Teaching Children in the Bible Belt How to Reverse an Overdose

Dan Levin, "Teaching Children in the Bible Belt How to Reverse an Overdose," New York Times, February 24, 2020, p. A1-

     Shortly after his first-grade class let out for the day, Nash Kitchens sat with a dozen other young children at a library and played a murder mystery game that had a surprising plot twist.
     The victim was a restaurant worker who had been found dead in a freezer.  The killer, the children would discover, was heroin laced with fentanyl, an often fatal opioid.
   Nash, who at 7 years old has a relative who has struggled with addiction, was wide-eyed as Jilian Reece, a drug prevention educator, talked about an ongoing opioid epidemic in their small rural community.  She then demonstrated how to administer Narcan, an overdose reversal nasal spray. 

 COMMENT

    Since the public library is also a community center it is normal to host all kinds of unlikely events.  Even so, teaching little kids how to deal with an overdose seems unusually gritty. 

Read Deeper

Seth Douglas, "Read Deeper," [letter], High Country News, v.52 no.3, Much 2020, p. 6.

Having read Mary Slosson's review of Deep River ("Wading into murky waters," 11/11/19), I picked up the novel from my local library against my better judgment.  Imagine my surprise when I found, in lieu of the reactionary, stereotype-laden, and politically tone-deaf work described by Slosson, a novel focused on the struggles of working people in the Northwest at the turn of the century.

COMMENT

   A library card lets you try books you might not like.  The negative review was still interesting enough so that this reader borrowed the book, and he loved it.

Cheryl Strayed

Cheryl Strayed [By the Book], New York Times Book Review, Feb. 16, 2020, p. 8.

About 20 years ago my husband, Brian, and I were in Antigua, Guatemala, when I became desperately ill with a stomach parasite.  For days, I could do nothing but lie in bed in the cheap hotel where we had a room.  Brian found an English-language lending library nearby that would allow you to check out two books at a time for a small fee.  He brought back the first two installments of Stephen King's serialized novel, "The Green Mile," and read them out loud to me.  When we were done, he returned them and checked out the next tow and so on until we'd gotten through all six.  Brian and I have a long history of reading books out loud to watch other, but that one was especially bonding.  His steady voice guided me back to life.
...
In elementary school, they used to hand out catalogs form the Scholastic publishing company that allowed you to order books that would then be delivered to you at school.  I'd study those catalogs for hours and meticulously fill out the order form on the back, as if I could buy them.  But I couldn't.  I never turned in the forms because my family was too poor to pay for the books.  It's such a visceral memory, aching for those books!  The public libraries and school libraries saved me, as did my mother's bookshelf.  I read everything that looked even a little bit interesting. 

COMMENT

 Not one but two library stories.  The first is about the relief of finding English books in a non-English country.  It helps to understand what a relief it mush be for people with non-English first languages to find non-English books in American libraries.

In the second story, a young reader is too poor to buy cheap paperbacks from the Scholastic catalog.  when I was a kid I was allowed to order books and I absolutely loved getting my new stack of them.  The books where printed on acidic paper and fell apart if you read them too many times, but that was mostly OK because the old ones quickly became too childish.

Downriver

Heather Hansman, Downriver: Into the Future of Water in the West, 2019. 

Life in Vernal ticks by hot and slow.  I eat gas-station burritos, drink weak Utah beer, and run the mountain-bike trails outside of town at dusk, when it gets cool enough to move in the desert.  I camp on chalky flats of BLM land alongside the river and spend a lot of time in the air-conditioned public library and recreation center, which both seem unnecessarily big and glossy for a town this scratchy. [p.104]

COMMENT

   The author is writing a book about the Green River, but she says she goes to the library for the air conditioning.   Though she is camping recreationally, her need for a cool-shelter is essentially the same as is experienced by homeless people.  The library is a benefit of boom-and-bust oil and gas money, but this was written during a bust. 

The Cancer Chair

Christian Wiman, "The Cancer Chair: is Suffering Meaningless?" Harper's Magazine, February 2020, pp. 51-57.

Frustrated with the line between life and literature, Svetlana Alexievich sought a form that fused the two.  From interviews, letters, bits of history that History did not want, she complied The Unwomanly Face of War: An Oral History of Women in World War II, which I once picked off a library cart while my daughters searched for graphic novels.  That's where I learned about the radio operator drowning her own infant.  And the "sniper girls" who, as they became more expert at death, found themselves more susceptible to love.  And the woman who, among all the atrocities, thought nothing so awful as the neighing of wounded horses ("They're not guilty of anything, they don't answer for human deeds.").

COMMENT

      By serendipity, the author discovers horrifying tales of suffering in the safe space of the library where his kids are looking for something fun to read.  He teaches a course for divinity students on the Book of Job and the nature of human suffering, so had a predilection towards this sort of reading.  Nonetheless, without the library cart he might never have found this particular book with it's haunting stories.

American Dirt is Proof that the Publishing Industry is Broken

David Bowles, "American Dirt is Proof that the Publishing Industry is Broken, New York Times,  January 27, 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/27/opinion/american-dirt-book.html

     The white saviorism is tough for me to swallow, and not just because I’m a Chicano writer critical of “American Dirt.” My hometown library was chosen in late 2019 to be part of a pilot partnership between Oprah’s Book Club, the American Library Association and local library book groups. The libraries would receive several boxes of books to use with patrons in their book club, as well as other discussion and promotional materials. 

     Last week I was in touch with Kate Horan, the director of the McAllen Public Library here, via phone and email. She told me she felt “excited and honored” by the news, “proud that our library on the border with Mexico was recognized and selected to be part of a new initiative.”

     No one at the library knew which book had been selected: Ms. Winfrey keeps titles a tightly guarded secret. But Ms. Horan was told that it would be “the most talked about book of the year.” Instructions were given: Upon arrival of the shipment, the library should film an “unboxing” video and submit it to Ms. Winfrey.

     The boxes arrived on Jan. 17. Upon opening them, Ms. Horan said, her “heart sank,” and she immediately recoiled at this “deliberate assumption that libraries on the border, who were selected to receive the books, would be automatic endorsers, given the subject matter.”

     She sent the unboxing video off, and after two agonizing days consulting with her predominantly Latinx staff and others, she decided to send the books back, and politely declined to participate in the pilot program.

COMMENT

   This is a sticky issue and not as simple as the op-ed writer wants it to be. Accusations of "cultural appropriation" seem to me to be a red herring.  The real problem with the "American Dirt"  seems to be that it has been heavily marketed as your next book club read yet according to to the critics (who all dutifully reviewed it), it's not actually very well researched or written.

    In many of the library stories I've collected on this blog, readers describe a transformative experience of finding people like themselves in the pages of library books.  It's a reasonable guess that people in the U.S. borderlands might enjoy reading a novel located there. At the same time, I remember hearing a librarian complain that when she gathered books for imprisoned black men people would donate "Black Like Me," which is actually an autobiography about a white man traveling through the South in blackface, albeit with an intention for the reader to develop empathy for "the other."   The publishers who promoted "American Dirt" similarly thought the novel might promote white empathy by focusing on a Mexican woman who is a lot like a middle class white American woman. The virulent anti-immigrant rhetoric coming from the Trump administration  suggests that now might be the right moment for such a novel.    Positive reviews on Amazon.com indicate that it might even be successful in generating empathy for migrants.  

     Should the librarian have sent the books back?  I assume that the library does offer "American Dirt" for anyone who wants to borrow it.  It's certainly not censorship to pick a different book for a book club.  I agree with the op-ed, though, that the misstep reveals a big problem with centralized book publishing and library acquisitions.  The publisher's marketing division, Oprah's Book Club and ALA missed the mark largely because nobody working there stopped to think that Latinx readers were never the target audience for this book. In fact, it seems unlikely that Oprah (a Black woman originally from Mississippi) is ever going to develop a reading list that is particularly sensitive to U.S. borderlands readers.  The reaction of Latinx library staff suggest that they would really love to have a book club that highlights their own region, featuring  people and situations that are more like their own experience instead of getting stereotyped by someone far away.  That's exactly why libraries need to pick their own books instead of outsourcing those decisions.

I've actually written an article about this:  "Re-Localizing the Library: Considerations for the Anthropocene. 
  

   

Larry Kramer

Larry Kramer [By the Book], New York Times Book Review, January 19, 2020.

What kind of reader were you as a child?  Which childhood books and authors stick with you most?
As a kid I as a voracious visitor to Washington's main public library. I loved reading plays that Arena Stage performed across the street.  Plays were more fun to read then.  I also loved the Hardy boys and Nancy Drew series.  Nancy was more fun.

COMMENT

    Hardy boys and Nancy Drew are standard choices, but the plays are not.  It's actually quite difficult to read plays and imagine what they might look like on stage.  Perhaps the fact that Kramer had already seen the plays was helpful.  It must have been fascinating to a kid that you could watch a play and then go across the street to read the source material.