Because, science.

Nothing beats curling up with a book and a blanket (especially a Hogwarts Express blanket). The Martian by Andy Weir is my latest read (will be Book 18 or 19 of #30Books when it is finished). It had been recommended to me a couple of times this year, and even though it breaks my "no reading white men" guidance for the year, it is a good read. And I prioritized it because a movie based on the book is coming out in October.

This also comes at a time where I supported the Bill Nye film Kickstarter. That's right, the Science Guy. Anyone who knows me knows that science and I - we are not friends. This read, and Bill Nye, may make us reluctant friends, meaning I appreciate you're here but I won't understand you the way I do my best friend, language. There are passages in Martian that I legitimately have to re-read to follow he science-y happenings. But the book itself is thrilling and I'm refreshing some of my knowledge from AP Chemistry in high school. And learning other things for the first time (like, how to make H2O - a novel concept). I also think this would be a great read in a HS science course. This all, of course, depends on whether the science in Martian is real (I am assuming most of it is, but really, what do I know?). 

Bill Nye could confirm or deny the scientific contentions in Martian. He should have a MythBusters special of some kind. His Kickstarter (well, the KS of some fans who won Bill over to their idea) is about making a documentary about him, his career, and you guessed it - science! I got excited! I don't usually get excited about science-y things, but yes, I donated the day I saw it. And then I started reading Martian. I guess you could say that I'm giving science more opportunities to win me over. 

I'm about halfway through the book and I fully expect to finish it soon, likely believing most, if not all of the science-y things inside. 

In other news, Book 16 was Haruki Murakami's Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage which I've  been eyeing for awhile. I liked it for the most part, because it was so different, but I was somewhat underwhelmed by the ending. I am assuming something was lost in translation. I also think Murakami's writing is generally beautiful - so I have  no real complaints.

I am also back to my work-out reads as I trudge through the first couple of weeks of remembering how to endure a 5k (yes, endure). Since it's still August - and therefore the kind of hot that melts down my temples when I walk outside and constrains my breathing when I get into my car after a long day of it sitting in the parking lot - I am using a treadmill. It also helps with pacing, which is dreadfully slow. 

Nevertheless, Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel is my gym read - it lives on my iPad and I listen to the audiobook as I go ever-so-slowly through my 1.5 mile walk/jogs (notice how that is only half of a 5k...many weeks to go). It's really good! Depending on the pace of this and Martian, it will be Book 18 or 19 in #30Books. 

It's a dystopian novel about a flu pandemic that wipes out a great deal of the world's population. As a result of this pandemic, we regress back to a time without electricity or modern conveniences; the world is more feudal and disconnected. It ties together the stories of several characters, both before, during and after the pandemic. A main thread connecting the stories together (ever so thinly about halfway through the book) is a traveling "symphony" - or a band of nomads traveling between towns (without technology and through the wilderness, mainly) who stop and perform Shakespeare. A common theme so far in the story is how we tell stories, the stories we choose to tell, the stories that live on and why, as well as the gaps in stories lost over time. On today's excursion, a particularly great earmark came up:

"What the Symphony was doing, what they were always doing, was trying to cast a spell...they lives they brushed up against were work-worm and difficult, people who spent all their time engaged in the tasks of survival." 

I just thought this was a good reminder about how stories help us escape, to find comfort, and to remember, even for a minute, that the world is bigger than us.

So while I have my blanket (or a treadmill) and some books, I'll keep 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). 

The book without earmarks.

I purchased this book on one of the many days when books need not be purchased. I had spent most of 2014 not buying books for the sole purpose of saving money. It was more or less successful, except for those few moments when I caved. And by few, I mean - at least every two months. But that, my friends, is still progress.

The book. "A Sudden Light" by Garth Stein. He also wrote "The Art of Racing in the Rain" which Barnes & Noble and/or the publishers aptly reminded me about with an extra sleeve over the dust cover with the latter's book art. I'd seen it multiple times and had avoided it. But I was in Colorado for Christmas, and at Barnes & Noble to get some last-minute gifts, and the book was there. So I read the first chapter in the store. And then the second. And I had to keep reading, so that's when $26.95 (actually, less, because I am a member after all) was spent - but not needlessly.

I finished the book on New Year's day, so it counted as my first book of 2015. There were so many wonderful things about this book - rich language, an enticing story, fresh characters, some surprises and some supernatural occurrences. It's also a beautiful hardback copy, with artsy, uneven paper edges. And so I didn't bend any corners to save memories of words & phrases worth saving.

But I remember loving the main character, a young boy with an adventurous heart who only wants his dad's affection and his mother's attention and for them to get back together. His aunt was strange - I never really liked her. His dad was broken. His mother was largely absent. His grandfather was being abused (by the aunt). And they lived (well, not the mom) in an old house with tremendous family history - and (literally) ghosts of the past. Moments were light. Moments were slightly scary. Some moments, in dark corners of the house, there was some creepiness. There were also some heartwrenching moments  - ah! the story of the great uncle & his love! - and a big tragedy (didn't see that coming - seriously)!

It's an enchanting ghost story about families and progress, how humans cope with change, and how we make meaning of our past & present. Like "The Art of Racing in the Rain," my soul was filled with warmth after reading. My soul re-filled with what it means to have a good book, a great story, complete but not forgotten.

I did manage to take a picture of a page that resonated - to serve as acpseudo-earmark.

"Perhaps that's what life is about - the search for such a connection. The search for magic. The search for the inexplicable. Not in order to explain it, or contain it. Simply in order to feel it. Because in that recognition of the sublime, we see for a moment the entire universe in the pal, of our hand. And in that moment, we touch the face of God."

With that, I leave you, with recommended reading.

~MJ

oh, and in the search for the other photo in this post, I found this:

"Words were different when they lived inside of you."

From, "Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe" by Benjamin Alire Saenz. Also, recommended reading.

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

The Six Books of Summer

Summer began with "The Steady Running of the Hour." Although I was ultimately disappointed by the ending, there were incredible passages throughout.

"It had taken a long time to separate her life from her death so that I could think of the first without having to think of the second. Finally I learned to let the small and simple memories float to the surface, as they did sometimes, and I no longer tried to push them down." -pp. 30
"Ashley looks at the tablecloth and shakes his head. He says that for one thing, lasting comfort becomes no comfort at all. All things in the world are perceptible only by contrast. For just as there is not heat without cold nor light without the darkness, it is climbing that throws all of Ashley's life into into sharp relief. It is climbing that makes one feel. It is the driving mountain cold that makes the fire in an alpine hut so delicious; it is the sore and cramped muscles that transform an ordinary hot bath into a sensory revelation; it is the hours of grueling ascent that make a supper of sardines and biscuits and jam so much better than a thousand dinners at the Criterion.
And it is impossible to live without hardship. The hardship of daily trifles, Ashley explains, ever accumulating and impossible to ignore, is so much meaner than pain or cold or fatigue. These annoyances make one weak and petty and shallow, just as greater struggles make one brave and wise." - pp. 81

And it continued with another amazing read by Khaled Hosseini - who has yet to disappoint me (blog here).

"But there was no forgetting. Pari hovered, unbidden, at the edge of Abdullah's vision everywhere she went. She was like the dust that clung to his shirt. She was in the silences that had become so frequent at the house, silences that welled up between their words, sometimes cold and hollow, sometimes pregnant with things that went unsaid, like a cloud filled with rain that never fell. Some nights he dreamed that he was in the desert again, alone, surrounded by mountains, and in the distance a single tiny glint of light flickering on, off, on, off, like a message...And if one day, trekking across some vast open field, despaire should take hold of him, he would stop in his tracks and shut his eyes and he would think of the falcon feather Pari had found in the desert. He would picture the feather coming loose from the bird, up in the clouds, half a mile above the world, twirling and spinning in violent currents, hurled by gusts of blustering wind across miles and miles of deserts and mountains, to finally land, of all places and against all odds, at the foot of that once boulder for his sister to find. It would strike him with wonder, then, and hope, too, that such things happened. And though he would know better, he would take heart, and he would open his eyes, and walk." -pp. 51-52. 

"The Light Between Oceans" captivated me during a long and unexpected layover at Dulles, and got me through some serious cardio at the gym.

"There are still more days to travel in this life. And he knows that the man who makes the journey has been shaped by every day and every person along the way. Scares are just another kind of memory."
"Your family's never in your past. You carry it around with you everywhere."
"It seemed his lungs could never be large enough to breath in this much air, his eyes could never see this much space, nor could he hear the full extent of the rolling, roaring ocean. For the briefest moment, he had no edges."

"A Tale for the Time Being" caught me at the right moment in the right bookstore, and carried me through too many days in Las Vegas.

"Or maybe none of these things will happen except in my mind and yours, because, like I told you, together we're making magic, at least for the time being." -pp. 5
"When you beat a drum, you create NOW, when silence becomes a sound so enormous and alive it feels like you're breathing in the clouds and the sky and your heart is the rain and the thunder. Jiko says this is an example of the  time being. Sound and no-sound. Thunder and silence." pp. 238
"In your diary, you quoted old Jiko saying something about not-knowing, how not-knowing is the most intimate way, or did i just dream that? Anyway, I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think maybe it's true, even though I don't really like uncertainty. I'd much rather know, but then again, not-knowing keeps all the possibilities open. It keeps all the worlds alive." -pp. 402

And then A.J. Fikry's tale stole my heart.

"No one travels without purpose. Those who are lost wish to be lost."
"Why is any 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."

More earmarks from that read here...

And I concluded an adventurous summer with "Wild: from Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail." And it was perfect.

"Thank you, I thought over and over again. Thank you. Not just for the long walk, but for everything I could feel finally gathered up inside of me; for everything the trail had taught me and everything I couldn't yet know, though I felt somehow already contained within me." 

And of course, this gem. Lots of earmarks related to mom, too, but those will be saved for another day.

And so summer ends.

As quoted in one of the summer reads, Marcel Proust says it best:

"In reality, every reader, while he's reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him  to discern what, within the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. The reader's recognition in his own self of what the book says is the proof of its truth."

In honor of why we read,

~MJ

This.

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.

"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

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

What a World

I'm currently reading "The Green Mile" by Stephen King. Like many of my books, I picked it up over a year ago, started reading it, put it back on the shelf, and was struck by something to pick it up again. I've raced through half the book in about two days, reading it by the pool or in the quiet moments summer vacation brings to my apartment.

In all of the books I read, I earmark pages where certain lines or short passages resonate with me. I usually don't highlight or underline; for some reason, 99 percent of the time at least, I am usually able to recall exactly why I folded the corner of a page, even if it's only because of a couple of words. Visual memory is astounding in this way.

One such earmark happened today because of recent conversations I've had with close friends. In this portion of the story, the narrator, Paul Edgecombe, is talks about an incident with death-row inmate, Eduardo Delacroix. Delacroix is being asked show prison administrators all of the tricks Mr. Jingles can do (he is quite the remarkable mouse). The situation is highly unusual, but that seems to be the point of Edgecombe's purpose in telling death row stories -- it's a highly unusual place. After being told to (basically) break a leg, Delacroix says, and Edgecombe reflects:

"You bet." A smile shone out of his face, so sudden and so simple in its happiness that I felt my heart break for him a little, in spite of the terrible thing he had done. What a world we live in - what a world!

It's in these moments that I realize making self-text connections isn't something just for the Language Arts classroom -- it happens so readily when we read all the time, for pleasure or for work.

I'm just about halfway through this story and have never seen the movie. But I get the feeling that one of the points King tries to make is about not judging books by their covers, or people by their crimes. The feeling Edgecombe describes about Delacroix in this scene reflects that despite everything, we are all human and have heart-strings that can be tugged.

I take this to heart because on the whole, I am the kind of person who gives others the benefit of the doubt. There are so many facets to an individual's character that one incident or event can't define them. This is usually why I have a hard time letting loose the close bonds of a friendship or relationship, even when that other person has damaged the situation in some way.

This is not always healthy or wise, but I think it helps me to be a better person overall. It helps me to value the little things, push myself to be more forgiving than vengeful, and also aids me in being more critical of motivations and choices. Sometimes, this just amounts to me being over-analytical, sometimes too worrisome, or even too trusting - but I think it's always helpful to remember that everyone has a story, a reason.

This especially helps in the classroom, not only to build a rapport with my students, but to remember that on those days when we just can't get along, there's a reason that probably has nothing to do with me. It's a fine line between personal investment in someone and enough detachment to not take negativity so personally.

In my personal life, it's a finer line to walk, especially with those who have betrayed or damaged my friendship with them or my trust. There's always a good side to remember or cherish about someone, even when the negative really left a mark. I guess I always want to believe in the redemptive qualities of everyone -- enough that I often feel the urge to overlook what took them down in the first place.

I've only truly held one grudge in my life and it's one I've lost the ability to reconcile fully. I still struggle with whether I should have done something about it before I couldn't, but there's a part of me that is comfortable with the fact that I didn't. However, it the discomfort is enough that I am propelled to ensure I never forget the good qualities of others in my life, and at least in my heart, acknowledge their goodness.

King often explores this issue to varying degrees in many of his stories (i.e., Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, Premium Harmony, A Good Marriage), which is probably why I keep reading them.

What a world, indeed. Funny how stories shed some light on it in these ways.

~MJ

Stephen King's Official Web Site