Dreams and America

Book 4 of 2018

Reading usually is a good escape for me, even the heavier reads that feel more real than fictitious. I didn't necessarily feel different about Behold the Dreamers but it struck a chord in reality in a way a book hasn't in awhile.

I was reading on the night of the 2018 State of the Union instead of watching the speech. I found it would be important to read a story by an immigrant, about immigrants, as a form of rebellion against the current administration (which I've decided to refer to as "that man" instead of anything resembling his name or an honorific). Toward the end of the evening, after the speech ended and after I had taken a break to see social media, I read a line on page 299 about a Trump hotel. The gist was one character saying that when he made enough money, he would take everyone to dinner there.

I found myself suddenly weeping.

I wept because of what he said during the speech that night about immigrants and their families. Because of what he has said so many times not just since being president, or running for president, but also the "birther" narrative he trumpeted in 2011, and the shady and racist real estate dealings he engaged in over the course of his career.

I wept because this book is about a family truly trying to do their best in attaining the American Dream. Sure, they were not perfect. The husband and father, slightly misogynistic and selfish. The wife, sometimes too gossipy for her own good. But he was also hard-working and loyal; she was also smart and courageous. They were working their way up to their dreams, but the collapse of the American economy, combined with the inherent privilege of his employer, and layers and layers of fear associated with being honest with the wrong people, slowly knocked them back down.

And it shouldn't have been that hard.

The story took place in the late 20-oughts, right before and in the aftermath of the 2008 recession. Any time has been hard for immigrants in America, but economic issues exacerbate problems; and then I couldn't escape the thought of how this family would feel 10 years later, in even a better economy.

This book was powerful, multi-layered and complex. No one character was wholly good or wholly evil, but a combination of forces, choices, and the systemic structures meant to prop the privileged and knock the oppressed, made the difference between the characters' abilities to live into their dreams or not.

I have many earmarks and maybe they'll appear here one day. For now, I recommend this book, and all of its emotion, and for us to do whatever we can to stop the train of nationalism and racism from destroying more dreams.

~MJ 

Kicking of 2018: Reading & New Year's Revelations

Book 1 of 2018

Starting 2018, I am feeling renewed in a way that I haven't felt for  a new years in a long time. This sense of renewal is more about energy and reflective motivation than about positivity, but I am slowly instituting some changes in my 1) home-space, 2) eating habits, 3) and reading. I am tending toward the "slow and steady" wins the race mindset with all three, knowing that dramatic shifts in behavior don't stick for me; still, I also think some of the slowness is related to a reluctance to behave differently. So, that's a funky balance to take on, but I do feel like continuously improving my effectiveness will make a difference.

To that end, I have been choosing to read a little more often - not just at bedtime (my routine) but instead of watching something on Netflix/Hulu/HBO/Prime, and more deliberately when I have extra moments. I also felt like reflecting more often on my reading and since we know that this has been an inconsistent endeavor previously, so I'm not trying to go all-out. What would it be like to blog once monthly about the month's books and reading-related remarks? Let's see.

This month, I have so far read three books and am about halfway through my fourth book of 2018. This is not a faster pace than last year, but what's different is: last January, I read one solid novel, a short non-fiction essay book, and listened to 2 audio books. This year's books so far have all been novels and I think this represents more physical reading time (that's not to say last January wasn't legitimate; it just reflected different priorities). Also, the only books I've reached for this month are female authors (the fourth book is written a woman of color, too). I think it's my way of saying fuck the patriarchy in the era of Trump at it's most extreme, and also a grasp at something that feels familiar and affirming at it's least.

Book 2 of 2018

In my renewed reading drive, I am thinking about a few things:

1) What would it be like to read 3-4 books every month?
2) Reading communities are CLUTCH for both inspiration and joy.
3) I need another bookshelf.

1: Reading goals should be the floor, not the ceiling

I mentioned this in my end-of-year post in 2017 - I hit my 30 book goal and then couldn't invigorate myself to commit to a 31st+ book. To be clear, that was fine, but left me wondering about how I see my yearly goals. I have read between 30-34 books consistently for a few years now, and I wonder if setting that bar has left me more complacent than motivated?

So, as I've thought about chunking my goal to have pace setting at 3-4 books/month, I realized I could likely get in an additional 10-18 books. I also have noted to myself: doing this takes more physical reading time but it also should not be a stressor. A floor of 30 books is what I know is manageable - and this year, how much farther can I push my ceiling?

2: Other readers = great people.

I've always had people in my life that I can talk about books with, but this year I'm really thinking about how my circles both in real life and online can aid in my reading inspirations and joy. Having a couple of friends at work who love Goodreads and a couple of other friends who are doing Book of the Month has added to our conversations and opened new connections.

I also randomly joined Buzzfeed's Page Turners facebook group a couple of weeks ago. I didn't have expectations, but I have been far from disappointed. Each day, I find myself reading through the posts and finding interesting ponderings about books and also responding to posts without fear. It's probably the only social media community I'm a part of where I am mostly anonymous, but involved, and where I am not nervous about political arguments or creepers. Maybe naively, but I'm finding it to be a great corner of the internet.

Knowing what I already know about reading communities, what about really getting going on the "Brene and Beer" happy hour at work (aka a little book club and libations)? What about starting a book exchange among my work friends (or others?) to generate new reading ideas and community?

3: The intersection of my space & my reading life

I really want my home space to be functional, neat and cozy. I am mostly settled in to my new place, but still need to get some boxes unpacked / stored, and some systems in place for keeping things tidy. One of the 5 unpacked boxes is full of books. I have the space in my living room to add another bookshelf, and I actually think it will also add an efficiency and decor to the space.

I had gotten rid of a bookshelf in Tulsa and bought a different one for Denver but didn't have room for anything more in my last apartment - I used a built in shelf in my closet and one in my kitchen for books, but neither were fully adequate. In getting a bigger apartment, I did invest in an additional bookshelf in October, which is up and living its best life. BUT I still have this box of books to find a home for.

I found a great Ladder Bookshelf on Amazon and it's in my cart. Ordering it on payday.

I was already envisioning my space projects this weekend - organizing my closet, unpacking the 5 boxes and deciding what's next for the items (throw out, donate, find a space @ home), and getting my luggage out of my bedroom and into my closet. Easy. The bookshelf has thrown a spark into that fire and also given me a timeline. If I order the bookshelf on payday, it should arrive on the weekend to be built.

Seeing books in a bookstore or library relieves stress and brings me joy - so adding this extra shelf feels right.

Book 3 of 2018

So here's to some small-but-hopefully-mighty-changes to my reading life (and beyond) in 2018. There's a lot to shift in my behavior and life in the coming years, but I am taking it one step - one page - at a time.

Check out #mjreadingchallenge2018 on Insta for reflections/reviews on the books so far this year. I'm now off to a few more pages of reading, closet-reorganization, and food prep.

Wish me luck.

Yours in reading,
~MJ

Mixed Feelings

I read this book with 45% reluctance and 55% curiosity. The supposed "sequel/prequel" to To Kill a Mockingbird, which consistently makes the list of one of my favorite books of all time, was published earlier this month after decades of going undiscovered. Although older, more reclusive, and potentially in poor health, Harper Lee apparently agreed to publish this novel even though she had kept it under wraps for years.

On reluctance:

This publishing of this book came under suspect circumstances that concern me as a human. Was Harper Lee exploited? If she wanted this published, why wasn't it published earlier? That she "consented" to its publication is exciting, but also strange for these reasons.

Then somebody told me about the early reviews. I broke my "never read reviews" rule and discovered what the notable thing was: in this book, Atticus (ATTICUS!) does some racist things. There is presumption that he probably did more racist things in the book's world between Mockingbird and Watchman. Grappling with this image, this idea, was the hardest. Atticus is a perennial social justice hero in literature, and also taught generations how to leverage empathy toward equity. So to think that he actually could be racist seemed jarring, even before reading the first page.

I read the first chapter on The Atlantic's web site. I have to give them props for including moving graphics and interesting print; the combination made it easier for me to read a full chapter on a laptop. The writing was great. Lee was on point. It was a little slower, though, and I had concerns about the pace of the story. I also was like, "who's Henry?"

On curiosity:

Who is Henry? What happened to Dill? How's Jem? What about Boo Radley? Cal? These questions, and more, framed my curiosity. My excitement was stoked by the idea that I could revisit beloved characters and the world of Mockingbird, especially to hear Scout as a young woman and Atticus, oh, Atticus.

When I learned that Lee wrote Watchman before Mockingbird, and that the latter was written at the suggestion of publisher to explore more of Scout and Atticus' experiences, I was also intrigued. What laid the foundation for Mockingbird?


On reading:

The questions got the best of me and I had to read. Not all of the questions are answered (for example, I still don't know  whatever happened to Boo Radley), but some were (like, Dill is a traveling man! And Jem - I won't spoil anything - but, poor Jem). Some re-vistations were confusing (did I mention Atticus? Oh, and CAL). Some relationships and characters were perspectives at the intersection of hot issues involving race and class (ahhhhh Alexandra. AND OMG, ATTICUS). Some moments were eerily similar to current events, like the debate around the Confederate battle flag:

“Has it never occurred to you—have you never, somewhere along the line, received vibrations to the effect—that this territory was a separate nation? No matter what its political bonds, a nation with its own people, existing within a nation? A society highly paradoxical, with alarming inequities, but with the private honor of thousands of persons winking like lightning bugs through the night? No war was ever fought for so many different reasons meeting in one reason clear as crystal. They fought to preserve their identity. Their political identity, their personal identity.”

And then, I was intrigued by the idea of Scout as a young woman, aged 28. I always, always identified with Scout and this book was no different, even though this story was third person and not from her p.ov.

"She was almost in love with him. No, that’s impossible, she thought: either you are or you aren’t. Love’s the only thing in this world that is unequivocal. There are different kinds of love, certainly, but it’s a you-do or you-don’t proposition with them all. She was a person who, when confronted with an easy way out, always took the hard way."

And Atticus. He said racist things that made my skin crawl. I had trouble highlighting anything because I felt treasonous, somehow.

"Had she been able to think, Jean Louise might have prevented events to come by considering the day’s occurrences in terms of a recurring story as old as time: the chapter which concerned her began two hundred years ago and was played out in a proud society the bloodiest war and harshest peace in modern history could not destroy, returning, to be played out again on private ground in the twilight of a civilization no wars and no peace could save."
"What was this blight that had come down over the people she loved? Did she see it in stark relief because she had been away from it? Had it percolated gradually through the years until now? Had it always been under her nose for her to see if she had only looked? No, not the last. What turned ordinary men into screaming dirt at the top of their voices, what made her kind of people harden and say “nigger” when the word had never crossed their lips before?"

Oh, Scout. She struggled with her place, her identity, and what to do. My only disappointment is not what she chose in the end, but the wonder I had as to whether she would continue to speak up for herself, for issues of right and wrong, even when her father was on the other end.

"Why doesn’t their flesh creep? How can they devoutly believe everything they hear in church and then say the things they do and listen to the things they hear without throwing up? I thought I was a Christian but I’m not. I’m something else and I don’t know what. Everything I have ever taken for right and wrong these people have taught me—these same, these very people. So it’s me, it’s not them. Something has happened to me."

I'm sure she would. But somehow, her potential was stifled in how the book ended. Maybe if you read it you disagree. If you haven't, I won't spoil it here. I just felt it abrupt and, after dozens of pages of working through her feelings, somewhat too quick to close. The only thing I loved about the last few pages was this:

“Well, I certainly hoped a daughter of mine’d hold her ground for what she thinks is right—stand up to me first of all.”

Because, Atticus.

"The one human being she had ever fully and wholeheartedly trusted had failed her; the only man she had ever known to whom she could point and say with expert knowledge, “He is a gentleman, in his heart he is a gentleman,” had betrayed her, publicly, grossly, and shamelessly."

"“When you happened along and saw him doing something that seemed to you to be the very antithesis of his conscience—your conscience—you literally could not stand it."

But, I loved revisiting Maycomb, more than I expected I would. Memories from Mockingbird were triggered, like Scout's school days and summers with Jem & Dill. Henry was alright (until he did racist things, too) and I wonder why he didn't show up in Mockingbird.

Despite its flaws, this book reminded me of why I loved Mockingbird. The characters are endearing and enduring. The town of Maycomb is so simple but is layered in complex, human issues that ring true no matter the era. The book also deals with how we debate issues that are laced with emotion and decades of engrained understandings or misunderstandings about history. Add to that having those debates with the people we most love in the world, who shaped our moral compasses and who we seek out for protection, comfort and warmth.

And what happens when they disagree with what we plainly see differently?

Scout was more of a states-rightest than I'll ever be. So, she was flawed too. She also had a tinge of tolerance instead of social justice, of desegregation in law but not in spirit. She agreed with her father that "Negroes" are inferior to whites and that therefore they should not be really able to participate in a democratic society (!!!). Atticus was more honest, in this way. He was full on separate and (maybe) equal, without apologies. His character seemed an expression of old ways transitioning to new, and grappling with what that might mean for the things he cared about most deeply: the rule of law and the people who should be most engaged in those laws (i.e. smart, white people). The two saw things differently, but also the same in that both were struggling with the marrying of old and new, of what our society should look like and the implications of change.

And, like Mockingbird didn't end perfectly, Watchman is a reminder that reality and the course of human dynamics are far from perfect.

My feelings are complicated and still fiercely divided between reluctance and curiosity: reluctance to accept this new addition to Maycomb and still curious about what more we are still missing from its story. I also recognize that because this novel was resting in the wings for so long, that it is perhaps not finished or polished in the way Lee wished; making it all the more painful - some loose ends might have been tied had she really been involved in this publication.

I will say, this quote from Mockingbird is actually aligned to a huge message in Watchman; that empathy is important to understanding and working toward solutions, or at least grappling with problems productively. The suggestion here is that transformation is borne of perspective, and the fuller the perspective, the greater potential for transformation. Even we feel less comfortable trying to walk around the shoes of a man feeling and doing some racist things, and trying to dig into the complexity of their perspective and the layers of history that shape it. You see? Mixed feelings.

~MJ
Also, food for thought. Brought to you by the Finch's. "Prejudice, a dirty word, and faith, a clean one, have something in common: they both begin where reason ends."

Watchman was Book 16.

Since The Goldfinch, I have read:

Book 11: "The One and Only Ivan" by Kathleen Applegate. The cutest story you'll ever read, tears included.
Book 12: "Paper Towns" by John Green. Sort of anticlimactic in that I enjoyed it less than "Looking for Alaska."
Book 13: "Everything I Never Told You" by Celeste Ng. The most beautiful book I've read this year, in less than 300 pages. I cried on a plane and stood to finish the last few pages in the rental car place.
Book 14: "Jurassic Park" by Michael Crichton. A pleasant surprise and a quick read for being more than 400 pages.
Book 15: "The Invention of Wings" by Sue Monk Kidd. Some whitewashing, but a great story nonetheless.

The longest book of 2015 (so far)

I can't fully reflect on "The Goldfinch" just yet. But I do love these two earmarks so much, largely because they describe my relationship with great books - pieces of artwork in themselves that move and change me and consistently push me to be committed & convicted. This book was also a profound reminder of the less tangible things that are hardest to let go of, that bury themselves deeply in your heart and re-emerge at the right moment, only to return back to a crevice in your soul - memories of loss, of pain, of love.

"...if a painting really works down into your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don't think 'oh I love this picture because it's universal.' 'I loved this painting because it speaks to all mankind.' That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway...four hundred years before us, four hundred years after we're gone - it'll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it'll never strike in any deep way at all - a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into your mind and your heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you."

"And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next."

The main character was in so many ways different than me, but also incredibly the same - in many passages, especially as he described his mom, I felt pangs of connection; he described a dream and I swear I had one similar.

Mine, mine. Sometimes books are stories are written for me (when I most need them).

~MJ

Hopeful words (and their opposites)

"Promise. What a good word. What a hopeful word."

Sherman Alexie is one of my all-time favorite authors. When I picked up "Flight" I was seeking one of the few Alexie novels I haven't read yet, and also saw it recommended on a list of books for young adult men. I got the audio book and intended to keep it that way, but then got the e-book at some point. I think Alexie may have approved of the audio book, but the e-book was probably a disappointment (win some, lose some). The audio book was read by Adam Beach, an actor who is American Indian - Beach had been in Alexie's movie adaptation of "Smoke Signals" and around the time I started reading the book, I also saw him in a documentary about American Indians and mainstream entertainment ("Reel Injun" - highly recommended). I started the book in the fall as my "gym book," continued it on the cruise, and then put it down for awhile. I finished it, fittingly, during travel time to and from the White Privilege Conference in Louisville, KY. And so it became 6 of #30books this year. All this is to say, I think books come into our lives at the right moment and are usually finished when they need to be finished - and "Flight" worked out in all those ways for me.

The story is told from the perspective of a teenage boy, nicknamed "Zits," who is a foster kid. Zits' dad was MIA, and his mom died when he was young. Since his mother's death, he's been shuffled throughout the system and is the epitome of what one may think of as a troubled kid that just doesn't fit the system. He gets into trouble at school, with the law, and among his various foster households. It's clear that his foster families have not been the right fit - some are abusive, some are using the system for their own benefit, and some just don't care. It's no wonder why those homes don't work out for Zits. One time he gets in trouble and ends up in juvenile detention with another boy, Justice, who convinces him to engage in a very unlawful act - and then the story takes Zits through time, where he becomes several other people. As he takes on the identity of an FBI Agent aimed at undermining an American Indian tribe, a soldier fighting Indians over land, an old pilot who cheats on  his wife and trains a terrorist, and many others - he grapples with his own identity, history, and loneliness and convictions. The journey, as fantastical as it seems, helps him find his place in the his world with the people he needs to be with - and so naturally, I thought the book was perfect. It's about finding family, finding 'home' (whatever that means), and finding oneself. 

It also is vulgar and profane; dissonant and challenging; poetic and profound. Throughout the reading, I thought about my students who were in the foster system, especially my boys; I thought about what American history curriculum has taught me, what I've had to unlearn, and the multiple perspectives of wars (physical and otherwise); I also thought a lot about how we perceive one another, and what we don't know is occuring beneath the surface. I also thought a lot about family, about love, about loss - when Zits said, "My mother loved me more than any of you will ever know" in chapter one, I knew what he meant. And his search for a family after his loss felt the same and different to mine all at the same time.

I captured so many earmarks and I recorded some of them below. I also found listening to Beach's reading made some moments even more powerful - to hear someone say, "Promise. What a good word. What a hopeful word," carried so much more weight. It made me think a great deal about listening - and how differently I sometimes absorb what I hear compared to what I read. 

Recommending Alexie is something I do consistently. I also hope to find more authors who challenge and affirm my perceptions all in the same reading; who teach me something about others; who make me hear and live the words on the page.

~MJ

Earmarks:

"And I know there has never been a human being or a television show, no matter how great, that could measure up to a great book."

"What kind of life can you have in a house without books?"

"Remember, revolution is not about spontaneous combustion. The true revolutionary must set himself aflame."

"The individual has always had to work hard to avoid being overwhelmed  by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high for the privilege of owning yourself."

"He thinks of how many wives and husbands are cheating on each other. And thinks of how many fathers are abandoning their children. He thinks of how many people are going to war against other people. We're all betraying one another all the time."

"It was father love and father shame and father rage that killed Hamlet. Imagine that Hamlet, after being poisoned by his own sword, wakes in the body of his father. Or, worse, in side the body of his incestuous Uncle Claudius?"

PS. I also finished Book 9 recently - "The Last American Vampire" by Seth Grahame-Smith, and eventually there will be a post. I have three additional books going in contention for Book 10 (and beyond) - "In the Garden of the Beasts" by Erik Larson, "The Opposite of Loneliness" by Marina Keegan, and "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt (round 2 of that gem). 

Where have all the heroes gone? Part 2.

Interesting earmark I want to record here for connection to my previous post about Zeitoun  by Dave Eggers:

"For like other peoples around the world, Americans need heroes...Most of us tend to think well of ourselves when we have acted as we imagine our heroes might have done. Who our heroes are and whether they are presented in a way that makes them lifelike, hence usable as role models, could have a significant bearing on our conduct in the world." -James W. Loewen, Lies My Teacher Told Me, p. 30

This makes me think that my desire for Dave Eggers' portrayal of Zeitoun to be true, and for the context following the story to not be true, is perhaps rooted in how my upbringing and education have conditioned me to think - that heroes are required. Loewen reminded me that even the "heroes" of American history are more often ideals and not true to life. Every one of those "heroes" had flaws (Jefferson had slaves, Wilson was a white supremacist, Revere likely didn't do anything...)...but their accomplishments have been added to the cannon of American mythology and those flaws veiled or overlooked. Why? To influence. To make us seem better than we are and to strive for higher expectations.

But we can't forget the past, and we have to accept the whole story in order to truly learn and to become better. So maybe, while Zeitoun taught me about resilience, family and perseverance - the aftermath may teach me about mental illness, family dysfunction, and the both the implications of and lessons for government policy.

That's deep. And it isn't easy.

But wow - look what reading just made me do, and it's even past my bedtime.

Goodnight.

~MJ

9/11

I picked up a book at the library yesterday (as if I needed more to read) called "The Unthinkable." It's about how humans react in major disasters. Interestingly, as happens when I visit the library, I was calmed from daily stresses by reading the first few pages of this book in the presence of hundreds of books (I also picked up a Nick Hornby book about reading...)

Today is the 13th anniversary of 9/11/2001. I still remember where I was when I learned - the quiet and innocent moments that preceded my knowledge gain and the confused, tarnished, emotional moments that subsequently followed.

But I couldn't figure out if I should write anything in reflection, 13 years later, as I have in previous years. Then I read chapter 1 of this book and decided I needed to note a relevant earmark. The first chapter, "Delay" focuses on a women who survived the '93 World Trade Center Bombings and the attacks in 2001 (by the way, "attack" just doesn't seem enough of a word for that day). The following description stood out - a moment when she made it out of Tower 1 but ended up in the rumble of the buildings' collapses:

"She moved and stumbled over some debris, falling on top of someone else. It turned out to be a police officer. He was screaming that his eyes were burning. And at the same time, he was telling her, 'Don't worry, don't worry! We're going to get out of here.' Zedano could see his hands shaking. But she never saw his face.

By then, her anger had vanished again. She got very quiet. It helped to have a police officer there, even though he was hurt. Then she heard a voice: 'I found a way out. Everybody, hold hands.' And that's what they did."

The moment I read "Everybody, hold hands." My stomach rose to my throat. The image, although simple, not only was really but FELT real. It felt like a description of how I felt following the day. Confused, yet comforted by those around me grappling with similar struggles and emotions- and metaphorically, so many of us joining hands to get through it.

Cliche, but that's how this writing struck me at this moment. And I wanted to note it first because of the anniversary but second because of how vivid that day and those feelings still are. 

I know we remark about Pearl Harbor and D-Day; we discuss important dates and have moments of recognition for those who fell, or for the history of that moment. But I feel like we do so much more every 9/11, and I wonder of there can ever be an anniversary where we don't call for moments of silence and see  tributes across all media. 

Likely, that day will come - maybe when less people who were there are gone. But I don't know. This event feels so different, and the feeling so enduring - that I literally cannot imagine a day where it is a fleeting, 3 minute news story of rememberance. 

If anything, because every 9/11, I do feel a moment when we're holding hands again - for the moments we remember where we were, where we see how others are feeling, when we hear the names of victims or images of survivors. Images of rubble and waves of ash - the last moments of tall buildings, crumbling like a Jenga set.

That hand holding matters. And maybe that's how we will also move on, but with the small bits of our hearts chipped and clinging to the memory.

To books that serve as reminders,

~MJ

We read to know we are not alone.

"...we read because we are alone. We read and we are not alone. We are not alone." 

-p. 249

"The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry" was a pleasant surprise of a find. As I was seeking a new audiobook fro the gym, I found this gem and also found a free e-reader version via Amazon. A.J. Fikry himself might be disappointed in my mediums here (rightfully so), but I'd like to think that if his bookstore, Island Books, were real and I lived on an island in New England, I'd likely be a frequent patron.

Gabrielle Zevin's story is about a bookseller who, after being widowed, is rather disconnected from humanity. But after his prized possession is stolen (and thus, his escape), and an abandoned baby is left in his story, his life changes. It just so happens that all the lives around him at that moment also change. The story covers Fikry's transformation from grumpy curmudgeon to doting father, loving husband, and loyal best friend over the course of his lifetime. In the process, we meet a cast of characters that generally warmed my heart and had interesting side stories of their own - all interwoven into the bigger story of the choices we make, the heartbreaks we have, the trials we endure and the hope we find in each other and in stories. There's also an interesting subtext of lies based on omission and the times we choose to say or not to say a truth because of our connection to it and who it implicates.

I read it mostly in a few sittings over a weekend. Well, I listened to it and followed along. There were moments I could't put it down and ended up listening and loving for a couple of hours without interruption. This was a nice distraction from my normal slow weekend of watching TV, cleaning, and prepping food. My life on weekends is mostly pretty solitary these days - and I'm ok with that. But that's probably why the quote I pulled at the top of this stuck out to me while reading.

What I loved about this book is how invested the author got me in the characters and how wonderful they were. The ending had closure, but also was open-ended enough to imagine that life moves on after this particular story - that more stories will be told even after the character's in this one have moved on. The book is also peppered with literary references and even some pop culture ones, including reflections from Mr. Fikry on several short stories to open each chapter. Reading about other people's love of reading is usually going to go over well with me.

The story has some sad moments that I also connected with. Fikry even points out that maybe that's the point of reading - to connect with ourselves, to connect with others, and to affirm emotions we are feeling in a particular moment.

Below are my favorite earmarks from the read. I recommend it to anyone.

~MJ

"Despite this, Amelia often likes the winters the best. They are the underdogs, the sleepers, the long shots. (It is not too much of a stretch to point out that this is how she sees herself too.)" - p. 12

"They had only ever discussed book but what, in this life, is more personal than books?"  - p. 18

"But me-also-thinks  my latter-day reaction speaks to the necessity of encountering stories at precisely the right time in our lives. Remember, Maya: the things we respond to at twenty are not necessarily the same things we will respond to at forty and vice versa." - p. 40

"And then, despite the fact that A.J. does not believe in God, he closes his eyes and thanks whomever, the higher power, with all his porcupine heart." -p. 76

"Friedman gets at something specific about what it is to lose someone. How it isn't one thing. He writes about you lose and lose and lose." -p. 99

"No one travels without purpose. Those who are lost wish to be lost." -p. 151

"A good marriage is, at least, one part conspiracy." -p. 154

"It is the secret fear that we are unloveable that isolates us...but it is only because we are isolated that we think we are unloveable. Someday, you do not know when, you will driving down a road. And someday, you do not know when, he, or indeed she, will be there. You will be loved because for the first time in your life, you will truly not be alone. You will have chosen to not be alone." - p. 156

"Someday, you may think of marrying. Pick someone who thinks you're the only person in the room." -p.158

"Why is one book different from any other book? they are different, A.J. decides, because they are. We have to look inside many. We have to believe. We agree to be disappointed sometimes so that we can be exhilarated every now and again." -p. 238

"Maya, we are what we love. We are that we love." - p. 250

"We aren't the things we collect, acquire, read. We are, for as long as we are here, only love. The things we loved. The people we loved. And these, I think these really do live on." - p. 250

"Tomorrow, maybe, he will find the words." -p. 251

Little Vows

"But in the quiet moments, in those long rides in the back of a bus or the bed of a truck, my mind always circles back to Manaar. Thinking of him, of the anguish of his final days, and my own helplessness in the face of it, makes everything I have done, everything I want to do, seem as unsubstantial as the little vows you make to yourself as you're going to sleep, the ones you've already forgotten by the time you wake up." -Khaled Hosseini, pp. 330, And the Mountains Echoed.

Hosseni's latest, to me, is about the rocky path of good intentions, unmet promises and dreams that, in reality, are harder to find. I loved the book. The reviews I read about it right after I finished included a lot of "I kept comparing it to his past two books" and "because of his first two books, I expected more." For the record, I don't think any one author's book should be compared to one of their others. I do this sometimes (most recently with Matthew Quick) but Hosseini taught me a lesson with this story.

The novel is built by several smaller vignettes, all focused on characters that are related to and impacted by a decision made in the 1950s in Afghanistan by a poor laborer. I was immediately interested in the laborer and his children. As the novel continued, I was somewhat confused and frustrated that the story didn't return to them often and instead included tales of people once, twice, three-times removed from the children. When I was finishing, however, I realized how tied each character was to the children in a complicated web of their father's decision and its results. I was once again amazed by Hosseini's ability to emotionally invest me in characters and a story over a long timeline and to teach so much among his pages.

The first lesson is that decisions can have long-lasting, unintended consequences - for better or for worse - on multiple people, whether they are, or were, directly involved.

The second lesson is that sometimes decisions are made in the hopes for a better outcome for one or more people involved. The thing about good intentions, as Hosseini explores, is that an assumption is made - an assumption that the result is one-dimensional and locked in place based on a certain decision. Path dependency is not that easy. Regardless of the intention, multiple perspectives inform the result and additional elements of the story unfold - meaning that the assumed "more perfect" outcome may still have its negativity.

The third lesson, of unmet promises, is about the things characters would say they would do, or hoped someone would do, that were never fulfilled. There is also the added fold of the inherent promises made by familial ties that are or are not honored - a mother's loyalty to her children (or lack thereof), a father's desire to provide a better life for his family (which may involve some shady dealings), siblings' connections to each other and the inability to stay together in times of hardship and despair. I feel like there is a character in this book that everyone can relate to; one person who has a similar philosophy about the influence of promises.

I related most to Markos, whose character shared the statement at the beginning of this post. Markos inherited the story of the poor laborer's family without trying, but tried diligently to connect the pieces and the people from the story. Meanwhile, he had a family of his own - a mother and friend, who was like a sister - thousands of miles away. His immediate reaction when given the opportunity to leave home was to leave. He traveled the world and made a life for himself outside of his hometown. He landed in Kabul and unexpectedly stayed there for nearly a decade, doing work that felt meaningful and purposeful and somehow more connected to his humanity than his family. And yet. And yet. The work still doesn't fulfill him completely and reminders exist in his history - the people who represent why he does his work who he left behind; his family still being disconnected from him as an adult. Although he fulfilled some of the promises he made to himself, he failed on others.

But others would probably relate to either Pari, who's connection and loyalty to family - although differently motivated - caused them to dislodge relationships, leave unfulfilled promises of education and professionalism. Sometimes, their focus too distracted them from their deeper heart's desire to explore and find meaning in the way Markos did - all around the world. And yet. And yet. They could still take stock in the moments they shared with loved ones.

The lesson of unmet promises also begs the question, can one have it all? Or do you have to, by virtue of the way the world operates, leave some promises unfulfilled in order to meet the tenants of another?

The last lesson is somewhat related - the promises we make to ourselves in our dreams - how easy are they to fulfill? And, will they be fulfilled in the way we expect them to, or are they met in smaller ways that, added up, should be just as meaningful? This is far more abstract to explain, but I do think of the dreams I have built for myself over the years that are hard to describe. And yet. And yet. When I saw "Cabaret" in New York, Alan Cumming live on stage and then less than a foot away from me outside of the theater, my heart soared. Something that I had not quite defined became real for me in those moments and I am still beaming with joy each time I see a photo, remember a song, or think of that night.

But there are several more examples of moments I had been dreaming of that didn't work out.

Hosseini's story is about both of those moments - fulfilled and unfilled dreams - realities that incur on the vows we make ourselves at bedtime, in our dreams, and in our reflections. Some of those dreams will never become a reality because of their impossibility, or improbability; some may, but they'll be realized in a way that is perhaps different than what one previously assumed. Or, they may be completely realized - but at what cost? And even more, what changes about ourselves, our acceptance of our identities, and about our choices, after the fact?

It was an incredible novel and I am grateful to have read it. Hosseini needs to keep writing. His stories are the reason why we tell stories - to feel and to learn.

~MJ

"He woke from these dreams with a howl locked in his chest. Bouts of weeping sideswiped him at random moments.
And yet.
And yet.
Something else was happening as well. The new awareness had not fade from his mind, but slowly it had found company. Another, opposing current of consciousness coursed through him now, one that did not displace the first but claimed space beside it..." -pp. 287

Where have all the heroes gone?

I'm back into a mode of reading that includes devouring books and having the chance to reflect upon what I've been reading. Thank goodness. I love times like these.

The second book I finished this week was "Zeitoun" (Zay-Toon) by Dave Eggers. Following "What is the What," I had high hopes for this story - and Eggers followed through. 

The book's namesake, Zeitoun, is a patriarch in the story - an immigrant from Syria who has built a successful life in New Orleans. A common strand in the book discusses the difficulties Zeitoun and his family occasionally faced is a post-9/11 America as a Muslim family, and what confusion non-Muslim friends and family members had about the Zeitoun's faith. Despite this, Zeitoun and his wife were able to build a successful business and ensure their four kids could go to good schools, all the meanwhile having a strong, affectionate relationship themselves. 

Then Hurricane Katrina happened. While his wife and children fled New Orleans in advance of the storm, Zeitoun stayed to make sure their house, and the number of properties they owned throughout the city, survived the storm. In the aftermath of Katrina, Zeitoun found himself rescuing trapped elderly people, feeding abandoned animals, and generally being a good samaritan. 

Then he got arrested, seemingly arbitrarily. And although, up to this point, it's clear that the government response to the disaster was lackluster (understatement), the story that follows Zeitoun's arrest is appalling. From a make-shift prison camp at a bus station to an overcrowded prison north of the city, Zeitoun's ordeal is nothing short of horrific.

And yet somehow, after 23 days if imprisonment, he makes it out alive, and fully embarks, with his family, on recovering their pre-Katrina lives. I read one of the closing paragraphs...

"It was a test, Zeitoun thinks. Who among us could deny that we were tested? But now look at us, he says. Every person is stronger now. Every person who was forgotten by God or country is now louder, more defiant, and more determined. They existed before, and they exist again, in the city of New Orleans and the United States of America. And Abdulrahman Zeitoun existed before, and exists again, in the city of New Orleans and the United States of America. he can only have faith that will never again be forgotten, denied, called by a name other than his own. He must trust, and he must have faith. And so he builds..." - p.324

And felt incredibly inspired. The story was a lesson in overcoming adversity, even in the most dire of circumstances. It was a lesson on the meaning of true citizenship, not just of a country, but of humanity, and still what is possible in the wake of both tragedy and inhumanity. 

So inspired, I took to Google to learn more about the topics discussed in the book, including the law enforcement and prison issues during Katrina. When I typed "Zeitoun" into Google, I found some of that info, but another top hit included a story that Zeitoun was *again* facing prison time. My first reaction was "What? Are we serious?!" But when I actually followed the link and read the story, I was shocked. Zeitoun was facing another round of charges detailing violence against his wife - yes, that means he had previously been charged.

In the last three years, not only has Zeitoun been charged for violent acts, his wife has left him and that portrait of a strong, successful family in Eggers' book has been completely shattered. What happened?

This raises so many questions, conflicts, and unsettlement in my mind. Eggers' book is billed as "non-fiction" - if it had been billed as "fiction" would the sting of this apparent aftermath truth feel less obvious? Is this evidence of PTSD? Were there elements of their pre-Katrina lives that the Zeitoun family left out in order to get the story more airtime?

This Times-Picayune story includes details, but I think the debate going on in my head is echoed in the comment strand. It's interesting that the first comment appears to be from a person prominently featured in the story.

I don't have the intellectual energy to expound more of my thoughts here except that my biggest question is: where have all the heroes gone? Zeitoun is clearly flawed in a manner that makes me question the validity of the story as portrayed in the book. But that character, and his story, are so incredibly powerful that shouldn't we still take heed of those lessons? And what's going on with this story about Eggers' foundation? 

This also leads me to think about the role of stories in our culture - their role to shape hope and set the tone for how we react to the world around us and the events within. Regardless of who Zeitoun really is, isn't there something profound to be said about who we want him (and us) to be in situations like those presented in the story - whether it be as a family man, hurricane survivor, or wrongly incarcerated prisoner? 

Good books are meant to be thought-provoking and I am certainly still impacted by "Zeitoun." And although the aftermath of "happily ever after" has tarnished my view of the man and made me question his story, I am still left with the lessons it taught me. And that reminds me that even fairy tales have elements of truths that we disguise in mythology and folklore - but there still is some truth somewhere, and that truth is important.

Our Little Infinity

"...it occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again." - from The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.


Recommended reading.


I heard about it, and also heard it was sad. I vaguely knew it had a storyline focused on cancer, which also is a topic I struggle reading about. But, the Collector's Edition at Barnes and Noble caught my eye and I surrendered my hesitation. Besides reiterating how dangerous (and expensive) my visits to bookstores can be, it sure enough turned out to be a good buy.
For the better part of the first half of the story, I seriously questioned the popularity of this book. The writing was interesting (mostly), yes, but there was a tinge of superficiality. And then at some point, I think when the story's turning point in the plot really occurred, I was hooked. I wasn't hooked in the "Twilight" form of just wanting to know what happens, but rather in the "wow, this is a really good book, can't-put-it-down" kind of way. 

I knew what was going to happen at the end when I reached the turning point. Normally, this was turn me off of a book. But John Green, I think, did this on purpose, investing me not only in the book's key relationship  by telling me it would be short-lived, and then using every part of the story to reflect on how fleeting, yet meaningful, certain aspects of life can be. Not to mention conjuring up connections to my own personal romances and tragedies. 

What surprised me most is that I actually teared up at the end. Not because what happened in the plot surprised me, but because of the writing - the words caught me by surprise and tears actually crawled down my cheeks.

And it was over, just like that. Despite knowing what would happen, I was surprised it actually ended. So abruptly and beautifully at the same time. And that's when I knew what the buzz was all about - why the bestseller, why the "Collector's Edition" as a marketing ploy, why it was recommended to me by so many different people.

So trust me, it's worth reading. The story reads like a Hollywood movie with more poetry. It's a love story that I can see being as culturally profound as Romeo and Juliet, and Green, although writing for teenagers, doesn't hesitate at all to make references to great works of literature through the ages. The characters are smart and witty while also being wise and dynamic. Philosophically, the book includes themes around life, love, time, and human relationships - nothing novel or new, but uniquely told through the lens of the type of tragedy anyone who has ever heard the word "cancer" can relate to.

Bear with the first half. You'll find that turning point and never look back.

Per Hazel Grace's eloquence, I say this about her story (as told by John Green): "Some infinities are bigger than other infinities...I can't tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity."


~MJ

PS Also really enjoyed The Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick. Another must read, explained via another blog. It's funny, poignant and high-quality. The movie is different in many ways, but also good. I recommend both, because very truly, "I believe in happy endings."

What He Said, What He Wrote

The only thing I can say uniquely about Ray Bradbury's death is that I distinctly remember the shock and wonder I experienced reading "The Fruit at the Bottom of the Bowl," one of his short stories, for the first time. There is something incredibly powerful that happens when you read a story and it completely surprises you. I remember finding this story quite strange and at times slightly dull - and then my feelings got turned upside down. I felt, very profoundly, not only a new sense of interest, but surprise in reading the story toward the end - and then I had to read it again and again just so I could experience the feeling over and over.

This happened countless times when I read Bradbury's short stories (in "Driving Blind" was one of my favorite anthologies growing up) and novels (who couldn't be changed by "Fahrenheit 451" ? ).

In addition to his writing, I was impressed by Brandbury's sense of purpose, focus on love, and genuineness. When my high school acquired the rights to perform "Fahrenheit 451" the play - Bradbury sent our director a signed copy of the book to thank us for spreading 451's main messages to larger audiences.

In closing, I have to link to Paulo Coelho's Blog for some great quotes from Bradbury. A great author recognizing a great author. As well as Huffington Post's reflection on his life. Because really, nobody can describe Ray Bradbury better than the things he said, and nobody really gets it until they experience his stories.

Thanks.

"For as long as we have voices"

"In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices." - Elizabeth Gilbert

I usually find the greatest value in what I read why I feel it applies directly to real life. I remember picking up "Eat, Pray, Love" during naptime when I was babysitting, and had a hard time putting it down an hour later when my little friend woke up. When I left that night, I used a portion of my earnings to stop by Barnes and Noble and buy the book - and it is one of my favorites.

Mostly because of the quote above.
Mostly because on nights like these, after days like these, I am so thankful and hopeful all wrapped into one. I so clearly see the friends I have and the wonderful opportunities that surround me. I know that I want to be my best because of them, and I know that I never want to forget to be grateful. Because I wouldn't be anywhere I am today without the graciousness of others.

So, as I continue my journey, I have to continue saying thank you to those around me, and to the universe for putting them in my path. I whisper it every night as I go to sleep, and tonight, I'd rather shout it from the rooftops - I guess a blog will suffice.

I am thankful for my coworkers, who are supportive, hardworking, and who believe in me.
I am thankful for my friends --
the ones I don't talk to but once in a full moon, but it feels like we never said goodbye;
the ones who make me laugh and let me relieve stress;
the ones who call to check in just because they want to know how things are going;
the ones who call for advice because we've been through it all together, anyway;
the ones who call just to call and say hello, and to laugh;
the ones who want to eat dinner and catch up while supporting a good cause;
the ones I see in passing but they still have time for a hug...

I am also thankful for the existence of Skype, for little surprises that bring joy and giddiness.

And so with my voice, I say thank you. Thank you for stories I'll never forget and for friends I'll always have.

You sustain me.

~MJ

A Way.

You know those lyrics to "My Way," as sung by Frank Sinatra? I think my previous description was missing something.

There's a tinge of regret to the song, isn't there? The idea is that doing it "my way" made life what it was, full of achievements and failures, triumphs and regrets that, in retrospect, seem silly. But the suggestion is that "my way" was the way one went, and there seems an underlying question: was that the best way? Who did I leave behind? What didn't I do?

Clearly, there were other roads to travel: opposing or not-so-opposing choices to be had. Robert Frost didn't write about two diverging paths in the wood for no reason; every day we make choices that carve our path and define us for a lifetime.

Sometimes, those decisions aren't big ones, or very clear ones - but, the culmination of many of these can not only be defining, but hard to change. We obviously can't change where we've traveled, but it's often hard to make decisions to alter the path ahead. There is uncertainty, doubt, and a lack of clarity - we don't know that path as well, so it's hard not only to grasp what it is but how we handle it.

Is it clear by now that I'm at one of those moments in life where it seems completely necessary to stand back and try to see the bigger path picture?
To cringe at what I've done wrong, where I misstepped, and wallow in regret?
To affirm that there is a way to fix the wrongs, to alter the path ahead - all the while longing for the chance to just start over?
Remembering all the signs as clear as day -
Monday morning quarter back at its best.
To be frustrated by what others are and are not doing, saying,
To be stifled by what is out of my control.
To realize, although painfully, that the past cannot be changed
but the future may be harder to change yet.

Fortunately and unfortunately, My Way is the only way I know. Until I teach myself new ways and challenge myself to be better. I can't rely on anyone else to change my path, no matter how much I want them to guide the way. I can accept that the universe has its plan, but that I am a key player in my plan, and only I can make a difference.

Verbalizing, writing, this acceptance is one thing. Finding a way to act on this acceptance, to actually learn from it and close that gap between "my way" and the "best way," is a whole other act in and of itself. I can say I am committed to bettering myself, but measuring that is tricky.

I always keep this quote from Emerson in my head, and I feel like my first step to finding my best way is to actually make this happen every day in my life:

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one person breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

Here's my plan: to do the best I can every day.
To think before speaking.
To speak my feelings with humility.
To look within myself for answers before seeking another's opinion.
To expect of others what I expect of myself.
To clearly set those expectations, and accept that I cannot control the actions of others.
To be grateful for opportunities and accept them as they come.
To be reflective and conscientious.
To keep my word.

It's not about doing each of these things every day, but being careful not to do the opposite. This visualization may help me. We'll see. It's a step in a direction I hope will be positive for me.

Small steps (yet another good book by Louis Sachar).

Maybe the time I spend on the phone should be spent in a library or buried in a book instead?

Just a thought on a new course of action.

~MJ

Thank you, Harry.

Best. Series. Ever.

I left "A Game of Thrones" in my car and a new book I'm reading for work. I may not be able to handle reading much right now anyway, but I glanced at my bookshelf and couldn't resist: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

My mom originally got this book for me over ten years ago. In 7th grade, I heard about the book on The Rosie O'Donnell show (my favorite after school tv pastime) but didn't think much of it. Then, my mom got me a copy as she had heard good things about the book. She only got me paperback, though, thinking that if I got into the series we could do hardcover, but it wasn't worth the investment if I ended up not enjoying the first book.

Little did we both know what a passion it would become.

I raced through the first three books during the fall of my 7th grade year, which, in addition to my other reading, catapulted me to the front of my homeroom class in terms of number of books read. That year I won a CD from my teacher for reading so much - and I thank HARRY POTTER!

In the years that followed, I remember the time spent waiting for a new book to arrive. I always pre-ordered the latest HP novel on Amazon.com instead of doing the bookstore party thing. Amazon always promised it would be delivered day-of-release. Twice FedEx failed on Amazon's promise and I had to wait a few extra days (aka, an eternity). But twice Amazon refunded our money for the inconvenience!

I remember the FedEx delivery guy arrived on schedule for the delivery of one of the books. But he was exasperated  It was mid-afternoon; I had anxiously waited all day and was convinced my book was lost in the mail. I'd also heard about people looting delivery trucks. I also had heard that there were simply too many books to be delivered for them to all arrive on schedule. But, FedEx man arrived. I saw him through the picture window in the living room and it was all I could do not to race to the door before he got to the doorstep. My mom and I greeted him and got the book. I was speechlessly excited. He smiled nicely and I remember my mom and him chatting a moment about his day. He said something about his truck being full of Harry Potter and there not being enough hours in the day. So true, delivery man. So true.

I knew people who read them in 24 hours. I would usually try to savor the book for a week although so often it was hard to put down. I remember growing with Harry - the story lines deepening as I matured. I fancied myself to be the same age as Harry and I still won't let anyone tell me differently. I started an HP fan club online in middle school, in the days of AOL chat rooms, message boards, and list servs. I managed to acquire a following of 70 or so people, from all over the world, for an e-newsletter about Harry. It included columns about the plot and characters and I accepted submissions of something from my readers.

My fascination with local news got me to send the newsletter to a local anchor (Wayne Herman at Denver's 7). He mentioned it on the air during the last segment of a show and subscribed to future newsletters. It was probably my most successful attempt at amateur journalism as a child - fostering a love I already had for writing and letting be a little reporte...thanks to HARRY POTTER!

It still blows my mind to think how deeply I, along with millions across the world, got into HP. I usually hesitate to jump on bandwagons right away, but I definitely rode the wave of HP like a pro - and I long for those times. I wish had gone to a bookstore party or two. I did wait in line for the midnight showing of the sixth movie, although I fell asleep (the movies aren't as good as the books, anyway). I long for the anticipation that came with a new HP book; the novelty of that FedEx delivery every couple of years.

I also miss the adventures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione; the wisdom of Dumbledore and Hagrid; the characters I cried over like Sirius Black, Dobby, and yes, Dumbledore. I miss losing myself in a world mixed of wizards and muggles, broomstick sports and custom wands. And, considering how successful HP is, I wonder why words like "muggles" don't clear my computer's spell-check.

Despite my many years of commitment to HP, I've never re-read the books, unlike so many people I know. I also haven't seen movie 7 part 2, but that, to me, is not as grievous or interesting. So. I pulled book 1 off my shelf tonight. I just wrote a whole blog so I should be able to read a chapter or two.

And still, after all these years, I have a giddy anticipation about opening to page 1 and getting lost in Harry's world.

Thank you, Harry, for giving me that escape - along with everything else.

Here's to books that keep you reading,

~MJ

"If we don't have each other, we don't have anything."

I've lived in Tulsa for two years now, so I figured it was finally time to read "The Outsiders" by S.E. Hinton. I had never heard of the novel before moving here; rightfully, it's Tulsa's literary pride and joy. It's been a national bestseller, but somehow, it did not show up on my radar until I came to its birthplace.

Originally published in 1967, Hinton's freshman year at the University of Tulsa, it is a tale of friendship, family, and loyalty. It also focuses heavily on violence, cultural differences, and classism. Hinton originally wrote it as a student at Will Rogers High School here in Tulsa, one of the oldest schools in the city and where my roommate did her two-year TFA commitment.

There was little reference to any specific Tulsa places in the story, but the plot centers around a group of boys on the "east side" who are at odds with another gang on the "west side" with some identifiable landmarks like the Arkansas River. Although it takes place in the '60s and is a meditation on Hinton's view of problems in town, the themes, characters, and plot situations are incredibly universal. Told from a 14 year-old's perspective, the more I read the more I recognized the book's value and the reasons my students consistently picked it up out of our classroom library. Even though the story's characters may have looked different than most of my students who loved this book, many of the issues the characters deal with are strikingly similar to violence that still exists in many urban centers, including Tulsa, today.

One of the main messages that consistently struck me regarded the uselessness of focusing on differences, motivations for violence, and how meaningless most violence is. There are good moments to discuss all of these, and some of the action in the story made me realize how gray some situations are, no matter how obviously black and white you want everything to be. Instead of reviewing the plot, I'd rather reflect briefly on two passages that made this story for me:

"It seemed funny to me that the sunset she saw from her patio and the one I saw from the back steps was the same one. Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren't so different." -pp. 41

The concept of the "same sun" has always been fascinating to me. Although viewing the sunset or staring up at the stars can be a very personal experience, every day, it is shared by millions of people. We are all under the same sky and somehow, we manage to put up walls, create obstacles, and very handily decide that our differences are greater than our commonalities. We nit-pick about the little things: political viewpoints, religious differences, even the variety of colors present between us. Why do we waste time on the negative side of these differences, judging "the bad" instead of valuing the good? I frequently get annoyed by some of the differences of opinion I may have with some people, and I may also be confused or sometimes frightened by the things I don't know about somebody - so confused that judgement may pass. But ultimately, I like to reflect on why I made those judgements, get to know somebody so that I can alter my perceptions, and talk with those people with different opinions to challenge my beliefs and deepen my thinking. In that way, I'd like to think I recognize and value the differences everyone has. I may get scared, uncomfortable, annoyed, or even angry sometimes - but the idea that we all have different stories under the same sky is somehow life-affirming and a big reminder that the universe is greater than ourselves. So, why worry about the petty things?

"I could picture hundreds of boys living on the wrong side of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did. It was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. There should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late." - pp. 179

The poetry of this passage wasn't the only thing that reached me. This paragraph encapsulates what teaching became to me as I delved deeper into life in my classroom and the surrounding community. So many of my students were on the "wrong side of cities" and some were "mean and tough and hated the world." Even those that weren't had moments of fragile frustration, angst, or pessimism. Through literature, through writing, and through my relationship with my students, I tried to be a beacon of "it will get better" or "I'm here for you" or "It's not too late." The pressure of that was tremendous sometimes. The walls erected by resistant teenagers seemed insurmountable at others. But what kept me going was the knowledge that 1) we share the same sky, and 2) all they need and want is love. Sometimes, I sucked at showing that love - but never for a moment did I not feel it. It's crazy how easily that strong feeling can come up in a room of complete strangers on day 1 of being in the classroom, and how quickly that feeling can evolve and deepen over the course of a year. Even more, how much of a void there is without them sometimes.

I read this book because I thought I should as a resident of Tulsa. I finished it reminded of so many of my students - their love of this book, their diverse stories and struggles, the importance of love in any success we had together. The narrator of "The Outsiders" and his characters continually stress the importance of friendship. That the sunset is better when you know somebody is there to enjoy it with you.

It's books like these that reaffirm my values and help me to strive to be a better person. I know from reading this that I want all children to have loving friends and family, to be able to read good books and grow intellectually. I also reaffirmed by reading this book my belief in the power of my friends in family in who I am today. Even those who have betrayed me or left me or were never really friends to begin with. Without them, I wouldn't be half of who I am, and may not have the wherewithal to grow as a person. I miss those I've lost, like our narrator does, but also hold dear the lessons they taught me and the traits they instilled within me.

We ALL still share the same sky. And without each other, each and every one of us, we don't have anything.

~MJ

Saying it So Much Better than I Can

"And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges, and absorbs the impact." - pg 106, "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss.

There are books that we read and we recognize beauty right away. There are those, too, that take more than a few pages to strike us. And still there are those that, even months, years, after closing the back cover, we are drawn back.

This is one of those books. It took me awhile to get into this book when I bought it in 2009 on an epic "I want a book" run to Barnes and Noble. But I finished a few months ago. And I took it off my shelf tonight because Krauss so eloquently puts words to a topic that is often otherwise cliche. And, I needed to find some eloquence after a very messy, yet beautiful conversation with someone I care deeply about.

I earmarked this page because this part of the novel discusses how we, as humans, come to know feelings. We only know them when we experience them. Some feelings are easier to come by than others, and even more are hard to explain except for an abstract, singular word. Yet we know all of these feelings because we experience them - our body, our mind, our soul grabs them and never lets go.

What I know from tonight is that I found some feelings and revealed them. And now, my heart is around to absorb the impact -- while a simultaneous weight has been lifted from my shoulders. What a feeling. And yet. *There are no words.

Here's to those times when stories can say it so much better than we can - and thus, here's hoping we never forget them.

~MJ

Too Close to Home

I've finished "What is the What" and am now reading Michael Johnston's "In the Deep Heart's Core."

Reflecting on these choices, I realize:

1. We can be touched, traumatized, and otherwise affected by a narrative that is from a distant land;

2. We are even more deeply influenced by those stories that are in our "backyard"

3. And we are most profoundly touched by those narratives that directly relate to our personal experience, and thus, carve a deep place in our hearts, whether by tugging on a heartstring or further salting an open wound.

"What is the What" is definitely #1 in these categories for me. I found my jaw dropping, my heart sinking, a smile creeping, or laughter sounding in various parts of that book. The whole time, I was relying on the narrator's descriptions to fill the gaps in my imagination, and letting their words soley guide my reactions and connections.

Johnston's "In the Deep Heart's Core," I thought would be like "Waiting for Superman," a little more of #2. It would hit closer to home than Deng's story because it is in the United States and deals with a very unjust, but domestic, issue. And one that may look different in different places.

Johnston, who also happens to be the senator I'm working for this summer, is a TFA alum. He served in Greenville, Mississippi starting in 1997. This book is about his two years in the corps and experiences teaching at Greenville High.

It's roughly two hundred pages. I have read longer books in less time, but after a week, I have only muddled through about half. It's not a slow go because it's boring, too dense, or overly complicated. In fact, it's incredibly interesting, simple in its format, and easy to follow. What's hard is how much its content reminds me of experiences in my own classroom.

It reminds me of students I taught - the ones I won and the ones I lost. It reminds me of those moments where we (teachers) make classic mistakes that allow them (students) a way to turn a little something into a big something. It reminds of those painful moments when the mistakes and the ones I may lose collided, and the powerlessness and feeling of incompetence that washed over me. It reminds me of adults too worried about adult problems, and kids who grow up too fast.

In Johnston's story in Mississippi, I see mine in Oklahoma. I see trials and triumphs, but in some moments have to stop reading in order to stave off reliving moments I've buried for so long.

This book does #3 to a tee. I am so wound up in this book, but feel my heartstrings going taut and the pieces of my heart that have broken tearing just a little bit more. It rocks me to my core, which is why I think it's a worthwhile read, it's just not one I can take lightly. I can't flip through the pages in anticipation of what's next, because it feels like I know it. Like I know what successes or failures lie around the corner and I have to mentally prepare myself for what's next. There is little surprise, but plenty of shock; and it's a story I've felt, I've tasted, I've sweated and bled through. For as powerful as Deng's story is, I don't know what it's like to be a Lost Boy of Sudan. But, for Johnston's story, I've been a teacher in a tough place and felt for my kids in the way that he did. I know the happiness of a kid's win, and my heart breaks a little more when I know adversity may be too hard to tackle in a moment.

I guess the difference is between empathy and sympathy. Great stories generate both in us, but the ones that most profoundly influence us are the ones that hit close to home. When we can empathize and literally see ourselves in the character's shoes. When we don't need to know it's real because it's in the nonfiction section. When we know that "fiction" isn't always separate from "truth."

For my own sanity, I need to read a mix of 1s, 2s, and 3s...and even the occasional "this means nothing to me except it's entertaining" story. Otherwise, it would take me months to get through the shortest of books. And years to digest and reconcile both the reality and narrative reality.

The best part? At least we can tell stories, read them, and live them. Talk about them, reflect on them, and sometimes escape with them. The good news is, there's some degree of impact in every story - and it's up to us readers what we want to do with it.

So, what do I do with Johnston's story? It's good therapy to talk with other teachers about our similar experiences, and I'm teetering on the edge of giving it to some first year teachers I know (to show that this is tough work, but there are victories...or, completely drive them out of teaching). What I do know that fr as much as its affected me, it's giving a me a lot - in reflection, in appreciation, and hope. Yes, hope. Because for as tough as it was at times in Greenville, like it was in Tulsa, Johnston found wins with his kids and has made a name for himself in the world of education. If anything, my time is coming - perhaps it's right around the corner.

Oh, the joys of reading.

~MJ

Earmarks: What is the What

These two clips from "What is the What" most saliently relate to my personal and professional work. I am passionate about children's rights, especially when it comes to quality education. I not only value education, but believe it is the key to freedom in all capacities. Before I expound too much, I'd rather the words of Dave Eggers and Valentino Achak Deng tell you my beliefs about the power of children and of education:

"You have nothing now, nothing but education. Don't you see this? Our country is in shambles, and the only way to reclaim it is to learn! Our independence was stolen from us due to the ignorance of our ancestors, and only you can correct it. Many of you no longer have mothers. You have lost your fathers. But you have education. Here, if you are smart enough to accept it, you will be educated. Education wil be your mother. Education will be your father. While your older brothers fight this war with guns, you will fight the next war with pens." -page 297

"Humans are divided between those who can still look through the eyes of youth and those who cannot." -page 116

My .2:

If Deng's teacher at his fist refugee camp, Mr. Konduit, cannot convince you of the power of education - I don't know who can. My grandmother engrained variations of this message all throughout my upbringing. My mother echoed her sentiments. And both pushed me to make the most of my education and did their best to ensure I could. If it hadn't been for them, or for the handful of teachers that also communicated this message to me, who knows where I would be today? It's a message so much a part of my D.N.A that I brought it with me into teaching and tried my best to reiterate it to my students as often and as clearly as possible. Education breeds knowledge, skills, and just a new awareness of the world. It allows us to grapple with our identities, confront, deconstruct, and build new perspectives - it breaks down barriers of ignorance and provides the tools to knock out oppression. When we let it, education guides us, gives us hope, builds our faith, and gives us a foundation for understanding the world around us. Sometimes, we are frustrated by the pain we find in the world as we learn, and the pain we experience in some of that - but overall, we begin to understand that despite challenges, we are better because we are educated and that we can right some of the world's wrongs because we have a beacon of hope. For these reasons, this passage had a great impact on me, especially in the context of Sudan's war and the issues Deng has to face as a child.

The second earmark reminded me that all too often, adults lose sight of children. In our efforts to run schools, build businesses, and in many cases initiate and/or participate in conflicts (local or global), we forget that 1) children will listen, and 2) children are following our lead into their generation. What lessons should we be teaching them? That war is ok? That death, even violent death, is part of a natural order? That white collar crime in the name of profit is acceptable? That morals can be ignored for the sake of a news story? Every day, adults make decisions that affect kids, but rarely remember that children are there. I think this passage also speaks to the idea that adults are in the business of things like education reform - a movement that not only influences but dramatically impacts kids. But sometimes, we treat issues in the movement as adult problems, not as ones that impact kids. Think of the arguments about teacher tenure, evaluations, and merit pay; think about how kids' test scores are counted for or against a teacher, and how the system forces teachers to favor the students that "count" for the state. There is a whole cascade of problems that adults address on adult terms - forgetting that kids have a voice, too. I think the key to navigating the depths of some of these problems is to welcome the perspective of children, and even for small moments, see their world through their eyes.

These are just two examples of clips from this book that so greatly reaffirm aspects of my worldview, while also challenging and adding to my history knowledge base and awareness of global issues.

This is why I love reading.

~MJ