How to Tap Your Inner Reader

Gregory Cowles, “How to Tap Your Inner Reader,” (Here to Help), New York Times, March 3, 2019, p3.

     In early high school, my authentic self read a lot of Stephen King. I had always been an avid reader — my mother worked at the local library when I was growing up, so I spent hours there after school, making why way methodically and indiscriminately from shelf to shelf and section to section inhaling it all.
     So when my English teacher asked me during a conversation what I liked to read outside of school, I answered honesty and enthusiastically. And he sneered.
     “I mean, Stephen King is a good story-teller, I suppose,” he said or something like it. “But you’re not going to learn anything about writing from him. Don’t you think you should read more serious authors?”

COMMENT

    The library as an after-school refuge; coming of age through unfiltered reading; discovery of beloved books through browsing; the disapproving (and deeply wrong) adult censorship of childhood reading -- this story has it all!

     Several other writers have related memories of clueless adults criticizing their juvenile reading choices [1] and it's obvious to any reader that these adults were dishing out terrible advice.  Who wouldn't want to write like Stephen King? He literally wrote the book On Writing. [2]

     "It's totally fine to read for pleasure," Cowles advises and he's perfectly right.

    The American Library Association has a Library Bill of Rights  that says, "Books and other library resources should be provided for the interest, information, and enlightenment of all people of the community the library serves." It's an uplifting though,  but the language treats reading as a very serious pursuit and glosses over reading for fun.

   Author Daniel Pennac [3] rectified that with a Reader's Bill of Rights that includes "the right to read anything" (#5), "the right to escapism" (#6), "the right to browse" (#8) and "the right not to defend your tastes" (#10).  Go ahead and enjoy Stephen King, and while you're at it you might even learn to be a better writer.

 
[1] What are we Teaching Boys when we Discourage Them from Reading Books about Girls? (librarian says Shannon Hale is not for boys) ; Well Read, Well Known (Teacher says Maya Angelou is not a good writer)...

[2] Stephen King. On writing. Simon and Schuster, 2002.

[3] Daniel Pennac. The rights of the reader. London: Walker, 2006.

CDT Plans Show to Celebrate 50th

Scott Iwasaki, "CDT Plans Show to Celebrate 50th" Deseret News, April 4, 1999 [online].

Children's Dance Theatre artistic director Mary Ann Lee has a special place in her heart for a performance called "The Dancing Man." [1]
Lee found the book on which the performance is based the same year that CDT founder Virginia Tanner died."I came across the book when I was living in New Jersey," Lee said. "It was 1979. I remember being in a library and looking up. I saw this book. The title was one I just couldn't refuse. So I reached up and opened it."
The Children's Dance Theatre, in celebration of its 50th anniversary will present an all new production of "The Dancing Man," along with Jayne Luke's "Dance Journeys . . . Life Journeys," Chara Huckins' "Flight" and Jacque Lynn Bell's "Go," Thursday through Saturday, April 8-10, in the Capitol Theatre.

 
COMMENT

 One common way that people find library books is through browsing and serendipity.  The Virginia Tanner dance program often uses storybooks as a way to teach children interpretative motion.  The teacher reads a story and encourages children to dance out the action or the mood of the story.  In this instance the book inspired the annual dance program of the Children's Dance Theatre, a professional company of child dancers.  "The Dancing Man" was chosen to celbrate both the 50th and 70th Anniversaries of the company.  Although Lee was probablin in the library looking for approprate
juvenile books to use for dance teaching, that's still a pretty amazing influence for a book picked up at random from a library shelf. 

[1] Ruth Lercher Bornstein, "The Dancing Man," Clarion Books, 1975.

James Lee Burke

James Lee Burke (By the Book), New York Times Book Review, December 30, 2018, p.7.

What kind of reader were you as a child?I loved the bookmobile. My favorite books were the Hardy Boys. When I was growing up, people did not have a lot of discretionary income, and on Thursday afternoons the arrival of the bookmobile on our dead-end street sent kids running down to the cul-de-sac to be first in line for Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys.  In many ways it was a grand time to be around. 

COMMENT

     The Hardy Boys is hardly great literature, but in the context of the miraculous bookmobile it became life-changing reading for Burke who grew up to become a mystery writer. It's hard to imagine the Internet having any kind of similar effect to foster a love of reading within a whole neighborhood of kids.

     Burke mentions that his family didn't have a lot of money to spend on books. One way that libraries can promote their service is by reminding people how much value their library card offers. Recently, the Salt Lake Public Library and other libraries have started to print receipts that estimate how much money you saved by borrowing library materials instead of buying them.  In 2018, my teenage daughter borrowed over $1000 worth, and I borrowed at least as much. My property taxes for the library are less than $100/year.  Offering a visible metric also has the psychological effect of making me want to borrow even more stuff so that I can feel virtuous for getting such a good bargain.

     Nonetheless, I have been at meetings with librarians who have pooh-poohed the importance of cost savings through shared resource use (these people tend to be administrators who earn about double the local median income). Their argument is that digital information has become so cheap that people will inevitably prefer the convenience of purchasing what they want over the inconvenience of using shared library resources.  Yet even among the rich, who would want all those Hardy Boys books cluttering ups their McMansions?  Kids (and adults, but especially kids) go through reading stages. There may be a few "keepers" but it's a feature, not a bug to be able to give books back once you have read them.  It also solves the problem of books you liked too well to simply toss but will probably never read again. 

   Another library solution to the problem of book clutter, of course, is to host periodic book collection and book sales events.  It's a mistake to think of book sales as simply library fund raising.  They are actually an essential public service for many library patrons.

At the Gates of Deep Darkness

Scott Russell Sanders, "At the Gates of Deep Darkness: Examining Faith in the Face of Tragedy," Orion, Autumn 2018, p.41-51.

While I was doggedly reading the Bible, three or four pages per night over several years, I was also reading books on science from our public library.  I followed my passions: fascination with dinosaurs led me to study evolution; model rockets led me to astronomy; birds and bugs led me to biology; rocks led me to geology; kitchen table experiments led me to chemistry and physics. When I had exhausted the offerings in the young adult section, I moved on to the books for grownups.  On the advice of a teacher, my parents brought me a subscription to Scientific American, a magazine that reported new discoveries along with the rigorous methods by which they had been achieved. The passages I could not understand-- and there were many-- only inspired me to deeper study.  While my Bible reading was dutiful, homework for graduation to heaven, my reading of science was driven by curiosity and delight. 

COMMENT

     Here's a lovely description of coming of age at the library, transitioning from children's science to the scientific method.  The author does not specifically mention librarians helping to find these books, though he does mention a helpful teacher.  For the most part, it seems to be a self-directed research process.
 
     There are two elements in this story that I've  noticed in other library stories: [1] The transition out of the juvenile section of the library as a rite of passage (See posts on Children's Literature) and [2] The use of library resources to investigate religious faith (Hypocrisy of Hanukkah; Go and See Jane and Emma; God is Going to Have to Forgive Me).   In this story, however, the library research is not about theology but a contrast to a childish understanding of theology.  In fact, when the author needs spiritual comfort, neither form of study turns out to  offer adequate solace.

The Fifth Risk

Michael Lewis, The Fifth Risk, W.W. Norton & Company, 2018.

     Kathy hadn't taken her brother seriously.  You really think they're going to hire an oceanographer? A girl????      

     A few weeks later she ran across the call for astronauts again, this time in a science journal. They really did seem to want women scientists. And she sensed that she might be the sort of woman they were looking for.  "I never brought normal girl books home from the library," she recalled.  "I was fascinated by maps and the stories they told." She was handy, too, and quick to figure out how things worked. [p. 137]

COMMENT

     Kathy Sullivan did become an astronaut.  Then she joined the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and figured out how to re-frame tornado warnings in order to get people to actually pay attention to tornado warnings and take cover.  That is to say, her scientific work has saved the lives of many people.

     She describes her own identity as a scientist in terms of library borrowing -- a  scientist is someone who doesn't read "normal girl books."  This comment relates to a previous post, What are We Teaching Boys when We Discourage Them from Reading Books about Girls?  in which a librarian (who should know better) shames boys for reading a "girl's" book.  Likewise, Sullivan must have felt some degree of adult disapproval for reading "boy's" books.  Why else would she think that an interest in maps was not "normal" for girls?   (I also happen to love maps)

    The library offers a valuable kind of  anonymity.  A child with a library card can take a book off the shelf and take it home to read without ever asking for anyone else's permission.  This freedom for kids to chose what to read, even if adults or other kids don't like it, is mentioned over and over in library stories as a formative experience in the search for identity.

The Hypocrisy of Hanukkah

Michael David Lukas, "The Hypocrisy of Hanukkah," New York Times,  Dec. 2, 2019, p. SR2.

    This is the version of Hanukkah that I grew up with: presents and chocolate gelt; latkes with sour cream and applesauce; a few somber, off-key songs that no one fully remembered, about Judah Maccabee.  This is the version of Hanukkah I had in mind when my daughter and I walked down to our local branch of the Oakland Public Library to check out a stack of books about the holiday.
      Most of the books we found presented a familiar narrative -- dreidels and menorahs, evil Romans and pious Maccabees -- but between the lines, there were some hints at a darker story, enough to send be to Wikipedia and the Books of Maccabbees of the (definitely not Jewish but very helpful) Bible Gateway website, which led me back to the library for another stack of books, this one for myself .

COMMENT

      

     This story exemplifies a kind of search for religious identity that shows up in several other library stories I've collected [1]. This one has an especially good description of the research process of religious questioning.  It's significant that the quest starts with children's books since the naive juvenile literature version of religion is the one most people know. The realization that the children's books don't tell the whole story leads to an informative though biased Internet search and onward to more in-depth and well documented research in library books. 

     The search sows seeds of religious doubt, but the outcome is to reaffirm Jewish identity, and surprisingly, to reaffirm the way the family is already celebrating with an emphasis on presents and chocolate gelt.  The author jokes "at the end of the day, it's all about beating Santa,"  but for the writer it's all about  forming a religious identity as an assimilated Jew celebrating "the possibility of light in dark times and importance of even the smallest miracles."

[1] Transported; God is Going to Have to Forgive Me (Christian); Go and See 'Jane and Emma' This Weekend (Mormon); Transported (Jewish). 

What are we Teaching Boys when we Discourage Them from Reading Books about Girls?

 
Shannon Hale. “What are We Teaching Boys when We Discourage Them from Reading Books about Girls? (Special to the Washington Post), Salt Lake Tribune, Oct. 14, 2018. P. D2. 

A school librarian introduces me before I give an assembly. “Girls, you’re in for a real treat. You will love Shannon Hale’s books. Boys, I expect you to behave anyway.” 

 COMMENT

     The librarian who Hale mentions is one of several anecdotes about teachers, booksellers, parents and other adults who should know better. Hale says that  she has plenty of fans who are boys (No surprise. She's a good writer.), but they’ve  been reading in secret because they feel embarrassed to enjoy “girl” books.  It must be really aggravating for an author to get fan mail from people who have been shamed about liking her books. But as Hale points out, the social effects of gender-stereotyping books are far more harmful than just irritating writers. Boys who are told they can't read about girls are learning that it's shameful to feel empathy for girls. Hale recommends that we can all do better by learning to say that  a book is about girls without saying it’s for girls. 

     Hale mentions that books about boys like Harry Potter are considered gender neutral, though perhaps Harry Potter is not the right example since since the series has exemplary diversity as well as a lot of strong female characters like Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Minerva McGonagal Even Harry Potter had its own run in with gender stereotyping. When it first came out the publisher told J.K. Rowling to use initials rather than her actual name because they thought boys wouldn't want to read a book written by a woman. (They also felt it necessary to issue an edition with an “adult” cover for grownups who felt ashamed to be seen reading children’s books).

     The two illustrations of Hale’s book covers that were chosen for the Salt Lake Tribune article are The Princess in Black and the Hungry Bunny Horde and Real Friends.  Both books feature highly feminized cover designs --pastel colors and cute, long-haired  female figures making smiling eye-contact with prospective readers. 

My copy of Princess Academy (top left) that I bought when the book first came out shows a group of women trekking through a rugged mountainous landscape. I was sorry to see that the new cover (top right) has an image that looks a lot like Belle from the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast.  Even I, a dispassionate middle aged librarian, might feel a twinge of embarrassment to be caught reading a book with a fake Disney princess on the cover.

Transported

Ruth Franklin. Transported: How should children’s books deal with the Holocaust? New Yorker, July 23, 2018, 64-69. 

I was fourteen when “the Devil’s Arithmetic” was published. Although it won numerous awards, no teacher or librarian ever gave it to me.  I wish someone had, because the book speaks in a profound way to the painful paradox I felt then and still feel now: how to be an adequate witness to something I haven’t myself experienced.[p. 66]

COMMENT

In this anecdote the librarian has failed, probably without ever knowing that this student needed to learn about the Holocaust.

Franklin writes that as a child  she had relatives with tattoos on their arms who had survived the Holocaust, but she had little information to understand exactly what it was they had survived. She was given “The Diary of Anne Frank," an excellent book, but one that stops at a confusing place. An adult would know the implication of the Frank family being sent off to Nazi death camps. To a child the ending conceals the true atrocity.

Children are often aware of horrifying world events, but lack vocabulary or background knowledge to really understand the truth of what happened. Adults want to protect not only kids but also themselves from facing the full horror. They end up either refusing to talk about it or offering information so thoroughly sanitized that it doesn't really make sense. 

 “The Devil’s Arithmetic” uses fantasy as a frame to help children cope with emotionally difficult information. Some adults didn't like the use of fantasy for such a serious subject, but Franklin thinks it would have worked well for her 14-year-old self.  In the documentary “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” Fred Rogers uses hand puppets to address children’s fears after the assassination of President Kennedy. Through the voice of Daniel Striped Tiger, Rogers timidly asks Lady Aberlin, “What does “assassination” mean?”

Probably Franklin never asked for book suggestions. If so, what could a librarian have done? It might have been hard to guess at this particular information need. An astute librarian who knew that there were Jewish families in the community might have made a selected list of Holocaust books for kids-- something that a kid could pick up without having to ask a scary adult. [1]  But often, kids find the kind of books that adults don't quite like through word of mouth. 

[1] A letter to the editor in the August 6 & 13  issue of the New Yorker says that quite a lot of Children's literature about the Holocaust was written in Yiddish but for the most part it was never translated.

Seeing My Son Read is a Bittersweet Joy

Viet Than Nguyen. Seeing My Son Read is a Bittersweet Joy. New York Times, August 5, 2018. p.4SR.

Books were not a priority for my parents, so we never had them in the house. I would go to the public library every week and stuff my backpack full of books, which were barely enough for a week. I never owned my own until high school. My son has a bigger library than I ever had.  While my parents showed me they loved me by making sure that I always had enough to eat, I show my love for my son by making sure that he always has enough to read (as well as to eat). For me, the library was a second home, and I want my son to have his own home

By 11 or 12, I knew how to get to my second home by myself, on foot or on the bus.  But in remembering that childhood library, what I also know is that libraries are potentially dangerous places because there are no borders. There are countries called children’s literature and young adult literature and adult fiction, but no border guards, or in my case, parents to police the borders and protect me. A reader could go wherever he or she wanted. So, at 12 or 13 I read Philip Roth’s “Portnoy’s Complaint” and Larry Heinemann’s “Close Quarters."

COMMENT

     We may not normally think of letting kids get inappropriate books as a desirable function of the library, but considering how often reading the “wrong” book influences the course of someone's life it strikes me as a particularly valuable service. There is a kind of coming-of-age that happens when a child starts reading books that reveal  truly shocking adult knowledge. Reading these books becomes a formative experience precisely because the reader was so ill prepared. Some kids can find such transformational books on their parents’ shelves, but Nguyen’s refugee parents didn’t have any books at all. The library had to facilitate his coming-of-age.  Luckily, the librarians provided guidance for curious kids by dividing books into shelves for children, young adults and adults. Any child who wanted to sneak a peek at adult secrets would know exactly where to look. Nguyen, now a protective parent himself, is absolutely right that by learning to read his son is “one step further on his own road to independence, to being a border-crosser, someone who makes his own decisions, including about what he reads and what he believes.” I like to think that Banned Books Week helps this coming-of-age process along.