. She ranted and raved at her father and considered running away to be a minstrel or a puppeteer, but nothing changed. She refused to consent and her father refused to back down. Shaggy Beard had sent her gifts of a silver toothpick, a headdress, a sewing kit, and a pouch of silver, but she would not spend it because that would mean she had promised to marry him. She refused to spend the money until she went to the fair.

Before you jump to conclusions, however, she did not spend it on fabric or necklaces. She happened upon a performing bear who was moth-eaten and scrawny. His performance was bad enough that his owner announced that he planned to set a pack of dogs against the bear to see who which would be victorious. While many of the onlookers saw this as entertainment, Birdy only saw the cruelty. She struggled within herself, but finally decided that the only course of action was to sacrifice her pouch of silver - and her own freedom and happiness - for the life of the bear.

 I enjoyed watching, in my mind's eye, her evolution and growth. Her perspective changed, particularly regarding her brother, Robert, and her father. Throughout the book, Birdy couldn't stand  her father. When her mother talked about how wonderful her father was, Birdy couldn't understand what her mother saw in him. In the end, though, Birdy is in awe of how her father behaved toward her mother when she was ill, and even looked at him as though he'd performed a miracle when her mother survived.

As for Robert, it was he who rode to an abbey, where the abbess kept a menagerie, to find a home for Birdy's bear. Birdy was shocked and confused and I can imagine that, while she had mixed feelings,  she had some measure of gratitude toward the brother for whom she had so little regard.

In her very last journal entry, Birdy chronicles her salvation. On the day that Shaggy Beard's representatives were set to arrive to take her to him, they instead arrive to tell her father that Shaggy Beard has died. Instead, Birdy is to marry Shaggy Beard's son, Stephen. Stephen is closer to Birdy's age, and although she only met him once, she remembers him as being "young and clean, loves to learn, and is not Shaggy Beard." She decides that she is prepared to learn to love him. Rather than feeling doomed to a future she cannot control, she feels as though the world is full of possibilities and anticipates a future that promises happiness.

While Karen Cushman said that she wanted to know what life was like for ordinary people, I would suggest that Birdy is anything but ordinary. She is beautifully, wonderfully extraordinary.

Who will I meet next?
I'll keep you posted.