Authors are People, and People are Complicated

Last week, I had the chance to meet Daniel Handler aka Lemony Snicket aka author of the wildly successful Series of Unfortunate Events books when he spoke at a conference I attended. I was really looking forward to listening to him and moved when he spoke, which is a complicated feeling for me, because not long ago he did something despicable.

Handler is a big, grouchy, gruff man whose wit is sharp and words are sharper.  He tells great stories, uses words as the powerful tools they are, and gathers the audience collectively under his power as he spins a tale. He had a lot of great things to say about libraries, books, and the way adults recommend books to kids. Handler weaves such a compelling tale of why, in his books, often there are no happy endings and things don't make sense.  When he spoke about his childhood love of libraries,

their continual presence in his life, I actually teared up. His honesty was refreshing and his observations keen. He was a joy to listen to. 

And I felt very conflicted about that. In fact, initially, I had been reticent about going to hear him at all. 

About a year ago, Handler was one of the hosts of the National Book Awards (Of which I am, admittedly, a fan). The prize for young adult literature went to Jacqueline Woodson and her novel Brown Girl Dreaming. This book is a work of art.  It is beautiful, fun, sharp. It is a book in verse while still seeming to fall from the tongue like the moments of everyday life.  Woodson wrote of her young life, growing up as a black girl in a world of complicated dynamics and paradigms.  She is a master of words, and in her book she talks about a young love of hers blossoming, that of writing. 

The book won the National Book Award and was a Newberry Honor. It was received the Sibert Honor, the Coretta Scott King Award, and the NAACP Image Award.  Woodson was later named the Poetry Foundation's Young People's Poet Laureate. 

At the ceremony, Handler made a racist joke.

It wasn't an accident. It wasn't a slip of the tongue.  It was the end of a Handler-esque series of sentences with a pause for effect. It was planned out. It was a racist joke. At the award ceremony where Woodson was being honored. Woodson's work was in the limelight. Her story of words and beauty and struggle and creativity was the spotlight. 

And this ignoramus made a racist joke.  To try to cover it, he clumsily followed up with a comment sweeping Cornel West, Toni Morrison and Barack Obama into the mess.

Handler spent months apologizing. 

But how does one apologize for having a heart that tries to amuse with a racist joke? And how does one listen to such a person with respect and admiration?

What about his books? Does the fact that the author is a horrible person lesson the value of his literature? 

Welcome to the slippery slope!

And welcome to the tricky, treachery of the uneven moral ground. 


I can't watch Woody Allen movies, as I am so repulsed by him, yet Roman Polanski's The Pianist is a masterpiece. Both men have been accused of and been proven to have committed disgusting sexual crimes. Yet, somehow, a line is drawn.

We hear all the time about the wicked life of Lord Byron and the terrible parenting of Hemingway. 

Bill Cosby's Little Bill books are well written, engaging, visually appealing, and presenting diverse characters.  But they are written by Bill Cosby, who has now been accused of rape by over 50
women. Yet the books have literary merit. But the rape allegations. 

That feeling? That is the tenuous position we take on shaky moral ground. 

What about Stephen Ambrose, whose works as a writer and an academic form an impressive body of work? Yet with the power of the internet, those works were investigated and Ambrose's sterling reputation tarnished by allegations of plagiarism. 

Lance Armstrong's memoir: nonfiction or fiction?

The instances go on because, at the core is the fact that authors are people, and people are complicated. 

So there I sat, in a duality of both loathing Handler's comments and being moved to tears by other comments of his.  

And there I still sit.  Some people have asked that all of the Cosby books be removed from libraries.  Those books will be read by children!

For me, the question is less about who gets to decide and whether the life of the author weighs into whether the book has literary merit.  

As unclean as it makes me feel, I think the answer is no. There are children reading the Little Bill books, seeing characters who look like them (in a publishing world of precious little diversity), represent their lives and their values. Bill Cosby's horrific actions are separate from that. 

And for that reason--the separateness of the author's personal life and the value of the work--I listened to Daniel Handler.  I appreciated what he had to say and enjoyed his storytelling skills. And I did all of this while firmly believing that what he said about Woodson was horrific. 

Yes, it is moral shaky ground, and one day I may revise my assessment. But for today, his inexcusable actions diminish Daniel Handler, the man, not his body of work. 

Competitive Reading

My childhood library was amazing. It was this beautiful, old Carnegie library that had all the hallmarks of greatness--stone stairway, arching windowed front entry--but was still very accessible. In fact, it looked more like a church or a school than the big marble edifice I often associate with Carnegie. 

But it was my library. And I loved it. It was a sanctuary and a mystery. I would wander the stacks and run my fingers across the old books. I would flip through the card catalogs, deftly finding the Star Trek VHS tape I wanted. There was a rarely used basement area that was essentially unmonitored, and I would sneak down there and lie in the silence to read. Yes, it was a different age. 

And then there was the annual Olympic event: summer reading.

I took summer reading as seriously as any Olympian. 

So the story goes that one summer, kids had to read books and fill out cards about the books they read. Completed cards went into a box, the librarians scooped them out to tally the totals, and at the end of the summer there would be a prize! This year, the prize would be attendance at a party in the children's library section. At that party there would be a movie! An actual movie played in the library!

(remember, this was the early 80's. It involved a projector and film on reels,  so that was a big deal.)

Honestly, there could have been no prize at all and it would still have been a big deal, because contests of this nature bring out my competitive self, where winning is its own reward.  What does one win? A hearty pat on the back and the warm glow of victory is enough! But there was also  a movie! And the top reader won a book. 

I would be that reader, no matter what it took. 

And so my summer went. I checked out piles of books and read constantly. I took home a stack of cards each visit, diligently filled them out, and returned them to the library.

But there was no leader board! How was I to know who was winning?! 

That was too much of a risk, so I just read. And read. And read.

The end of the summer reading program drew near, and I got an invitation to the party. This was my dream!

I can still picture the party, remember where I sat, criss-

cross applesauce, rigid with nerves.  Then the movie started, and I sat through the biggest let down of my life thus far. The Red Balloon. 34 minutes long. No dialogue. Just a boy chasing a balloon through a city. 

What a colossal let-down. 

But that didn't matter. Soon I would find out who won the reading contest.  The librarian read her card with the stats on it. And I won! I read 212 books and was the winner! 

The runner-up read 19. 

Which brings me to the topic of competitive reading, something I know quite a lot about. 

There are parts of my job that I do, not because I like to, but because I must. Charging fines is one. 

Reading Counts/Accelerated Reader is another. 

Truth be told, I loathe these.
Too many times I have seen kids pick a book based solely on the AR/RC value. 
Too many times I have seen (or, shamefully, been) a parent discourage a book that is at a lower level or value. 
Too many times I have seen these programs suck the joy out of reading and make it just another project.
Too many times I have heard parents lament that their child has poor reading comprehension but has been an RC/AR champ.  
Too many times I have heard kids gaming the system, just to pass a test.

At the beginning of this school year, a freshman hesitantly asked if she had to pass a test in order to read one of the Abe Lincoln Reader books. I was aghast. Why would that be the case? But in the middle school, RC is the name of the game. The relief was visible on her face when I assured her that there were no tests in the high school library.

But my heart broke. How many other kids would not even consider checking out a book because they dreaded a quiz?

Now, I recognize that I come from a position of great privilege on this topic.  

I have never struggled with reading. It wasn't until college that any text was truly difficult, and those were isolated. 
I came from a household where reading was valued and encouraged.
As a child, I owned books, so I didn't need to win one from the library. 
My childhood trips to the library were frequent because my family had ready access to transportation and enough disposable income to have the free time.
I had the luxury of doing--and being supported in--many activities and contests, so winning a certificate or ribbon was not rare. 

Yet from that place of privilege, I know what I lost.  That summer of 212 books, I chose texts based entirely on how quickly I could read them. I didn't savor anything. 

My prize wasn't the glory or knowledge or victory; it was the movie. And when that was a disappointment, what did I have? And what about that kid who read 19 books? To know that in order to have a fighting chance, 200 more would have been required? Why try next time?

Which is where it becomes absurd. Because probably the next year, that kid did just fine, read the books, went to the party, and didn't think about me at all. 

I don't play games I can't win.  Monopoly is a blood sport. 

And reading can very easily become one. 

But the cost is too great. Reading is too important. Literacy is too essential. These are things that matter Things that change lives. That save lives.  

Yet here we sit, wedged firmly between a rock and a hard place, needing to encourage struggling or hesitant readers with programs while not allowing it to turn into a scene from 300. 

Which brings me back to the dilemma and no solution. I love summer reading programs. LOVE them. But I see all the pitfalls and problems with making it competitive. In the same way, I will do anything to encourage my students to read.  If that includes RC/AR? It is better than the alternative, but it seems that there must be some middle ground, some moderate location where kids are encouraged and read because it is fun and useful, not to check a box or take a quiz. 

Until I come up with a brilliant alternative, I will continue supporting AR/RC  for the value they have, while never hesitating to share my tale of woe, hoping to save someone a summer of hand cramps and paper cuts all to sit through the Red Balloon, knowing that along the way, a wrong turn was taken.   

Book Review: Lila: a Novel

Sometimes a book is so beautifully written it is almost painful.  It is so true and real and raw that it burns as you read it, burns with delicate certainty.Lila: A Novel is that book. Marilynne Robinson is a national treasure. Her use of words is so powerful that it can be overwhelming.  

Lila is, on the surface, a simple story.  Just the backstory of Lila, the preacher's wife in the town of Gilead, Iowa. Robinson's prior novel,Gilead, won the Pulitzer in 2005, and focused on the same town, even including some of the same characters. Gilead too was a beautiful story, brimming with truth and grace. 

But beneath the surface, Lila is so much more. It touches on those issues that are real to each of us: life and death, aging, legacy, morality. It confronts poverty and hopelessness. It presents hard truths about faith, religion, doubt, and hope. 

John Ames, the old preacher, is such a perfectly crafted image of grace. So pure, it seems he sometimes can't touch the realities of the dirty, broken world.  Lila, in her brutal honesty, surviving and suffering, brings such a genuine depiction of doubt and fear that even in her strength she is fragile. 

These two very different people share so many things. They have both faced unspeakable loss. They have both been cocooned in loneliness. They are both more thoughtful and honest than those around them, leading to isolation and want.

There were times I had to stop reading, because the simple story was so raw and sharp, I wept.  

I don't like romance stories, but this is a true love story.  It almost reminded me of Eleanor and Park,

with the sweet, beautiful, organic portrayal of first love and the sheer miserable bliss of it.   In many ways, Lila has that same essence. John and Lila are so very different--the lives they have lived, the comforts they have had, their moral codes--but their love is pure and lovely; watching it grow and develop feels like staring at a light so beautiful,  bright, and hot it hurts your eyes. It hurts your heart, but with a pain that brings with it such powerful beauty and wisdom, it is worth every tear.  

Book Review: The Moor's Account

I just finished The Moor's Account, by Laila Lalami. This is true storytelling at its finest.  It follows the life of Mustafa ibn Muhammad ibn Abdussalam al-Zamori and his role in an expedition to explore Florida's coast. Mustafa recounts his own story, honestly evaluating his life, recognizing his failures, and honestly portraying the Spanish conquest. 

I found several aspects of the story very refreshing. The first was the view of the slave. History is written by the winners, and often those who are marginalized have their stories erased.  This book's commitment to working against that erasure was very strong, and I found its honesty, even when it was painful, made the story much more real.

Similarly, I loved having the view of the person not in power.  Mustafa is purchased and renamed. His life and history are erased.  He is taken on an expedition that is set on conquest, and while those in power have their goals and orders, Mustafa seems compelled by only one goal: retelling the tale honestly. 

This is a painful tale told in a beautiful way, simple and pure.  It provides a rarely heard voice from horrific time.  The Moor's Account brought me a sense of majesty and humility that a person can evoke through the power of storytelling. 

When Tech is Not So Glorious

On Thursday, I went to PES to teach a different group of third graders about using Google Slides. I was so excited after the success of the previous group.  We would create! They would learn! Tech would be awesome!

But that isn't at all what happened. 

The kids were ready. I was ready. The tech, however, was not so cooperative.  

At first, five students couldn't connect tot he internet.  Then 7, then half the class. Though it wasn't ideal, we paired up so each student could at least partner on making a slide show.  Soon, the cascade of failure  made even that impossible. I joked that soon we would all just be standing around one connected ChromeBook, and the kids laughed along.  

So, in spite of all of our preparedness and eager anticipation, there was nothing to be done.  Working offline can be dodgy, and this wasn't the time for that lesson.

What lesson was learned?

1. Tech is amazing...when it works.  
2. Tech is frustrating when it doesn't work.
3. Kids are remarkably flexible  
4. Tech really needs to be hands on to be effective.  

We will try again this upcoming Thursday, hopefully with more luck,  I am guessing they will be even more ready to learn Google Slides, with the pump already primed.  But, more than that, they were flexible, readily trying different Chromebooks, rearranging seats, logging out and back in, listening, giving and taking advice.  These are the minds of the future. Flexible. Problem solvers. Ready to learn, but also ready to adapt.

That was my lesson for the day.