Kids are reading junk. Then how do we develop healthy reading? – January 12, 2011

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**Author’s Note:** I found this article on English Companion Ning today and thought that it was very interesting, as well as the opinion of my own that I found stemming as a response to it. So I have included the the article and my response below.

Kids are Reading…Junk
By Nicole Russell on 12.16.10 @ 6:07AM

Last week, the Association of American Publishers announced hardcover Children’s or Young Adult (YA) fiction sales had increased nearly 14% in the last year. As optimistic as this is for the industry, which has seen adult fiction sales decline in recent months, parents hoping to snatch the computer and shove a book in front of their children may want to re-consider the current YA market.

At first glance, the numbers appear to communicate one positive thing: Kids are reading! Unfortunately, many of the books published in the YA category that readers are devouring at higher rates than their adult counterparts are either poorly written, communicate “adult” themes to a audience of minors, or demonstrate conflicting (if any) moral principles.

The Hunger Games trilogy is currently a best-selling, science fiction series. A cross between war and reality TV, kids and adults have devoured these as fast as author Suzanne Collins could pen them (the final novel was released in August; a film is forthcoming). The series takes place in a post-apocalyptic time and country. Every year a powerful, Big Brother government selects several boys and girls between 12 and 18 years of age to gather in one place and forces them to fight to the death, à la Roman gladiators, on live television, until one remains. The books follow several main characters who attempt to survive the Hunger Games. Critics have lauded the series for its thematic elements — such as government control, sacrifice, and personal independence — and the author’s writing style, developed characters, and action elements. So far the first two books have won multiple awards and much recognition.

Beyond the commercial and critical acclaim, the basic premise seems, pardon my old-fashioned thinking, gruesome subject matter for young adults, the youngest being 14. It’s as though George Orwell’s 1984 and Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road met Survivor” (the television show) and invited it to stay the night. The writing may be impeccable and the themes relevant for today’s Iraq-war-enduring teens, but the violence in the book is vivid and brutal. No doubt legal adults can handle the lucid fighting descriptions and mature themes of dystopia-era Big Brother environment — but a 14-year-old? He might be able to wrap his head around it, but just because he can, should he?

Diary of a Wimpy Kid is another hit series, though it’s worlds apart from Games. In Diary, protagonist Gregg Heffley and his friend blunder through middle-school while being as lazy as possible, save for Gregg’s chronicling their adventures in his diary. Geared toward 8-12 year olds, the first book has been made into a film because of its popularity. Despite the fascinating first-person narrative and quirky drawings that accompany it, author Jeff Kinney’s characters frequently use words like “moron” and “jerk” and Gregg is indolent, snarky, and functions with little moral compass guiding him.

The New York Times reported, in a piece on the author and his books last year, “Mr. Kinney says most of his feedback comes from grateful parents who say the books have turned their children into readers. But a few parents do complain that Greg sets a bad example.” If a child is willingly reading at eight years old, why not encourage him to read, not just anything, but something with strong characters?

The Twilight Series is perhaps the most obvious disappointment topping the young adult literature charts. Author Stephanie Meyer writes with all the grace of a parade of elephants, such is her clunky, clichéd prose, with its mixed metaphors and stupid similes. While her plot holds interest — it’s Interview with a Vampire meets Beauty and the Beast — her characters fall flat and are predictable. The two male protagonists are opposites: Edward is silent and mysterious; Jacob rash but charming. Never mind the sexual tension of the blood-sucking Edward as he woos the female protagonist, the virginal, boring Bella Swann: Her character should make parents — especially moms! — squirm.

Bella represents the anti-feminist movement, and not in the good, conservative kind of way. She instantly falls in love with a mystery of a “man” she doesn’t know and who doesn’t appear to have any redeeming qualities other than that he “sparkles” in the sun and fails to make her succumb to his blood-lust. She does little in the stories other than to allow herself to run back and forth between two men and has little ambition other than to “love” them back. This, for thousands of pages! Whereas Bella could have been a strong, independent role model of a young adult character, she is lowered to nothing more than a love-sick, apathetic, unhappy girl who finds purpose only in men and love.

Ignore the hype. If you want your child to read a dystopian novel, why not Brave New World, Animal Farm, or Lord of the Flies? If you need a book to accompany your middle-schooler through the trials of adolescence, try The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. If it’s fantasy you think your child would like, have him give C. S. Lewis’ extensive Chronicles of Narnia (they go way beyond the first film everyone’s seen) a read. If your child appears lovesick, throw some quality writing and social commentary — and romance — in his direction with Wuthering Heights or Pride and Prejudice. These novels have one thing in common: They’re readable from a young age and they engage children in the magical world of fiction while imploring them to develop moral character for the real world.

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My response:

In my opinion, there are both pros and cons to Ms. Russell’s exhortation. The fact of the matter is, times have changed and, honestly, we are dealing with a current society where the students who could pick up Wuthering Heights or Pride and Prejudice and read it and understand it on their own are the exception, not the rule. We do not teach books like this in middle school anymore and a great many kids have never heard of them, much less read them. The books they read now are no different from the shows they watch, the games they play or the music they listen to.

I am all for students reading and I am glad to see so many of them reading but it takes time to build a taste for literature and that’s something I think Ms. Russell leaves out. Students have to start somewhere. For example, if my students are at a higher reading level, I try to nudge them towards the Great Illustrated Classics to get them started in the “higher literature”. I don’t throw them directly into the unabridged versions of The Time Machine or 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. The syntax, the vocabulary, it’s all so different for them and much further removed for them than for us. They need somewhere to start.

I may not agree with Stephenie Meyer’s writing skills or characters but, then again, I am admittedly a bit of a vampire snob.  I did enjoy Suzanne Collins’ writing a great deal, though parts of her story gave me nightmares. There are always pros and cons. No book will ever be perfect because the writers are not. I think that we as teachers are doing a great service to children and young people by promoting these and other books so that they can find somewhere to start. They need someone to give them a brick or two to start their own path?

As far the moral perspective goes, I think that the public tends to project a need for ethical and moral education upon widespread authors, especially young adult authors, the same way that they do upon teachers. While it is not stated specifically that this is expected of them, people to do in fact tend to expect young adult authors to teach their children good morals and have positive role models in their books. Meanwhile, adults can read steamy, morally-skewed romance novels and gory, gut-wrenching horror and science fiction with no problem whatsoever. While I do agree that young adult authors should take this into consideration, not everyone agrees with me and most certainly not all writers do.

So it is rather a Catch-22, I think. Books like those we are discussing are for entertainment but they are also one of the most powerful learning tools in society today. Children emulate what they see, or what they envision, so I think it is good for these books to be discussed with the kids, for teachers and adults to give their opinions and perspectives on the plots, the characters, etc. You never know, the kids may consider those and weigh them against their own and come to develop something deep and well-thought-out in their own mind.

January 3, 2010 – Court on Progress

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Author’s Note: Over Christmas break, I had the opportunity to go horseback riding for the first time in about 14 years. But as we ambled along, I couldn’t help but feel…well, regal in a way. My mind drifted off to royal progresses through the country. I found myself dreaming of horses decked in elegant trappings, of gorgeous riding habits, gloves, and hats, of  people coming out to view a beloved queen or princess as she rode by, strew flowers before her horse’s hooves or hand up little nosegays to her in the saddle. I found myself sitting a little straighter in the saddle, a small smile on my lips. Here, I have endeavored to write it all down, cast myself in royalty, and paint that gorgeous picture that floated in my mind.

~ ~ ~ ~

The morning dawned clear and blue and bright as the courtyard rang with the activity.  Carts were being loaded, horses tacked, and litters prepared. The royal court of England was on Progress!

Mistress Elizabeth Blackwell, maid-in-waiting to Queen Catherine of Aragon, was helped onto her horse by a man-at-arms who then held the horse’s bridle as she settled herself upon the saddle, adjusting the skirts of her tulip yellow riding habit along the horse’s back and flanks. Her mount was a handsome chestnut gelding with a silvery-white blaze down his nose and was lovely in his green and white trappings, the colors of the Tudor dynasty. Bess arranged herself a bit more comfortably in her saddle and reached up to make sure that her hat was pinned securely over the coils of her rich, soil-brown hair and her gauzy gossamer veil drawn down and fastened.

“Make way for his Majesty the King!” came the cry and King Henry VIII bounded out into the courtyard, the picture of youth, health, and vitality.

“A wonderful day to begin a progress!” he bellowed joyously, clapping his hands with a laugh. He was resplendent in a crimson velvet doublet, sleeves slashed with cloth of gold, crimson breeches, a summer mantle of crimson and thread of gold and the finest boots and gloves. He strode towards his great horse, swinging himself up into the saddle with ease, laughing jovially with his lifelong friend Charles Brandon as the rest of the cavalcade prepared.

Queen Catherine smiled elegantly from atop her palfrey, dressed in lovely deep Tudor green damask and velvet, her mount decked in the beautiful red and white trappings of the King’s rose. “A better day could not have been picked, my dearest husband,” she said sweetly as he reined his steed alongside hers.

“Nor a more beautiful Queen, my dear Catherine,” Henry agreed, raising her gloved hand to his lips and kissing it fervently. “Come now, let us away to our adoring subjects!”

And with that, the Royal Court commenced its summer Progress.

December 1, 2010 – Warm Air, Warm Skin

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Author’s Note: Just something that poured out of my head tonight.


The air is heavy, steamy, warm.

A refreshing coolness rushes into the room as I open the door,

My skin still tinged pink from the heat of the shower.

Scrubbed and clean, I am soon self-massaged and rubbed down,

My muscles teased into a semblance of relaxation after a long 16 hours.

When I’m through, my skin smells of cinnamon and spices, soft and warm and comfortable.

Clad in pink cotton underwear with a disarming little bow

And Ben’s “Firefly” t-shirt, I meander around the house,

Enjoying the quiet of the late night.

Those last few sweet hours before slipping off to bed.

Ben is established in Albion for the nonce;

I am off to fight crime in L.A.

A good end to a blustery, snowy day.

 

November 27, 2010 – “The Wonders of Imaginary Places”

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Narnia isn’t the sort of place that you find when you are looking for it. It’s always there, on the edge of your sight, in the corner of your eyes, ready to surprise you when you aren’t expecting it. When I was a child, I used to dream and wish and hope that, some day, I would open a door and find myself in a world where Animals talked, trees walked, and a giant lion would love and guide me. I fantasized about running my fingers through a mane that would be surprisingly soft and smell of sunshine and clear air and warmth. I watched the old BBC version of The Chronicles of Narnia and marveled at the walking, talking lion they used. Ah, the magic of animatronics.

The Chronicles of Narnia is still one of my favorite series. The deep magic of the world, the lessons taught and learned, and especially the sheer expanse of Narnia. Absolutely wonderful. Whenever I read the stories, the characters greet me like old friends and, when I see them brought to life on the movie screen, I have found myself crying out of sheer love for those characters, those friends, and that world that I loved so as a child.

I am one of those people who buys wholly into some of these worlds of imagination, even if for a little while. The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, The Elemental Masters, Harry Potter’s Wizarding World…all of these worlds draw me in, draw me close, and fascinate me. The imagination and knowledge (even if it is indeed borrowed) that it took to create them delights me. I love to fall into those worlds, to get to know the characters, imagine their deeper personalities, conflicts, brightness, darkness. As my father says, I get myself into a situation that I have to write myself out of.

People think I’m odd, weird, crazy perhaps, but this is my love, my joy: to build castles in the sky, worlds out of thin air, to fall happily tumbling into worlds that others have created. It’s why I love larping. I adore creating characters, building my “liar’s house”, and slipping into and occupying it for a while. What can I say? It’s fun, and it feeds my drama addiction.

October 31, 2010 – The Proverbs 31 Woman

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Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; – Proverbs 31:30a

She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. – Proverbs 31:27

She is clothed in strength and dignity; – Proverbs 31:25a

 

When I was in high school, our teacher would take us through Proverbs for devotion time every few months. Since there were 31 chapters, it was perfect to look at one chapter each day. I really enjoyed it because no one would pull life lessons and applicable ideas from the Bible like Mrs. Profitt could. It became true and real and a source of inspiration to me for the first time, really, in her class.

In any case, this chapter is still one of the blueprints that I wish to follow for being a good woman and wife. These verses really struck me today but especially the first one I listed.

I know that I have grown, at best, moderately attractive over the past few years. A late bloomer, some would say. Not trying to be modest, just honest here. I do not want to forget, however, that outer beauty does not last forever, nor will always seem charming, witty, or cute to those I meet and speak to. I will not deny, though, that it feels good and gratifying to be thought of as beautiful, attractive, or desirable by Ben and others. It’s something that I never really felt growing up and to feel it now is, still, a bit surreal. But, more important than that, I need to be a woman who lives what she says she believes, works hard, loves her spouse (and children whenever they come along), treats others with respect and love, and cultivates true relationships with people.

I do think, however, that I have grown lonely-lazy lately. I miss the facet of college that involved having quite a few friends fairly close at hand. I do not have many close friends nearby and I do get lonely at times. Often, I react to loneliness by withdrawing into myself and letting my introverted side have sway. I know that this is, often, not the right response and I need to work on it. I need to cultivate true friendships and relationships with others but sometimes the work and risk it requires scares me. I’ve been burned by stretching out my hand once already this year, and I’m a little gun-shy now, I think. I am trying to forgive and move on, though it’s taking time. I know how important friendships are, true friendships without the ceiling of mere hobbies and similar interests. Friendships and relationships where you learn about each other and are interested and invested in each other’s lives. I have several friends like that and am developing a few more, I hope. Such relationships are precious to me, and so I need to work on them.

I want to be a Proverbs 31 woman. I want to be “clothed in strength and dignity”. I want to do what’s best for my family, for my husband, for our lives together. I want to be strong for the days ahead, take care of our home, work together to care for our lives, and work hard to make it what we want. I want to always have a dignity that makes Ben (and whomever I am with) proud to be with me, to be seen with me. To carry myself like the woman I want to be. As I tell my students, if you want to be treated like an adult, you have to act like it. I need to act like the woman I want to be, I know that.

There is still so much for me to become. I cannot afford to rest on my laurels now and sometimes I just need that reminder. I am not a finished product yet; there are parts of me that still need refinishing as other parts continue to develop. I would ask you to be patient with, but please don’t give up on me yet. I may be 27 but I am still growing up.

 

October 3, 2010 – Feels like Christmas Morning

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It feels like Christmas morning. I woke up to a cool silence in the house, Ben breathing softly next to me. The sunlight looked cloudy beyond the blinds and there was a still silence to the air and to the house that reminded me of waking up on Christmas morning, when – even at 27 years old – there’s an air of expectation, of excitement, of wonder in some respects.

When I woke, it was a moment of absolute peace. Peace of mind, peace of heart, contentment in everything.  I found myself smiling and being extremely thankful, whispering a little silent prayer of thanks to God for all that He has blessed me with, so much more beyond what I deserve. I have a husband who loves me dearly and is willing to stand with and fight for me.  I have a home of my own; it’s small but perfect for us. I have a job that, while not always the most ideal, does afford some really good moments at times and I’m finding some options for the future. I have friends who are kind, compassionate, fun, encouraging, and yet willing to remind me of the important things when I need it. Yes, extremely blessed beyond what I deserve.

So that ‘Christmas Day’ feeling is not just anticipation, wonder, and excitement. From now on, I shall try my best to remember this feeling of gratitude and thankfulness. I need to never forget it, and to never forget to express it to those I love.

 

September 10, 2010 – Arsenic Candy (short story in process)

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“I taste arsenic on the back of my throat. Are you trying to kill me again?”

I slowly, gently nudged the brown-glass bottle to the back of the open cabinet in front of my chair with the toe of my shoe. “No,” I said, not moving from my Microsoft, though I knew my voice carried a bit of 5-year-old pout. The sort of pout that you get when something doesn’t go your way but you can’t admit it.

Of course I had been trying to kill him. I had been trying to kill him for years. But it seemed that he had developed a tolerance for rat poison after all the dollops in his morning coffee. Oh, well. Scratch experiment #275 for a failure. Back to the drawing board, I supposed, literally and figuratively.

He just shook his head and looked at me in that contemptuous, pitying way. “You’d do better with ricin,” he commented rather sagely and shuffled over to his lab table.

Who was he to pity me and, moreover, give me advice on how to kill him? It was his fault I was still stuck here, amongst these fumes and biologicals all day long. If he’d simply approve my thesis, I could move on and be done with it. But no.

“I have determined,” as he loved to say, “that your thesis lacks depth, structure, and you need more time to perfect your method of experimentation.”

More tests, more experiments, more data. Evermore data. It had been seven long years, my financial aid was just about dry, the university was dead set on being rid of me, and here was the old geezer pissing time away because he was a lonely, old, sadist prick.

The place smelled like mothballs and formaldehyde and it clung to me when I left. Even showering with hot water and lemons didn’t get rid of it. That was no way to pick up a girl in a bar or club: smelling like a convalescent home. Once, a girl told me that being with me was like sleeping in a coffin or a morgue. Yeah, that relationship went well, meaning it was blessedly brief and long ago.

I hadn’t had sex in three years. Three damned years with nothing but my own hand for company! Even the macabre girl was good for a roll at least.

So, yes, I was trying to kill him, had been for years. But the old baggage just wouldn’t keel over and die. It was like he had made a deal with the afterlife to be my personal torment here on earth just so long as he could keep living, keeping me from my goals, from even the barest acknowledgement of the scientific community. Because of a foul ordinance of the university that required doctoral candidates to have the signed approval of their supervisor on any article they wished to publish, my professional dossier was empty. Old Crab wouldn’t sign off any even the merest observational report that was intended to leave his lab.

Yes, Old Crab. And he looked the part, too. His eyes were beady and black and glittered in the lights of the old-fashioned Bunsen burners that he insisted on using, scoffing at modern heating plates. His hands were gnarled and he had arthritis so badly that his fingers sort of clamped together most of the time so that he looked to have two claws instead of ten fingers. When he flew into a rage, he turned a bright orangey red. Not even a pinky red like most humans. His skin was so sallow that the red fused into an almost carrot color when the blood rushed to his face and neck.

September 9, 2010 – Hatred of Once-Love

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Copied from a quick scribble before school this morning

Last night, I was woken from a weary just-fallen-asleep by the cat knocking the lint roller from the bathroom counters and I found myself in the saddest of moods. A realization had settled upon once again and it set me to weeping into my pillow.

I am becoming a robot.

Once upon a time, I swore to never teach just to the test, but it is now what is required of me. My students are tied to the textbook in order to pass the Benchmark assessments required by RtI. I find myself so despondent and beaten down over this that I have no desire, no energy to try to make it “fun and exciting” beyond the occasional Jeopardy review game. And that hurts. A lot!

All I could think of as I cried was Juliet’s wail, “Proud can I never be of what I hate!” How can  I be proud to be a teacher when I hate what and how I have to teach? The more I think about it, the sicker I become at the realization that, for the most part, I hate teaching now. I am good, very good, at what I do. But, in truth, it’s not my first love. The literature is the thing for me. If I could simply discuss books all day long, I would be – as Anne Boleyn proclaimed – the most happy. I could probably figure out a way to achieve goals through simple book discussion and socractic seminar, as others have surely done before me, but the powers that be would never heard of me ditching their textbook and standards. It’s like I can no longer see the forest for the trees and so I think the time is coming for me to cut my way out of the jungle. I can tell I’m getting upset because my handwriting is becoming illegible so I’ll stop here.

Bombardment – 8/22/2010

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Author’s note: First off, I do not want anyone to think that this is directed at them or that I’m calling anyone out or trying to convert anyone. I’m not. I was sitting in church today and this poured out into my notebook. I’m posting it here because I want to be honest with my emotions with my friends and not start bottling them up and hiding them away like I used to. I’m not fishing for compliments either.

Also, understand that some of these things I may and others I may not be up to talking about. Not to be mean, just a forewarning. I love you all and I appreciate the time you take to read my ramblings and the prayers and good thoughts you have for me.

Mel

= = = = =

I’m sitting here in church and I feel small and alone, as though I do not deserve to be here. That I have been stupid and faithless and God had turned from me because of it. Things have been hard, yes, but I know that we are still so much better off than many others. I just feel like I have been very silly lately, handling things wrongly and worrying and fussing and not thinking.

I miss my friends, their love, their encouragement, their honesty, their hugs, prayers, and even their tears (when they shed them with me). I sang a song in church this morning and it reminded me sharply of being SCF (Student Christian Fellowship) in college, surrounded by friends who love me and love God. Things were not totally easy by any stretch of the imagination for all of us but I remember what those relationships felt like, what that love between friends was like, what that closeness was like. I miss it – and them – terribly. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Ben and love having him near, as well as those friends that I have made and am still making here. But I still get lonely. I feel alone. My latest attempt at making new close friends crashed and burned badly, and I really feel that I have made things very difficult for both Ben and I because of it.  And now the depression and pessimism with teaching and not knowing why…also hard and bringing me down mentally and emotionally. What have I done? Or what am I not seeing?

I burst into tears in front of a fellow teacher this week and also did so here in church because I have no idea of where to go, what to do, or what to think. I don’t want to think about how wonderful Heaven might be some day. I want to know how to deal with and get through the next week. With students and house cleaning and grading and bills and everything else. I’ve failed at my quiet times and re-centering myself at the end of the day, too, which should have been relatively simple.

I know. I’m a wreck. I am all over the place. I can’t settle. I can’t fully relax. I just…feel frayed and knotted and I don’t know how to get untangled. I know don’t what to pray for, though I try to give thanks that things are still – in the grand scheme – quite good for us. I am just sort of…here. I am lonely, discouraged, and I want to be better. But how?

July 30, 2010 – Ode to a Summer

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Summer is almost over; it’s hard to believe that it has gone by so quickly. Not to say that I have not enjoyed myself thoroughly. It has been an active and fun summer and I have enjoyed it thoroughly. I am just sorry to see it end and to know that friends that I have seen, made and enjoy very much are far away (or at least far enough that I cannot run out on a school night). I will be back to the grind soon, my mind filled with lessons, plans, backup plans, standards, projects, tests, and ways to make all these things interesting and as fun as I can for my students.

I’ve gamed, I’ve bellydanced, I’ve read, I’ve written, I’ve seen movies, I’ve hung out, laughed, played, etc. Now, that’s not to say that there haven’t been low points; every time has them and there have been a few this summer. I’ve missed my friends whom I wish were nearer, had some rough times that I wish they were there to help with. I’ve curled in bed and cried and Ben has soothed and comforted me. I have appreciated him immensely.

I’ve enjoyed slow mornings in quiet, letting my mind roll and roam and pour out at my fingers. It calmed and centered me and gave me peace to start the day. I am the type that needs time to myself in order to re-focus and function, no matter how I enjoy the company of others. That time served me quite well and I am thankful for it. I shall have to continue making some quiet time to myself when the school year begins, it’ll be of immense help.

It has been quite a good summer, all things considered. Thank you to all who made me so.