A literary Labor Day: A WRINKLE IN TIME, WHEN YOU REACH ME, and THE WILLOUGHBYS.

I’m teaching a new class this year – did I mention that I teach high school English Language Learners? – and I did about half the reading for this class over the course of Labor Day weekend. (The students return to school tomorrow.) I found myself in the fortunate position of being able to, more or less, design my own class and choose the books the class would read. After this weekend refresher on these books, I’m convinced a did a pretty good job choosing them.

I first read A Wrinkle in Time when I was 10 years old. Other than liking it now, the only thing I really remember about the story was the crazy lady (Mrs Whatsit, as it turns out) demonstrating how they move through time and space (tesser) with an ant and a wrinkle in her skirt. Turns out the book is much better at 26 than it was at 10.

Full of allusions to The Tempest, it’s the story of Meg, who accidentally embarks on an intergalactic mission with her baby brother and an acquaintance from school, aided by three… women? Along the way, Meg finds her long-lost scientist father, battles an evil universe-wide threat to civilization everywhere, and has to get philosophical in an attempt to save her brother from the clutches of IT. As soon as I finished the book, I dropped everything, hit Amazon, and ordered the box set of five.

Next and strategically placed on my list of required reading was When You Reach Me. Turns out this is the best book I’ve read in a long, long time. I don’t even remember how I happened upon it, I had never read it before, I only knew that it borrowed heavily from A Wrinkle in Time… which is not even actually true. It’s more like the book is one big allusion to A Wrinkle in Time, and SO effectively executed. I don’t believe you would have had to have read AWiT to appreciate this book, but I can’t imagine it having the same impact otherwise.

This story is an eerie mystery up to the end. Miranda (The Tempest? Hello?) – in the midst of personal relationship struggles that affect her mother, her stepfather-to-be-… maybe, her ex-best friend, her current sort-of friend, a snobby girl she hates, a cute guy she works with, a crazy homeless man, a racist boss, and a school thug – begins finding notes addressed to her, hidden in unlikely places. The notes beg her to tell a story she doesn’t know yet and give it to she doesn’t know who, because the sender is trying to save the life of Miranda’s friend. But who? And how? And what does telling a story have to do with this? The ending is profound and unshakeable. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep it together and not ruin the ending for my students!

Just this morning I finished reading The Willoughbys by the queen of YA literature herself, Lois Lowry. This book was deeply satisfying in a completely different way. A spoof of children’s literature, the story centers around the Willoughby family: Tim, who is the bossy eldest, Barnaby A and B who are twins and cannot be told apart even by family and must share a sweater, and Jane who doesn’t count for much because she’s a girl. Their parents don’t care much for them, but it’s okay because they don’t care much for their parents, either. They would be better off as orphans, like in “old-fashioned” children’s stories, so they come up with a plan to get rid of their parents just as their parents have come up with a plan to get rid of them. The story comes complete with a baby left on a doorstep, a long out-of-work chocolate manufacturer, a maid who knows just what to do, and the Swiss Alps.

The book is absolutely hysterical. I would imagine it’s a nice read for readers of this level, but I can’t help but believe that Lowry was addressing a more mature audience with this book. Frequent and explained allusions to Little Women, Heidi, Mary Poppins, James and the Giant Peach, and many, many other children’s/YA books provide lots of laughs. Children’s literature doesn’t get much more “postmodern” than this.

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO: Stieg Larsson.

I don’t remember why I bought the book, but it must have been some kind of deal. Despite the sudden popularity of Stieg Larsson’s trilogy some time ago, I wasn’t really intending to read it. But people kept talking about it and I saw that there were film adaptations that actually looked kind of cool. In light of these circumstances, I certainly would have made this purchase with a few dollars knocked off.

That doesn’t mean I was intending to read it any time soon, though. I still, unfortunately, have this horrible bias against genre fiction, mysteries and romance in particular, and I have plenty of books that I’ve yet to read that do no fall into either of these categories, unlike The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. So what made me read this as my last pleasure-read before beginning work (by which I mean beginning ten months of reading for work)?

Well, it’s kind of embarrassing.

I’m obsessed with RIPT. Like, completely obsessed. I am quite close to being three-ramens-a-day poor, but I am a frequent purchaser of RIPT T-shirts ever since the design of the day that was a semi-obscure “Home Alone” reference (“Keep the change, ya filthy animal!”). In the meantime, I’ve developed quite the collection of book shirts, and my goal has become to have enough book shirts to be able to wear a different one to work each casual Friday – probably more for my own amusement rather than my students’.

This was my justification when RIPT sold the “Salander’s Dragon” design. I was in a pickle, and with RIPT you only have 24 hours to make up your mind. Do I buy the shirt because it looks badass and it’s a book that’s supposed to be equally badass? Or do I not because, y’know, I haven’t actually read the book and that would make me a complete and total tool.

Best compromise: I ordered it and immediately picked up the book to read and hoped for the best.

The book was badass.

Well-written, thankyougod, and expertly paced. Most characters are mostly likable despite obvious flaws. Most flaws are believable and don’t tend to wander into the realm of hyperbole.

Without getting into the details, what interested me about the first installment of the “Girl Who” trilogy is what seemed to be Larsson’s portrayal of commerce: both sex and money as currency. A case involving disturbing sexual assault is paralleled with embezzling funds. Salander is unable to reconcile a relationship when sex is not used as a bargaining chip. Blomkvist’s sexual practices differ only in (arguable) lack of violence from a serial murderer/rapist, and are as widespread as Wennerstrom’s funds. In fact, I would want to argue that Salander’s final dealings with Wennerstrom’s funds portrays the ultimate conflation of the two when Salander, who has become walking sex at this point, leaves a wake of financial ruin behind her.

That’s a brief summary of what fascinated me about the book, but I would need pages and pages to prove it.  I realize how scattered it sounds. The bottom line, though, is that, even if you’re a genre fiction snob, the book is fantastic. It’s the first true and well-written page-turner I’ve read in… maybe years?

Anatomy of a Boyfriend: Daria Snadowsky.

I cannot tell a lie (despite what my elementary school teachers might have told you) – I enjoyed this book immensely. While there are obvious problems with the book, I find them to be far outweighed by the good stuff.

Keep in mind, of course, that I always read these YA novels with my students in mind, and I always read these YA novels with my girls in mind. Anatomy of a Boyfriend ranks right up there with Rainbow Party on my list of books I would require my students to read… if a teacher’s opinion mattered at all. Each for very different reasons, though.

This book does a spectacular job of capturing the sheer anxiety of young “love.” Dominique is studious and inexperienced, though not naive, when she meets Wes, a track star. They “court” the way people do now: instant messenger and e-mail. And that doesn’t only apply to teenagers anymore, as I think everyone must be aware by now. They decide to date, have a passionate beginning, shift into a long-distance relationship when they leave for college, and it eventually and very predictably crumbles within a year.

The most interesting thing about the book may be the fact that each and every turn of events can be seen coming from about 10 miles away, and yet Snadowsky still perfectly captures the gut-wrenching insecurity and anxiety of a new relationship. Or a long-distance one. Or… any one when you’re 17.

That said, the book is both flat and somewhat of a page-turner because it is so flat. (Huh?) There is no real subplot to the book. Dominique’s grandmother’s death, college acceptance, etc., are given no more attention than needed to explain how it affects her relationship with Wes. Although that makes for a flat story, I totally buy it in this context, and because it’s buy-able it keeps you reading rather than boring the reader.

While the book is definitely dated in terms of technology and pop-culture, the story is universal and the protagonist is believable. Other characters may be cliche (her police officer father and Algebra teacher mother), but the relationship that takes center stage is completely believable and certainly felt true to me.

The Shining: Stephen King.

I finally read The Shining. That’s kind of a big deal for me as I’ve been meaning to read it since high school. When I graduated, my Creative Writing teacher gave me a copy of Stephen King’s On Writing, which remains the best book I’ve read about the craft of writing. I read it the summer before I went to college and to this day retain many of the lessons I learned from it… Granted, it was the first place I heard many bits of advice that are quite common, but I still remember it being the first place I heard this advice. Reading that book was a big deal for me, is what I’m getting at. Weird considering I’ve never been a fan of Stephen King otherwise.

Immediately after reading that book, I read Carrie. Now, as a former student and current teacher I have a totally bizarre-o fascination with school shootings, and Carrie White is the ultimate school shooting, except that guns aren’t involved. I should have loved it, yes? But I didn’t. I thought it was awful.

I always meant to read The Shining, especially after reading what Stephen King had to say about it in On Writing, but Carrie really left a bad taste in my mouth.

This school year, however, I am trying to be more diligent about reading what I want to read rather than sticking to what I’m teaching. (A new co-worker has helped me to get inspired in this regard – nevermind that that all centered around a reading of Water for Elephants.) I’m not going to pretend like I’m going to make it through War and Peace during the school year – if I can’t spend long stretches of time with a book, especially a rather thick one, I get bored by it – but I thought it would be no problem to work my way through The Shining.

I was put in the mood by Eric’s sudden interest in horror due to his own current project so I had a craving. Long story short, I was thoroughly impressed the first three-quarters of the book before I got bored, which is terribly frustrating with a book like The Shining. Right when things are supposed to be exciting, I am banging my head into the wall waiting for it to end. Not Stephen King’s fault.

It’s definitely worth reading. In fact, as soon as I finished it I went out and bought my own copy of Carrie. I intend to read it again before too long, and I’m hopeful. After my long-standing dissatisfaction with almost all things Stephen King-related, that says a lot.

And – I’m sure I don’t need to say this, but – don’t think you know the story if you’ve seen the movie. Not even close.

A DISTANT NEIGHBORHOOD and AMERICAN VIRGIN.

Hiroshi gets a second chance at figuring out his family.

Y’know how you can tell I’m not feeling too well? When I’m not posting, not because I’ve been more busy than usual, but because I haven’t been reading as much as usual. I’ve had a rolling migraine since the beginning of last week and yesterday I blew up at work over our sustained silent reading books. (Try to censor my students’ reading and just see what happens.) That said, it may seem like I’ve read a good bit considering I’m about to post about six books, but my reading is usually punctuated by magazines and short stories. And for the past couple of weeks, it hasn’t been.

Jonathan and I skirted competition (a la Maka-Maka) when we first encountered Jiro Taniguchi’s A Distant Neighborhood at the Borders near my work. Long story short, for a fleeting moment we thought that the second volume was a rare find so I scrambled to buy it, although I suspect that may have been Jonathan having a bit of fun at my expense. In the first volume, 48-year-old Hiroshi Nakahara boards a train and ends up in the town he grew up in as a 14-year-old boy. Hiroshi relives a chunk of his school career and quickly finds that he never knew his family quite as well as he thought. In the second volume, Hiroshi is determined to prevent the abandonment of his family by his father as he continues to learn more about his parents’ history and dynamic. A nice story, art that makes me think of Yoshihiro Tatsumi, but I don’t expect it to serve as anyone’s gateway drug.

To bang or not to bang?: a question of morality.

I also finished reading all four volumes of Steven Seagle’s American Virgin, which I have been excited about for quite some time. … Okay, now ask me if it lived up to my expectations. I actually love the premise: rock star-caliber Bible-thumper Adam Chamberlain crusades for virginity and his religion until all of the messages he claims to have received from God crumble around him. Adam must decide where his faith is in reality and what kind of person he wants to be. When the woman God “promised” would be his one true love dies in a terrorist act, Adam is left wondering if he is supposed to be without love – and completely celibate – for the rest of his life. What begins as a classic revenge story quickly turns into a gender-bending quest for Adam’s REAL real true love – no, really this time – and ultimately a reunion with his biological father. It feels a bit choppy, but even if you start to get lost in the middle, it is ultimately worth the read.

This is another book that not only tackles a subject of interest to me, but also ends just the way I would hope. And if you know me, you might guess that this leaves Adam a little ragged, a little weary, but still clinging to a variation on his original ideals. You also may guess, if you know me, that it’s a little open-ended. Read the series of four volumes for the ending if for no other reason. By the end you will thank me – just not so much in the middle.

MISS DON’T TOUCH ME and THE ARRIVAL.

English translation of a French mystery.

In 1930s France, a serial killer known as the Butcher of the Dances is terrorizing Paris, and when her sister Agatha is numbered among the body count, Florence is determined to track down the murderer herself. This plan lands virginal Florence a job in the most high-priced brothel in Paris as a “governess” (read: dominatrix), which earns her the name “Miss Don’t Touch Me.” After a bit of hazing by the other prostitutes, a handful of false leads and the forging of alliances, Florence becomes the most ruthless and crafty employee and manages to crack the case… with a little help. The major difference between this English translation from a French story of a brothel and the typical handling of such subjects by American hands is that the brothel is incidental to the story and the graphic sex is extremely limited despite being integral to the plot. The unfortunately typical American attitude toward sex, which subordinates the story to a slideshow of perverse acts, is absent here, and the result is the difference between pornography and an actual investigation of sexual mores, even as they exist in a brothel.

An optimistic view of the immigrant experience.

After that, I “read” Shaun Tan’s The Arrival. You read The Arrival not in quite the same way you read, for example, a novel; you read The Arrival in the sense that you read people and you read expressions. There is not a single intelligible word or symbol in the entire book, a strategy Tan uses to illustrate the immigrant experience. In the first chapter we see a man leave his wife and daughter behind in their home country, but the most heart-wrenching page is in chapter II, when the man arrives in the new country, and we see a series of expressions as he attempts to communicate despite being completely ignorant of the language, looking completely confused and utterly hopeless. The man must find a place to stay and work to do, and he is challenged with new, frightening creatures, confusing contraptions, and terribly unfamiliar food. The man meets other immigrants and “hears” their stories, as well. This story actually has a happy and hopeful ending, as the man’s wife and daughter are able to join him, and the story ends with his daughter being able to help a new immigrant find her way in this new country. While this is a nice ending, it’s the only point that I, personally, am conflicted about. My students don’t often have happy endings in quite this way. My students are often never entirely reunited with their families. However, the focus of the book is the man’s story and his general confusion in a new country, and for this reason any potential to take issue with the ending is barely problematic. I bought a copy for another ESOL teacher I work with, and would like to eventually buy a class set of this book.

LITTLE STAR: Andi Watson.

An introspective but not terribly exciting father evaluates his role.

I am not entirely sure why I keep returning to Andi Watson, truth be told. I think I keep reading his books and thinking, “Well, eh… but maybe the next one will be fantastic!” For some reason, it’s like I need to absolutely despise one of his books to eventually give up on them.

In an alternate reality, Little Star may have been the book that tipped me in Andi Watson’s favor… but not so much in the here and now. This is a six-chapter meditation on being a parent – mostly on being a father. I can appreciate what the book is doing, and I’m sure that if you are in fact a parent this book is quite touching. I’m not made of stone by any stretch, but the truth of the matter is that I am not a parent and when I read a graphic novel, I’m in it for a little bit more than introspective parenthood unless that introspective parenthood is absolutely riveting, and this was not. Not to me, anyway.

That said, this may bring a tear to a parent’s eye – especially, I would think, a new parent. That’s just not my situation.

Not bad, but I’m still not recommending this.

SKY DOLL and ESCAPO.

Robot prostitute caught in futuristic Crusades.

Sky Doll I bought when I was in the comic book store the other day with Jonathan. He had collected the three issues as French hardcovers and was buying the art book, and when I expressed an interest he helped me find the three issues in a hardcover English translation. I thought the art was great and I loved looking at it so much that it jumped straight to the top of my TBR pile.

Barbara Canepa’s Sky Doll is almost a futuristic version of the 16th Century battle for the British throne… but interpret that loosely. The protagonist, Noa, is a doll created for the relief of certain carnal urges of the followers of Lodovica on Papathea to prevent actually falling into sin with other live creatures. Noa, knowing little about her own life or the world around her, is convinced that there must be more to learn and experience and be. When she encounters endearing Roy and ill-tempered Jahu, missionaries of the Papess Lodovica, she becomes a part of a journey that eventually ends in the destruction of Aqua and the followers of Agape, Lodovica’s sister who she murdered in her greed for power. The galaxy of the book is a snapshot of the mixture of power and politics, and eventually reality TV. Blind faith and consumerism (and ultimately entertainment value) are at the core of religious politics in this book – something that has played out through history and continues to play out today.

An escape artist with a phobia of death.

Escapo, coincidentally, is another translation from French to English that I managed to get my hands on some time ago and finally read today. The edition that I have is Paul Pope’s black and white short story blown up into a large hardcover book of its own.

The story is that of big top romance, of Escapo, the popular escape artist and a turning point (or two) in his career. In the first half, the death-defying escape artist suddenly has an attack of nerves and develops a phobia of death. (How’s that for a subject? An escape artist obsessed with the idea of his own demise.) In the second half, Escapo seemingly has a new lease on life in the form of adorable and aptly-named tight-rope walker  Aerobella. He writes her love letters and asks her to send him a sign, presumably regarding whether or not she wants to be with him, as opposed to suspiciously hunky Paul Pope-lookalike, the Acrobat King. In the wake of Aerobella’s decision, Escapo will once again reevaluate his attitude toward his eventual death.

Both are recommended.

RAINBOW PARTY: The Sunday Salon.

So notorious is/was this book that I heard about it long before actually getting my hands on it. I can’t imagine how I would feel about it as a mother, especially the mother of a teen – but as a teacher and having been a teenager not terribly long ago, I love this book.

The book takes place (mostly) over the course of two hours in the lives of twelve teenagers preparing to attend their first rainbow party. What exactly this means is not made completely clear until almost a third of the way through the book. We see Gin and Sandy shopping for red, orange, yellow, green, blue and violet lipstick in the opening of the book. Some time later we realize that the fifteen-year-old girls are to wear the lipstick in a couple of hours to perform oral sex on fifteen-year-old boys, the result of which should be a strategically placed rainbow.

Whoa.

Gin is the school slut and Sandy lives in her shadow. Hunter thinks he’s the shit and his best friend Perry is (not so) secretly in love with him. Jade is perfect and involved in every club and project you could think of. Rod is (“not technically”) cheating on Skye because she won’t have sex with him. Vi is secretly in love with Rod. Rusty thinks he’s hot and Brick is a known virgin. Ash and Rose are disgustingly cute and in love. All of these teens are supposed to show up at the party within a matter of hours.

While the idea may seem extreme, especially for young adult fiction, the book goes exactly the way you would expect – and, I think, hope. In the end, everyone learns the obligatory lesson, but not before an unflinchingly honest look at a variety of attitudes and perspectives regarding teen sex. After examining the virgins, the whores and everything in between, the pressures, the fears and the egos, the much-anticipated party never does actually take place. It turns out, of course, that none of them actually want to go through with it for number of different reasons, and everything is wrapped up in a nice package when the would-be rainbow party hostess finds that she has gonorrhea and has spread it to a large chunk of the sophomore class.

What’s refreshing about this book is that it never completely veers in the direction of abstinence-as-the-best-protection. It examines the gray area that is teen sexuality (it is NORMAL to feel this but FORBIDDEN to act on it?) while encouraging caution, discretion and patience. While I can’t imagine the school board would like it, if it were up to me I would make this book required reading for all of my classes.

FAIR WEATHER and SIDESCROLLERS.

A sniveling brat doesn't make for a good story.

I’m conflicted about Joe Matt and Fair Weather did not tip me in his favor. I read Spent and wasn’t thrilled with it – it was just kind of pathetic. On the other hand, Poor Bastard was much more effective despite being patched together from the exact same content.

Fair Weather is the story of a single weekend in the author’s childhood. The author portrays himself as a sniveling brat, which is entirely believable having read two of his other autobiographical works. Over the course of this weekend, he has his comic book collection taken away by his mother, his father works on a booth for the fair, Joe dodges a much larger and meaner kid he cheated on comic book trades, and he has his heart broken over the promise of a first edition comic book that doesn’t turn out to be what he’d hoped. Yep. The constant seems to be little Joe’s cowardice and overall weirdness, and the only impressive aspect of the book is the author’s self-awareness and honesty.

Imagine a Judd Apatow movie as a graphic novel.

SideScrollers was exactly what Fair Weather was lacking. It’s the story of Brian, Brad and Matt and the events of a day, which involve vandalism, hiding from a jock-bully, saving Matt’s crush from said jock-bully, playing video games, and an epic battle of Good vs. Evil in feline form. The story is incredibly tight and compelling, and the dialogue is realistic and hilarious. The three main characters are lovable, Judd Apatow-esque slackers, although the plot also includes a Jay and Silent Bob-type duo, and the story couldn’t be more uneventful, just as it couldn’t be more entertaining.

This book is going to be one of the few I think I will actually be able to get my brother to read. Okay, I’ve got it: think Judd Apatow meets “Mallrats” meets Scott Pilgrim. Starring Michael Cera.

Bottom line, read SideScrollers. You won’t die if you don’t bother with Fair Weather.