Review x 2: Heart of a Samurai and By the Great Horn Spoon

I always have multiple books going at the same time (it's one of my biggest tips for how to fit in a lot of reading). At the very least, I have one book I'm listening to, one book I'm reading, and one book I'm reading to my kids. Usually this works out just fine because the books are different enough that I have no problem keeping them straight in my head. But occasionally, the themes of two books will be so unexpectedly similar, it turns into one jumbled, confused mess.

This happened with Heart of a Samurai and By the Great Horn Spoon. On the surface, they look nothing the same. And actually, at their heart they look nothing the same either. But somehow,  at just the right point in the story, they are almost identical. Each book has a part in it where the main character takes a ship down the east coast of South America, around the tip of it, and back up the west coast to California. Both characters are hoping to strike it rich in a gold mine. In By the Great Horn Spoon, it's kind of the point of the book. But in Heart of a Samurai, it's more just like a little diversion (the book spans eleven years, and this adventure takes up just one of those years). However, as I was reading that part, I kept thinking, Didn't I already read this?, only to remind myself that the same things had happened in the other book. What's more, I was also reading The Voyage of the Dawn Treader around this same time, and even though there is no California Gold Rush in it, it still takes place on a ship and uses a bunch of nautical terms. Stories that happen on a boat are not my favorite to begin with, but multiply it by three, and I was feeling a little sea sick by the end.

But ship lingo aside, I really enjoyed both of these books.

Heart of a Samurai by Margi Preus begins with a storm. Manjiro leaves his widowed mother and siblings without telling them where he is going. He isn't planning to be gone long. He's just on a fishing boat, hoping to earn a little money for his family. But the storm doesn't care about his plans, nor about the fact that if the boat goes outside the designated perimeter set by Japanese officials, they won't be allowed back in the country.

The storm pushes the little boat farther and farther out to sea. The crew runs out of food and water and almost a will to live when they spy land. It's an uninhabited island, but it does have a lot of birds on it, which make excellent meals, and it's a place for them to repair their boat before they try again.

As it turns out, being shipwrecked is only the beginning of Manjiro's story. In fact, as I mentioned above, the book shows events over the course of eleven years. When the book begins, Manjiro is 14, fairly old for a middle grade novel, but by the end, he is 25, and that just seems positively ancient for the targeted audience, but somehow, it works. The majority of the book is spent on the water, and the acts of navigating and rowing and fishing don't necessarily come with an age attached to them. Manjiro, of course, grows and matures, but it happens in a way that even fifth or sixth graders can relate to.

Because of the kindness of the captain of the ship who rescues the stranded sailors, Manjiro ends up in America. (I should probably mention, this book is actually based on real events and Manjiro, or John Mung as he came to be known in America, is believed to be the first Japanese person to come here.)  He encounters the prejudices that come with being in the minority, but the story also looks at the misconceptions that pop up regardless of your race. There's one character in the story, Tom, who is a classic bully. He's mean and rude and always looking for a fight. He and Manjiro challenge each other to a horse race. Tom is a natural horseman, and Manjiro finds it "odd that Tom was so gentle with his horse . . . yet could be so mean to people." But then, after the race, Manjiro finds Tom in a ditch, his face bruised and bloodied by his own father, and Manjiro makes this observation, "It seems we didn't really know Tom at all."

I've read one other book by Margi Preus, West of the Moon, and I remember really loving her writing in that one. That's not to say I didn't love it here as well, but I didn't feel like the styles were exactly the same. There were glimpses of the writing I loved in West of the Moon, like this one: "Sea and sky were velvety, the night embroidered with a million glittering stars, every wave frosted with silver moonlight." But overall, it felt less poetic and more orderly.

Throughout the story, there is this underlying theme of what true greatness looks like. Manjiro dreams of becoming a samurai, an impossible wish in his country where aspirations are limited by birth. And yet, that doesn't mean he can't take on the traits and qualities and talents of a samurai. With everything he does, he keeps that standard in mind. And so it is that by the end, when he is summoned to go before the daimyo and a messenger says, "Well, since he has neither the family nor the upbringing of a samurai, I hope he has the heart of one! He is going to need it," he totally does.

By the Great Horn Spoon by Sid Fleischman is very different (except, of course, for the uncanny similarity I mentioned above), but oh, it is so much fun. My kids loved it, and it was the perfect sort of high adventure story that seems made for summer.

The two main characters are Jack (an orphan with two younger sisters who lives with his Aunt Arabella) and Praiseworthy (the aforementioned characters' butler). It's an unlikely pairing, but you see, Aunt Arabella is in financial straits and is going to have to sell her house, and the only thing Jack can think of is to leave Boston, sail around the continent, and strike it rich in California. Of course, Praiseworthy, being an excellent butler, can't let Jack go alone (the very idea!), so he accompanies him.

Everything would have been just fine (as fine as a year-long adventure without your guardian's permission can be) except that the money that was going to pay for their passages is stolen out from under them on the docks. So they do the next logical thing and stow away in a couple of barrels of potatoes until they are well out to sea without any option of turning back.

The rest of the book is just as full of adventure as the opening chapter. There are thieves and bandits (referred to as "road agents" in the story), fist fights and guns, bears and burros, ship races and storms, imposters and friends, and lots and lots of gold. At one point in the story, when Jack and Praiseworthy are still at sea and hoping their ship, the Lady Wilma, makes it to San Francisco before their rival, the Sea Raven, it says: "It seemed to Jack the most exciting moment of his life." And that's how my boys treated the whole book, like it was one exciting moment after another. Every chapter brought something totally unexpected and thrilling.

I have to say, my favorite part of the story was seeing how Praiseworthy gradually shed the pieces of his profession (the bowler hat, the umbrella, etc.) and acquired a red miner's shirt, a four-shooter, and whiskers. But even as his appearance changed and he began to look more like a Californian, he was still as unflustered and proper and polite as he was at the beginning. He always thought with his head first before he reacted physically (except when a road agent tried to take away his picture of Aunt Arabella--then all trace of niceness vanished). He was just such a great character.

I also really liked that this book was completely different from anything else we've ever read: part-historical fiction, part-tall tale adventure, there were just so many new things to talk about.

And I won't spoil anything, but I'll just say that the ending totally kept pace with the rest of the book, which is the mark of a great story, in my opinion. This is one that will stay on our favorites list for a long time.

Have you read either of these books? I'd love to hear your thoughts! And also, what have you been reading lately?

Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink

I put Caddie Woodlawn on our readaloud to-read list a long time ago. I had grown up watching the 1989 Wonderworks film adaptation, and I think I'd read the book as well. It seemed like one we'd eventually enjoy reading, although I had no immediate plans for it.

But then my good friend, Sarah, read it aloud to her five-year-old daughter, and she praised it so highly that it quickly bumped its way up to the top of the list.

Caddie is something of a tomboy, growing up wild and free on the Wisconsin frontier in 1864. When her family moved there from Boston seven years before, she and her little sister, Mary, were both frail and sickly. After Mary died, Caddie's father decided Caddie needed to build up her own health in the great outdoors: "Harriet, I want you to let Caddie run wild with the boys. Don't keep her in the house learning to be a lady. I would rather see her learn to plow than make samplers, if she can get her health by doing so. I believe it is worth trying. Bring the other girls up as you like, but let me have Caddie."

And so Caddie's mother does, although she's not always thrilled about it. Caddie swims in the river, makes regular visits to the Indian camp, goes hunting with her uncle, and plows the field with her brothers, Tom and Warren.  Her father's plan works. She is happy and healthy and thinks she has the best life in the world. However, as she grows older, her mother insists on a little more propriety, which Caddie resists at first until she realizes she doesn't have to give up who she is and what she loves in order to become a lady.

We were well into the book when we found out it's based on the life of the real Caddie Woodlawn, a fact I had forgotten (or never knew). We love fiction and are often quite inspired by it, but there's something special when you realize that a character's brave and honorable acts are actually founded in fact. I guess they mean just a little bit more.

For example, let me tell you a little bit about the Hankinson family. When Sam Hankinson settled in Wisconsin, he married an Indian woman and together they had three children. As the town and surrounding area gradually grew more populated, the Hankinsons felt the harsh prejudice and judgment of the white families around them. Eventually, Sam's wife decides to leave her husband and children and return to her people (a decision that seems prompted in part by Sam's own shame of her).

She goes to the schoolhouse to tell her children goodbye, and it is one of the saddest, most heartrending scenes, both for the reader and for Caddie, who can't contain her tears and lets them fall to the book that's open on her lap.

For months, Caddie has been saving a silver dollar she received from her Uncle Edmund, and she finally knows exactly how she wants to spend it. The next day after school, she leads the three Hankinson boys to the general store and buys each of them candy, a top, a comb, and a handkerchief. She spends every last cent, and with each present, the boys' eyes light up a little more.

Later that night, Tom questions her, "But Caddie, you needn't have spent your whole dollar. You could have got them each a top or a hoarhound stick, and kept the rest for yourself."

But Caddie replies, "No, Tom, it had to be all of it. I wanted to drive that awful lonesome look out of their eyes, and it did, Tom. It did!"

It was such a sweet, poignant lesson to me (and hopefully to my kids too). Caddie stripped away all the labels and prejudices heaped upon this family (even by Caddie's own mother) and saw them for who they really were: three little boys who desperately missed their mother. The shopping spree was fun, but the attention she gave them was even more meaningful. For just a few minutes, they no longer felt like outcasts but like royalty.

Something similar happened a little later on in the book, but this time it was between Caddie and her younger sister, Hetty. Hetty is not a tomboy like Caddie. However, on occasion, she tags along with Caddie, Warren, and Tom but mostly just so she can turn on her heel at the least sign of mischief and run home to tattle to their mother. Consequently, the three adventurers avoid her whenever possible.

One afternoon though, Caddie is by herself on the quiet hill north of the house. She has picked a bouquet of flowers and is braiding the stems together while she thinks and daydreams. Then she catches sight of Hetty, and her first thought is one of irritation. She just knows Hetty is coming to disturb her peace by spreading some bit of news she's discovered.

But surprisingly, Hetty just takes a seat beside Caddie and says, "It's kind of nice to be just us two alone . . . isn't it? Without the boys. But I guess it's more fun for you with the boys."

In just those few words, quite a lot is revealed about Hetty: "It was almost as if Caddie had never seen that little face before. Suddenly she understood for the first time that Hetty was all by herself. Minnie was too young, and Tom, Caddie, and Warren had no room in their adventures for a tagging and tattling little sister. Was her eagerness to be the first to tell only her way of trying to make herself important in the eyes of all the selfish older people?"

The moment was so unexpected and sweet that it made me want to weep. For all of her energy and shenanigans, Caddie could be quite mature and perceptive. This was one of those times, and I felt like reaching through the page and giving her a hug when she said, "I think it's nicer since you came, Hetty. I really do."

But if you asked my boys what their favorite part of the book was, it wouldn't be that moment of generosity toward the Hankinson children or this sweet glimpse of sisterly bonding. No, they would most definitely say, "Tom's story about Pee-Wee." One day while Caddie, Tom, and Warren are plowing a field, they decide to take turns telling stories to each other. Tom's story is about a greedy, quick-tempered, and rather heartless farmer named Pee-Wee who uses any misfortune to his advantage. My kids thought this story was so funny and, in a moment that will surely go down in our family's readaloud history, even asked me to read it again immediately after I read it the first time.

A couple of weeks after we finished it, Maxwell brought home a paper from school detailing an upcoming assignment where they had to tell a story to the class. And what story do you think Max wanted to tell? Pee-Wee, of course. Now, as those of you who have actually read the story know, there are some rather morbid moments, which are meant to just be far-fetched and ridiculous, but which might sound rather disturbing coming out of a six-year-old's mouth. Luckily, I was saved because it took him ten minutes to tell, and he was only supposed to talk for two to four minutes (although, if you ever catch Max unoccupied, you will be in for a treat if you ask for his best retelling of Pee-Wee).

Readers are always finding new coming-of-age stories to rave about, but I believe this one could rival just about any of them. Caddie grows and matures throughout the book without losing any part of herself. She is still the same brave, fiery tomboy we started out with, but by the end of the story, she is wiser and just a little softer around the edges. This is due in large part to her father, a man who maybe edged out Atticus Finch as "best father in all of literature" for me. He is gentle and perceptive and lets Caddie know he loves her simply because she is his Caddie.

At the very end, Caddie makes this observation, "I'm the same girl and yet not the same. I wonder if it's always like that? Folks keep growing from one person into another all their lives, and life it just a lot of everyday adventures. Well, whatever life is, I like it."

Is it any wonder that we all fell in love with Caddie?

Have you read Caddie Woodlawn? What lessons did you learn? What was your favorite scene?

The Man Who Changed How Boys and Toys Were Made by Bruce Watson

Aaron's Christmas wish list was made up entirely of Lego sets. I'm not sure what he would have done if he'd actually received every set he asked for (probably keeled over with happiness), but instead, he got one medium-sized set and one small set. Fortunately for him, Maxwell and Bradley each got a set as well, and they don't really love putting them together, so they let him do it for them. He knocked off all 400+-pieces sets in two days.

To say he is Lego-obsessed would be something of an understatement. It's all he thinks or talks about, and I'm sure many of you have similarly obsessed children.

But before there were Legos, there was something called an Erector set. Heard of it? Probably, because it is now one of the most iconic toys in toy history, ranking right up there with Raggedy Ann and the jack-in-the-box.

It was invented by a young man named A.C. Gilbert in the year 1911 and was one of the first building toys of its kind. With a metal box full of nuts, bolts, steel girders, and cogwheels, a child could build just about anything. And he (or rarely, she) did. These weren't just cute models but miniatures of the real thing (although I don't necessarily think of a five-foot zeppelin as "miniature").

But Gilbert didn't just invent a new toy. He completely changed the face of the toy industry. He changed the way toys were advertised (his famous slogan, "Hello Boys! Make Lots of Toys!," spoke directly to the potential builders themselves instead of their parents). He loosened Germany's grip on the toy industry and handed over the responsibility (and the profits) to American toy makers. He created toys that were educational and taught life-skills, something that was really unheard of at the turn of the twentieth century.

Of course I'd heard about Erector sets before I read this book (I think my dad may have even had one when he was a kid), but most of the information was completely new to me.  At times, Watson's writing style was a little presumptuous and exclamatory, but that's not unlike Gilbert's own style, as found in the magazine Erector Tips, so maybe it was appropriate. (I also could have done without Watson's personal stories--they felt totally gimmicky).

But A.C. Gilbert himself fascinated me--a man who called himself a "big boy" and became something of a father-figure to thousands of American boys, yet couldn't relate at all to his own son and had the sternest countenance of anyone around. There were so many conflicting personality traits that, even by the end of the book, he was still something of a mystery to me. But stories like the following made me think that underneath his various personas, he was a good, if not perfect, person:

He was often told that he needed to raise the price on his small tool chests: "We can't sell them for $1.98. We're losing a buck on every one." But Gilbert wouldn't do it. He told his employees to "make up the loss somewhere else." He wanted to keep at least one set affordable for even the poorest of boys.

One of  the subtitles of the book calls Gilbert "the man who saved Christmas." Again, a little presumptuous, but there is some truth to it. In 1918, with WWI still raging, the Council of National Defense proposed a ban on all toy sales. Gilbert and several other members of Toy Manufacturers of America were given fifteen minutes to try to persuade the council otherwise. Gilbert acted as spokesman and said, "The greatest influence in the life of a boy is his toys. A boy wants fun, not education. Yet through the kind of toys that America toy manufacturers are turning out, he gets both. The American boy is a genuine boy and he wants genuine toys. He wants guns that really shoot, and that is why we have given him air rifles from the time he was big enough to hold them. It is because of the toys they had in childhood that the American soldiers are the best marksmen on the battlefields of France." So there you have it. Not exactly the kind of glowing endorsement that would have convinced me that American kids needed Christmas, but it worked its magic on the council. They didn't ban toys, and Gilbert saved Christmas (for that one year).

As my kids have gotten older, I have become more and more picky about which toys I let take up residence in our home. Legos, magformers, games, puzzles, art supplies, and bikes all get an automatic pass. Video games and one-dimensional noisy toys do not. I want toys that will encourage fun and play but also help them be creative and industrious and cooperative. Watson said,

"Today's most popular toys--even those for thirteen-year-olds--are pure fantasy. But time was when toys were mock-ups of the grown-up world, preparing children for it day by day, doll by doll, model by model. When a society is in sync with its toys, children are not afraid to grow up, and those who come of age with such toys can look back and see the person they've become in the toys they once loved."

Gilbert's Erector sets and other kits did that, and there are still many toys on the market that promote those same values. They might not be the most popular, but they're there. And that's where my money will go.

What is the best toy you've ever purchased for your child? Tell me about the toys in your house that just keep on giving.

The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics by Daniel James Brown

When I was growing up, my mom had her favorite "Did I ever tell you about . . . " stories. One of these was from when she was  a student at the University of Nebraska. My mom is very petite and when she was a college student, she weighed a mere 100 pounds. Besides being a gymnastics teacher who was mistaken as one of the children one time (another favorite story of hers), her slight build also made her the perfect candidate for the coxswain of the school's rowing team. To this day, I don't know how long she was on the team or how many races she was in or even any of the names of the other rowers. I just know that it's something she took a certain amount of pride in.

My dad was the first one to read this book, and you can probably already tell from the title and the cover, this is a story about rowing. Suddenly, his interest in my mom's college experience escalated. He began following her around the house, asking questions like, "As the coxswain, did you use a megaphone? Did you ask for an increased stroke count? Did you ever say, 'Give me ten big ones'?"

My mom began to get a little annoyed. At that point, she had not read the book (although she has now), and I think she felt a little called out--her favorite story exposed! "No!" she'd reply. "Stop following me around! The University of Nebraska had a very small rowing program. We were not out to win any Olympic medals. I was usually so busy steering, I didn't have time for giving commands."

But then she read the book. And the pride returned. Because even though Nebraska can't boast a competitive rowing program, she was the coxswain. And that's kind of a big deal, no matter the size or ability of the rowing program.

The Boys in the Boat is the true story of nine young men from The University of Washington who went to the Berlin Olympics in 1936, just as the world was on the cusp of the second world war. For the most part, they were boys from working class families. At the time, Washington felt far removed from the eastern United States where rowing was an esteemed and time-honored sport. But with the likes of Al Ulbrickson (Washington's coach), Tom Bolles (Washington's freshman coach), and Ky Ebright (California's coach and Washington's biggest rival), the western rowing teams became a force to be reckoned with.

The story mainly follows Joe Rantz, who sat in the seventh seat of the Olympic boat. His childhood was not ideal. His mother died when he was only four years old, and he found himself shipped off to various relatives (including his older brother who had already graduated from college and was married). Eventually, his father remarried (to his son's wife's twin sister, believe it or not), and Joe moved back in with them. But Thula did not get along well with Joe (or really anyone, for that matter). The Rantz' life was hard: they lived in tiny cabins in rural towns and struggled to make ends meet. It was not the life that Thula, an accomplished violinist, had envisioned for herself, and she took out all of her frustrations on Joe.

When he was just fifteen years old, Joe's father and Thula packed up once again, but this time they did not take Joe with them. Thula couldn't stand to be around him, and so she basically gave Joe's dad an ultimatum: her or him. He chose her (along with their four children), and Joe was abandoned and left on his own. His dad's parting words of advice were, "Look, Son, if there's one thing I've figured out about life, it's that if you want to be happy, you have to learn how to be happy on your own" (advice that, apparently, he himself did not follow since he was willing to let Thula dictate what he could or could not do).

This was during the Depression when there really weren't jobs readily available, even for an industrious boy like Joe. He struggled just to have enough food to eat, and so it's pretty remarkable that just a few years later, he found himself at the University of Washington. He wanted a spot on the freshman rowing team, not because he had a particular affinity for rowing (he'd never even done it before), but because he wanted the guaranteed part-time job that would come with it. But once he was on the team, he held onto it for all that he was worth. He was determined to make it to the Olympics.

I am not really much of a sports person, and I knew very little about rowing before reading this book (in spite of my mom's tales from Nebraska's rowing team). But I love the Olympics, and I love a good underdog story, and so after just the first couple of chapters, I was gripped with an intense interest in rowing. (Did you know that "physiologists . . . have calculated that rowing a 2000-meter race, the Olympic standard, takes the same physiological toll as playing two basketball games back to back. And it exacts that toll in about six minutes"?)

I learned new vocabulary (for example, "catching a crab" doesn't really mean your oar caught a crab--just that it hit the water wrong), and I listened to the rundown of every race with bated breath. If anything, the credit for my sudden devotion to rowing probably goes to Daniel James Brown who has the remarkable ability of being able to tell a true story like it's fiction without actually fictionalizing any part of it.

I couldn't believe how intense and suspenseful it was, even while knowing right from the beginning what the final outcome would be. As I was listening to the final Olympic race with full knowledge that they would come out on top, I still questioned myself. The details were so incredible, the odds against them so seemingly insurmountable, that I found myself thinking, Did I misunderstand? Did I miss something? I thought they were going to win! Because as they're in the middle of the race, rowing with all their might, it seems absolutely impossible that they could possibly end up winning.

I'll refrain from sharing the details since I feel like, even knowing that they win, it would spoil it to tell you how it all happens, but I was truly amazed (and maybe even got a little teary-eyed).

Even though the narration follows Joe Rantz (which provides some cohesion to the story as a whole), Brown fills in the gaps with all sorts of other interesting details: historical information (including some about the impending war), little glimpses of small-town life in rural America, and brief life sketches on the rest of the cast in this incredible story.

One of the people you get to know is George Yeoman Pocock, Washington's resident boatbuilder. As a young man, he immigrated to the United States from England and began to build boats for a living (it's what his family was trained to do). By the time Joe Rantz came onto campus, Pocock was building all the boats for the western teams and for some of the eastern ones, too. He was a master craftsman.

Quiet but observant, Pocock could give any of the famous fictional mentors a run for their money. He watches from the sidelines while polishing a hull here or shaving off a piece of wood there. At the critical moment, just as Joe is about to lose his chance of being on the Olympic team, Pocock takes him into his workshop and tells him to "think of a well-rowed race as a symphony, and himself as just one player in the orchestra." He says, "Joe, when you really start trusting those other boys, you will feel a power at work within you that is far beyond anything you've ever imagined. Sometimes, you will feel as if you have rowed right off the planet and are rowing among the stars."

That advice leads to my favorite scene in the book. For weeks, the coach, Al Ulbrickson, has been fiddling with the teams--swapping out a boy, changing seat assignments, trying to find that magic combination that will make the boat fly. Joe has just about given up hope of being on the Olympic team when Ulbrickson moves him from the third boat to the second boat (which ends up being the one selected for the Olympic team). At the time Ulbrickson doesn't realize it, but it's the final change he'll have to make. I loved the moment when Joe got into the boat and sat down in the seventh seat. The way Brown described it, it was as if Joe was the missing link and all the pieces finally clicked into place:

"From the moment he stepped into the shell that afternoon, [Joe] felt at home. He liked these boys. He didn't know Gordy Adam and Don Hume well, but both made a point of welcoming him aboard. His oldest, most reliable shell house friend, Roger Morris, sitting up front in the bow, gave him a wave and shouted the length of the boat, 'Hey, Joe, I see you finally found the right boat!' His buddies from Grand Coulee, Chuck Day and Johnny White, were sitting up near the front too. As he strapped his shoes to the footbaord and began to lace his feet into the shoes, Stub McMillin, his face alight, said, "OK, this boat is going to fly now, boys.' Shorty Hunt slapped him on the back and whispered, 'Got your back, Joe.'"

That paragraph perfectly describes the camaraderie these boys felt with each other, but the reason why it's my very favorite scene is because you get the sense that Joe has finally found his place in the world with people who understand him, respect him, and even love him. (And I think the rest of the story attests to this bond because all nine of the boys kept in contact with each other throughout their lives, even decades and decades after that Olympic race.) It was just a very sweet, very emotional moment for me.

This book's style reminded me a lot of Unbroken or Endurance. You might remember that when I read Endurance, I said I was going to buy it because I want my boys to have easy access to it during their teen years. This book is another one that I will buy for that same reason. It is such a phenomenal story told in such an engaging way. Those nine boys, and particularly Joe Rantz, are exactly the kind of role models I want for my own boys: hard working, dedicated, and loyal. They went after the impossible, and they achieved it.

Okay, and since we're on the subject of character and the kind of examples I want for my kids, I'm just going to give you one more glimpse at the kind of man Joe Rantz was. After he's been in school for about a year, Joe finds out that his father and stepmother have been living in a home not too far away from him. One afternoon, Joe and his girlfriend, Joyce, decide to pay them a visit. Thula is as prickly and cold-hearted as ever and tells him to "Make your own life, Joe. Stay out of ours."

As they drive away, Joyce is furious (I could go on and on about Joyce--if Joe is the role model for my kids, then Joyce is the role model for me. She is absolutely incredible). She can't believe the way Thula treated Joe, and she can't figure out why Joe just quietly takes it. In frustration, she cries, "I just don't understand why you don't get angry." And Joe quietly replies, "It takes energy to get angry. It eats you up inside. I can't waste my energy like that and expect to get ahead." If my boys can read that and take it heart, they'll be well on their way to becoming fine young men.

When we discussed this book at book club last month (one of my favorite discussions ever, by the way), it got a unanimous stamp of approval, but some people in the group said that it didn't quite meet their expectations (it is, after all, a book that has received a ton of praise in the last year) or that it dragged on endlessly in some parts. Although this was not my experience at all, I thought I'd mention it here with my own recommendation: I don't know if it would make a difference, but I listened to the audio, and it was brilliant. If there were slow parts, I honestly never noticed them. And the races! The races were especially exciting to listen to--almost like you were listening to the actual commentary over the radio. The actual book is still worth checking out because it includes some great photographs, but if you're a little worried about it dragging, I'd say give the audio a try.

And as far as it being too hyped up, all I can tell you is that my expectations were high (since my dad, mom, and husband had all read it before me and couldn't stop praising it), and those expectations were still blown through the roof. They were met and exceeded in every possible way.

I'm sure I've probably talked it up too much myself now, and you'll all be disappointed if you read it. But if you've read it, please tell me your experience with it. What did you like? What didn't you like?

Raising Readers: Nonfiction Early Readers

Finding a variety of early readers that don't make you want to poke your eyes out can be challenging. But if you up the ante by adding the qualifier "nonfiction," your task may seem almost impossible.

First of all, at least in our library, nonfiction early readers are shelved with the children's nonfiction, not with the early readers. This means you can peruse by topic easily enough, but if you don't care about the subject per se (you'd just like to see your child reading about volcanoes or the American Revolution instead of Star Wars for a change), it can be beyond frustrating. Trust me, I know. I'm the mom who's wandering down the stacks, pulling hopeful books off the shelves and filling up the reshelving cart with cast-offs.

However, the benefits that come to the emerging reader from reading nonfiction are enormous.

• New vocabulary - nonfiction introduces hundreds of new words your child would never encounter in Green Eggs and Ham or Frog & Toad. Names, places, and scientific terms are all there in short, simple sentences.
• New ideas - not only is your child learning new words, but he is also learning about planets or reptiles or Babe Ruth. Now he not only can read the word "Saturn," but he can also tell you all about its rings and climate and moons. 
• New style - nonfiction is usually presented in a completely different way from fiction. Instead of dialogue and a climax, you have facts and definitions.

But just because nonfiction early readers are difficult to find doesn't mean they're not out there. Over the last year, we've stumbled across some really stellar ones. And the great news is that once you've found one, you can usually find dozens more in the same series. Just put them on hold, and you can just pick up a big stack of them and skip the aimless wandering entirely.

1. Record Breakers: The Biggest (and other Kingfisher Readers)
This one is fun because it doesn't focus on one subject specifically but, in a Guinness Book of World Records style, showcases the world record breakers in the biggest category: biggest insect, biggest building, etc. Here is a complete list of Kingfisher Readers. They come in a variety of levels, tackle a variety of topics, and feature great illustrations and photographs.

2. Eat My Dust! Henry Ford's First Race (and other biographies from Step Into Reading)
One day Aaron came home from school with a book called Abe Lincoln's Hat. It was all about the way President Lincoln used his hat to keep himself organized during his presidency. Aaron loved it, and I thought, There must be other biographies like this one. There are! Step Into Reading has a whole collection of early reader biographies. (I couldn't find a list of just the biographies, but here is a list of all their nonfiction early readers, which are all well worth checking out.) You know how much I love picture book biographies, and these ones are great whether you're reading them out loud or having your child read them to you. They all feature a unique story about the person being highlighted, rather than just a broad overview of his/her life.

3. The Dog That Dug for Dinosaurs (and other Ready-to-Read nonfiction)
Ready-to-Read also has a great line of nonfiction early readers. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a list grouping them together, but here is a link to all of the Ready-to-Read books, and it isn't too difficult to scroll through and pick out the nonfiction ones. The one I'm featuring here is about a dog named Tray and his owner named Mary Ann Anning. I like this one because it's a great introduction to archeology, as well as being about different kinds of dinosaurs.

4. Volcanoes! (and all the other National Geographic Leveled Readers)
I don't think I can express how much I love these leveled readers published by National Geographic. Aaron has explored a host of interests between these covers: volcanoes, sharks, planets, tornadoes, snakes, and more. And also, just as you would expect, the photography is spectacular, so they are a treat just to look through without even reading the text. One of Aaron's favorite components in these books are the jokes at the top of most pages. It's like a little reward for him after he's read the rest of the page. If you'd like to see all of the National Geographic titles in one place, visit this link.

5. Hark! A Shark! (and other Cat in the Hat Learning Library Books)
Out of all the books I've discussed today, these are definitely the most commercialized. But I can't deny that they present good information in a fun, engaging way. In fact, I have to say I'm pretty impressed with both the quality and quantity of facts that are all told through simple rhymes. New titles are being added all the time, but here is the most current list (I think). (Also, it's worth noting that these are different titles than the Cat in the Hat ones on the Step Into Reading list.)

With summer break already underway (Aaron's last day of kindergarten was today! Sob!), hopefully these lists will get you started on some fun and educational reading for those lazy afternoons. Use your library's hold system. I'm serious. You won't regret it.

(For more Raising Readers posts, click here.)

KidPages: Three Incredible Biographies

In all my reading of picture books, it seems like one of the most challenging genres to fill is the picture book biography. There is a vast difference between biographies a fifth-grader might use for a research project and biographies a three-year-old will want to sit through. But I don't want my three-year-old to have to wait until he's eleven to learn about the lives of amazing people. So I am always on the search for great biographies with captivating illustrations and engaging text--biographies that will be the gateway to helping my children (and me) learn about incredible men and women.

Here are three of my favorites (but I could give you at least a dozen more if time would allow):

1. Stand Straight, Ella Kate: The True Story of a Real Giant, Kate Klise, illus. M. Sarah Klise
Don't let the cover persuade you not to read this book. I almost talked myself out of picking it up at the library because I didn't like the cover, but I would have missed out on a truly inspiring story.

When Ella Kate Ewing was seven years old, she hit a growth spurt. And she kept growing and growing and growing. When she was thirteen, she was almost six feet tall. And when she reached her final height, she was 8' 4", with a shoe size of 24.

Ella Kate had a gland disorder, known as gigantism. At the time (late 19th-century), doctors didn't really know how to treat such a condition. Ella's growing up years were marked by unkind and cruel comments. But her parents always told her, "Stand straight, Ella Kate."

Although shy and reserved by nature, by the time Ella was an adult, she decided to embrace her unusual height. She made money by standing in a Chicago museum where people would pay money to stare at her. Eventually, she traveled all over the country and the world as a circus show star. She was able to build herself a house that was just her size and loved seeing the wonders of the world.

I don't know what it would be like if Ella Kate were growing up in today's world. Certainly we are more tolerant and respectful of differences. But at the same time, I think we try to look past and normalize those differences. Instead of embracing our uniqueness, we try to pretend that we're all the same. I think it's wonderful to be kind and accepting, but I hope it's not at the price of hiding what makes us different and special.

The story is told in first-person, which I loved. It doesn't gloss over the fact that living a life when you are 2-3 feet taller than all the other adults around you is hard. Very hard. You feel cramped everywhere you go; people call you a freak; nothing fits you the way it was designed. But it's also very hopeful: you can do anything you want and become who you want to be no matter the setbacks or discouragements you might face. This is honestly one of the most fascinating and inspiring picture books I've ever read.

2. On a Beam of Light: A Story of Albert Einstein, Jennifer Berne, illus. Vladimir Radunsky
To condense one person's life into picture book format would be difficult enough. But to try to condense one person's ideas into something simple and understandable would be even more daunting. Especially if the ideas you're referring to happen to be Albert Einstein's.
 
And that is why I love this book: atoms, E = mc², and the theory of relativity--they're all there, but they're mentioned in such a matter of fact, ordinary way, you'd never guess (or rather, your three-year-old would never guess) there was any reason not to believe that everything is made up of atoms or that time would be altered if he approached the speed of light.

At the same time, I never felt like the author downplayed the significance of Einstein's discoveries. For all her candid simplicity, she also gives his work the praise it deserves.

I also just love the structure of the book: it follows the timeline of Albert Einstein's life: childhood, young adulthood, and mature years; there are random, interesting tidbits (such as that Einstein liked to wander around licking an ice-cream cone while deep in thought or that he liked to wear shoes without any socks); it touches on his frustrations, as well as his successes; and it gives the spotlight to his daydreams that resulted in some of the most important milestones in the history of science. And it does all of this without ever becoming wordy or tiresome.

Will you know everything there is to know about atoms when you're done? No. But will you have a firm impression of Albert Einstein's life and character? Yes.

The illustrations are a brilliant complement to the text. They are also simple with a careless, almost sloppy, feel about them. One of my favorite pages depicts Albert Einstein in bed with his feet poking through the rungs of his foot board while above him sketches of a planet, clock, bus, and bike swirl in murky darkness.

But perhaps the best part of the book is the take home message: "[Albert Einstein] asked questions never asked before. Found answers never found before. And dreamed up ideas never dreamt before . . . But still, Albert left us many big questions . . . Questions that someday you may answer . . . by wondering thinking, and imagining." Wow! Is there anything more exciting to a kid?! What an empowering book: someday you can carry on where Albert Einstein left off. You can discover amazing things, too.

 
3. Snowflake Bentley, Jacqueline Briggs Martin, illus. Mary Azarian
This is not a new book. In fact, it won the Caldecott Medal fifteen years ago in 1999. But the boys and I read it for the first time last winter, and I think it's fast on its way to becoming a traditional winter read for us.

It's about Wilson (Willie) Bentley, a farm boy who grew up in Vermont during the second half of the nineteenth century. He loved snow and said it was "as beautiful as butterflies or apple blossoms." He wanted a way to capture and remember all of the magnificent designs and patterns of individual snowflakes. He realized that no two snowflakes were exactly the same.

At first he tried drawing the designs, but he never could finish them before they melted away. Then he heard about an expensive camera with a built-in microscope. His parents were anything but wealthy, but they knew how much Willie loved the snow, and so they spent their savings to buy him the camera. Even with the camera, it took Willie a lot of time and patience to get successful photographs. He became known as "the Snowflake Man," and eventually his best photographs were published into a book.

This book is perfect for young kids because it's told in a simple, conversational style, but then it also has additional facts along the sidebars. The first time I read it with my kids, we just read the main body of text, but we have since branched out in our desire to learn more. The illustrations (woodcut and watercolor) perfectly match the style of the text.

I love Willie Bentley's story because it demonstrates how even our hobbies and interests are valuable and have meaning. Willie never became rich as "the Snowflake Man." In fact, it says that he spent "$15,000 on his work and received [just] $4,000 from the sale of photographs and slides." But his work was still important and people still refer to his book Snow Crystals today. (When I went to Aaron's school for his SEP conference a few weeks ago, his teacher actually had a copy of Snow Crystals sitting on the piano. It was fascinating to look through it and see the huge variety of snowflake patterns.) I think it's exciting for kids to realize that the things they do for fun now (drawing or riding their bike or cooking) can continue to be the things they do for fun later. They might not turn those interests into a career, but they can always get enjoyment and pleasure out of them.

Do you have a favorite picture book biography? Do tell! I'm always on the lookout for more!

The Man Who Invented Christmas: How Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" Rescued His Career and Revived Our Holiday Spirits by Les Standiford

The days of this week are all starting to blend together in one happy blur. Christmas Day was wonderful, but so were the days leading up to it and the days following it.

On the day after Christmas, we drove to my parents' home in Colorado. On the drive, in between handing out crackers and turning on music for my kids, I managed to finish this little gem. It was much more substantial than some of the fluffy Christmas stuff I indulge in, and I enjoyed it very much.


This is the behind-the-scenes look at what went into Charles Dickens’ writing of A Christmas Carol and the effect it has had on the world’s celebration of Christmas in the 170 years since its publication.

I probably don’t have enough stamina to read a full-blown biography of Charles Dickens (maybe someday . . . ), but I am still interested in his life and creative process. This book was the perfect substitute. At only 226 pages, I wasn’t worried about my life being half over before I finished it. Also, I loved the focal point of A Christmas Carol. I still learned a lot about Charles Dickens’ childhood, his home life, the financial difficulties that beset him, the early publishing process, world events, and the evolution of Christmas, but it was all done within the context of A Christmas Carol. Having that beloved little Christmas book as the unifying thread made everything seem like it had more meaning and purpose.

Here are a few of the interesting facts I learned along the way:

• Charles Dickens' early pen name was Boz.
• Chapters of The Old Curiosity Shop sold more than 100,000 copies per week, which, considering the number of literate citizens, was really an astronomical number.
• Prior to A Christmas Carol, Christmas itself was not universally celebrated. The holiday was originally an excuse to get drunk and engage in immoral and illegal behavior. Although one of the kings decreed it a Christian holiday in an attempt to convert more people, the Puritans banned it because they thought it was sacrilegious. Eventually, a milder, more religious version was reinstated, but many people still had lukewarm feelings toward it.
• Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol at a dismal, desperate point in his life . . . his popularity had plummeted, his debts had increased, and his family life was stressful.
• Nevertheless, the story was not some shoddy little thing he dashed off quickly in order to make a few pounds. The story consumed him (he admitted, "I was very much affected by the little Book myself"), and he really hoped that it would make a lasting impression on his audience.
• At the time, Dickens' publishers were unhappy with him and wouldn't invest in A Christmas Carol. So Dickens had to pay for everything himself: the illustrations, publishing, binding, etc. In other words, A Christmas Carol was akin to a self-published novel.
• A Christmas Carol was instantly well-received by the public. The first 6,000 copies sold within four days.
• Because of relaxed, or even non-existent, copyright laws (especially between countries) piracy ensued soon after publication. Cheap editions were sold for pennies, other authors lifted the material and used it as their own, and theatrical reenactments could be put on without any sort of author's knowledge or permission.
• A Christmas Carol impacted and enlarged such traditions as having a turkey for Christmas dinner (apparently, the goose industry really floundered after people read the scene where Scrooge buys a turkey twice the size of Tiny Tim), Christmas decorations, activities and games, and Father Christmas.
• Dickens wrote several more short Christmas stories, and during his lifetime The Chimes and The Cricket on the Hearth were probably even more popular than A Christmas Carol.

Probably one of the most poignant moments in A Christmas Carol, aside from Tiny Tim, is the moment when the Ghost of Christmas Present flings back his robes to reveal the two small children who represent Ignorance and Want. I found it so interesting to learn about the events in Dickens' childhood that inspired that portion of the story. Although Dickens' didn't have as degenerate a childhood as many in 19th-century England, he was forced to give up his education and work in order to help his father get out of debtor's prison. 

Eventually, he was able to go back to school, at least for a short time, but I think having the two contrasting experiences helped him realize the value of education: without it, your life is stagnant and unchangeable; with it, you can progress and gain success. Prior to writing A Christmas Carol, Dickens' commented on the idea that "a little learning is a dangerous thing." He said: "Why, a little hanging was considered a very dangerous thing, according to the same authorities, with this difference, that, because a little hanging was dangerous, we had a great deal of it; and, because a little learning was dangerous, we were to have none at all."

And later on, while doing research for Martin Chuzzlewit, Dickens' visited an impoverished school and said: "Side by side with Crime, Disease, and Misery in England, Ignorance is always brooding, and is always certain to be found."

These examples highlight one of the things I learned the most from reading this book and that was that, in spite of his personal faults and weaknesses, Dickens hoped to achieve good things with his writing. I think it is fairly common today to look at a story and say something critical like, "It was interesting enough, but it was obvious he had an agenda." Well, Dickens had an agenda too, but I can't help but respect and admire him for it. He knew his writing would reach the masses in one form or another and that it had the potential to change the hearts and minds of men and women.

Sometimes his stories got a little preachy, and in those moments, his words were his downfall. But in A Christmas Carol, he crafted something that was perfectly balanced, beautifully constructed, and emotionally powerful. Many have said that it is his best work, and if that is not true, then certainly it is his best-known work. It has become an icon of Christmas.

At one point in the book, Les Standiford made the observation: "Celebrating Christmas without some reference to A Christmas Carol seems impossible, a remarkable fact given that the book was published more than 150 years ago. Indeed, the resonance of the story has remained so strong through the generations that commentators have referred to Dickens as the man who invented Christmas."

This book not only gave me a deeper appreciation for Dickens' works (I can definitely see a Dickens novel in my reading agenda for 2014), but also strengthened my love of Christmas. This is a book that could be enjoyed any month of the year but that I especially enjoyed in the days leading up to Christmas.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

When I was getting my Bachelor's, one of the required general classes was Physical Science 100. The course covered very basic physics, chemistry, and geology. But I do not have a scientific brain, so I would surely have been sunk except that I happened to marry a physics major. Saved! (And, no, he did not do my homework for me, but he did read every single chapter with me and helped me study for all my tests. Now that is true love. And I even got an A.)

When I was 17, my brother and I studied biology together (remember, I was home schooled). It was great fun having a study buddy, but there were still many pieces of the biology puzzle that I did not understand. One day, in total frustration, I shouted that I just wanted to throw the biology textbook out the window. Overhearing a snippet of my rant, my mom quickly rushed in and chided, "Amy! That isn't very nice to want to throw your brother out the window!"

I give you all that background so you will understand how truly amazing it is that I not only liked, but LOVED The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. And I think the chapters that described cell culture and division and research were actually my favorite parts. Which made me realize that when you add human emotion and personality back into science, I will eat it up.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is the true story of...you guessed it...Henrietta Lacks, a black woman who was diagnosed with cervical cancer in the early 1950's. Following an early treatment, part of her tumor was given to George Gey, the head of tissue culture research at Johns Hopkins. He had been collecting tissue samples for years in the hopes of finding a sustainable cell line. Henrietta's cells were treated like any other, but for some reason, they took off and multiplied so rapidly that George Gey was soon sending them to research labs all over the United States and beyond. Henrietta's cells became known as HeLa, the first immortal human cell line. But Henrietta died soon after and never knew that her cells were changing the face of science, and even her husband and children knew nothing until 25 years later, and by that time HeLa cells had been multiplied millions and billions of times and had been used for all kinds of research from cancer to in vitro fertilization.

But this book is not just a biography about Henrietta (though it is that), and it's not just about her cells either (though it is that, too). It's also a memoir (a personal account of the author's journey), and it raises a host of ethical and moral questions. All of these elements combined made this a fast-paced, fascinating, and emotional read.

I had a recurring thought while reading this book: Rebecca Skloot could never write this book now. She wrote it at the perfect time. If she had written it earlier, Henrietta's family would probably have refused to talk to her (they almost did anyway...so maybe it was her persistence and not the timing that convinced them). But if she had waited until now to begin her research, she might still have written a book, but it wouldn't have been this book. Too many key characters have passed away, and without their unique perspectives, she wouldn't have been able to achieve the same depth and detail.

This book is 10 years' worth of  research, and it is absolutely breathtaking in its magnitude. To be able to write non-fiction so concisely and cleanly and captivating is a rare gift. Even the dialogue comes from written records or interviews. Nothing is made up for the sake of drama (it's dramatic enough as it is), but it reads like a novel. I'm not kidding. In the acknowledgements, Rebecca Skloot says that the book was "intensively fact-checked" by many experts, and I think that shows. I was also so impressed with the little side-stories she shared which really added to the overall comprehension of the story. For example, I thought John Moore's legal battle was absolutely fascinating.

The book is not arranged chronologically. It skips back and forth between the 1950's (and later 60's and 70's) and the early 2000's (when Rebecca was conducting all her research). I loved this format because it helped connect the past with the present and interlaced details in a way that wouldn't have been possible with a chronological recounting.  She built the story gradually, piece by piece.

This story opens up an ethical can of worms. Should doctors have asked for Henrietta's consent before giving away her cells? Should the Lacks family have received at least a small portion of the profits accrued from mass producing Henrietta's cells? Of course, opinions vary vastly.  In the afterword, Rebecca Skloot said, "...some tissue-rights activists believe donors should have the right to say, for example, that they don't want their tissues used for research on nuclear weapons, abortion,...or anything else that might run contrary to their beliefs." And I could see that point. But then she told about David Korn's research where he used tissue samples from a soldier who died in 1918 during the Spanish flu pandemic to study avian flu today. They would never have been able to ask for that soldier's permission because science has come so far as to make it impossible to conceive of all the future possibilities. And I could see that point, too. Even among my own friends and family, I've been surprised at the broad spectrum of thoughts. When I was talking to my dad about the book, I said something like, "Isn't that terrible that they just used, and even sold, her cells without asking?" But my dad, in his dry, matter-of-fact, black-and-white way said, "Why? She didn't want them. They were of absolutely no use to her." And I could see that side of it, too.

But at the same time, my heart broke for Henrietta's family. When Rebecca first met them and began talking to them, she could tell by the way they were referring to Henrietta's cells that they didn't have a firm grasp on what a cell even was. They thought there were Henrietta clones walking around London and that Johns Hopkins was snatching people off the street to use for medical research. I think it really shows that ignorance hinders people and holds them back. The unknown feels mysterious and frightening. On the flip side, education opens up doors and opportunities and provides much needed understanding. Education would solve so many of the world's problems.

I was going to try to make this a short review (HA!), and believe it or not, I still didn't write about everything I wanted to. But just know that this is by far one of the best non-fiction books I have ever read, and if I ever end up home schooling my kids, I would use this as part of a high school curriculum. I know I would have enjoyed biology more if it had been supplemented with this book.

I checked out a copy of this book from my local library. 

Content note: There are, I think, three instances of the F-word, and one mature scene where Henrietta's young daughter is sexually abused by her cousin.