Latest Reads Christmas Break 2011

These days it takes a couple weeks off of school to get any serious, non-academic reading done. I am going to challenge myself to read a Potter chapter a day in 2012, however, and see how long it takes to get through all seven books again that way. (Yes, I realize I could count chapters and figure this out ahead of time, but who plans things lie this out in advance?).

This Christmas break I’ve read Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, my monthly book club’s selection, and Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, a book I have to admit I picked solely based on its cover.

I started off enjoying the Major and his motley assortment of “friends,” or rather fellow townsfolk, but about 7/8 of the way through it took a turn down a path I probably should have expected, but disappointed me nonetheless. As a commentary on the narrow-mindedness of a small British village and its lack of tolerance for those out of step with its societal hierarchy, it’s a fairly entertaining read. The Major plays his role as a staunch family patriarch, ex-military man, trying to do the “right” thing by his family and his village, well for the most part. The characters of Roger, his son, Grace, a proper female friend, and the local Lord, sister-in-law, married male friend, all compliment him decently and serve to highlight what is good and lacking in the Major. The main relationship of the book, though, is that of the Major and Mrs. Ali, the local Indian shopkeeper with whom the Major strikes up an unlikely friendship that later takes a romantic turn. The Major and Mrs. Ali encounter rather typical obstacles in their individual lives and in their relationship, placed there by the artificial constraints of local society. These constraints are further highlighted in a few side relationships of the younger generation as well. Unfortunately, what started out with great promise as an entertaining satire and possible deeper social commentary fell flat during the falling action and denouement. The conclusions of each sub-plot felt rushed and unsatisfying with too many frayed ends. The resolution of the Major and Mrs. Ali’s story felt predictable, but yet there was a “Really? Did it have to happen like that?” sense in parts of it. As a reader of a wide variety of classic and modern literature I certainly wasn’t shocked or offended by any of the turns the stories took, but I was disappointed that the author felt like she had to go there with each one. I felt betrayed somehow and was left rooting for the wrong characters in the end.

Miss Peregrine’s, on the other hand, was new and unusual and very enjoyable. Again, because I chose this book really based on an unusual and intriguing cover and book flap description, I wasn’t holding by hopes too high, especially after the disappointment of Major Pettigrew. There is not a whole lot I can say about the plot with spoilers, but I definitely didn’t have this one all figured out well in advance of the plot progression. It’s very quirky, and I’m sure will not appeal every audience, but if you’ve enjoyed any of the QuirkBooks reads in the past, this one lives up to its predecessors. “Peculiar” not only describes the characters, but the storyline as well. I love that while most of the events require a healthy amount of willing suspension of disbelief, segments are rooted in enough in the real world and history to have readers wondering “Well…maybe…could that really be happening?” I’m a huge Doctor Who fan, and several times could picture these characters in a crazy episode with the Doctor. Yes, time travel is a component, but only a somewhat small, backdrop type of element. The photojournalistic approach works well helping readers with images that are too fantastic to grab a hold of on our own. A quick, quirky, quality read!

Sticks, Stones, Broken Bones…

Whoever said the old adage, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is an idiot.

First of all, how many of us get pelted with literal sticks and stones on a regular basis? Even as a child, I don’t remember ever being accosted by enemies throwing any sticks or stones of a magnitude to cause broken bones. Shoot, I played in the woods almost every day and probably inflicted more injuries on myself through bruises and scratches than anyone else laid on me. As a matter of fact, the only broken bone I ever suffered was self-inflicted as well. In seventh grade I broke my collarbone by losing my balance while doing a handstand and nailing my shoulder on the ground.

Perhaps if this saying was true, we wouldn’t have it’s reverse spouted in the whole “pen is mightier than the sword.” Words are powerful, as any writer of literature or propaganda will tell you. We make major life decisions every day based on the words of others. We choose products for our homes and our health based on oral testimonies and print advertising. We choose elected officials based on verbal and written campaign ads. We decide on our theological perspectives based on preaching and the living Word of the Bible. As Christians, we believe the most powerful influence in our lives is the Word of God. Words are the most important weapon in our spiritual armor, and the most powerful force in the world, period.

That said, can words hurt? Absolutely. The Bible is rife with verses to make this point:

“There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.” (Proverbs 12:18)

“A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but perverseness in it breaks the spirit.” (Proverbs 15:4)

“But no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.” (James 3:8)

Even those who don’t ascribe truth to scripture cannot argue with the fact that throughout our history it has been words that have changed the world. Authors have used their voices to elicit social and political change for generations. Virgil wrote the Aeneid to give credence to Augustus’ rule; Shakespeare is supposed to have written King Lear to criticize King James I; Jonathan Swift wrote Gulliver’s Travels in criticism of many facets of British government and politics; Karl Marx wrote Das Kapital in order to persuade people about the assumed dangers of capitalism; Hitler wrote Mein Kampf and swayed many to see the Jews as destructive toward society. The list of persuasive writing goes on and on and on, from fictional accounts, to treatises on a variety of “real” situations and topics. Every piece of literature I have ever read has some sort of agenda behind it.

If the words of others can influence and persuade us to such great degrees, wouldn’t it follow that our words can be equally encouraging or destructive? Of course. Are we always intentional in exerting this influence or inflicting pain? Hardly. Sometimes, even often, we simply don’t think when we exert our right of free speech. We’ve been taught that our voices should be heard, but maybe there are times when we really should be exercising our right to remain silent.

I’ve been deeply hurt by the words of others throughout my life, but particularly this past week. A downfall of my chosen area of expertise is that I am a hyper-analyst of the written word. I can and do read between the lines. What a person doesn’t say, in between what he or she does say, is just as significant to me. I’ve gotten angry, I’ve gotten sad, I’ve vented to my husband, but at the end of the day, I feel the need to use my own words to process, so here I am.

Perhaps when all is said and written, the lesson is to me, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.” (Psalm 19:14)

If you prick us, do we not bleed?

Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,

dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with

the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject

to the same diseases, healed by the same means,

warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as

a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?

if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison

us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not

revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will

resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,

what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian

wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by

Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you

teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I

will better the instruction.

Shylock in Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene I

I can’t honestly say I’m a fan of the character Shylock. He’s a shrewd lender who takes advantage of others any chance he gets. I do, however, think he has a valid point in his argument here. Next to “What light through yonder window breaks…” or “a rose by any other name…” from Romeo and Juliet, these lines of Shakespeare’s spoken by the Jew are probably among his most famous and quoted. Who among us hasn’t felt some of Shylock’s sting?

In addition to these lines of Shakespeare, I’ve also been reading some of C.S. Lewis’s “Why I am Not a Pacifist.” Lewis addresses, among other things, the topic of “turning the other cheek” and what it means and doesn’t mean. According to Lewis:

“Does anyone suppose that Our Lord’s hearers understood Him to mean that if a homicidal maniac, attempting to murder a third party, tried to knock me out of the way, I must stand aside and let him get his victim? I think the meaning of the words is perfectly clear – ‘Insofar as you are simply an angry man who has been hurt, mortify your anger and do not hit back’ – even, one would have assumed that insofar as you are a magistrate struck by a private person, a parent struck by a child, a teacher by a scholar, a sane man by a lunatic, or a soldier by the public enemy, your duties may be different, different, because [there] may be then other motives than egoistic retaliation for hitting back.”

Wrong happens. We, like Shylock, are sometimes wronged simply because we are who we are. We are wronged because we hold to a certain theology, or political party, or set of philosophical beliefs, or cultural background. How do we respond to being wronged? Does Shylock have a point in seeking revenge? Revenge is a strong word we’ve been encouraged to steer clear of in our lives. I wouldn’t throw out Shylock’s whole speech here though. What if we took to heart his opening words? What if we remembered that each of us bleeds when pricked, laughs if tickled, dies if poisoned? What if before blindly or selfishly seeking to wound another, we honestly took the time to see the human who in so many ways resembles us? Perhaps that’s the true wisdom Shakespeare is trying to impart. If you’ve read the play, you know Shylock’s revenge meets with a comedic ending anyway.

If revenge isn’t the answer, is lying down and taking the wrong what we should do? I think this is where Lewis’s words come in. I love the perspective he gives in referencing the “homicidal maniac” and then the relationships he explores where turning the other cheek would just plain be stupid. Retaliation for the sake of retaliation accomplishes nothing; however, recompense often needs to be rightfully sought. In many cases in which we are wronged, we have a duty not to turn the other cheek, or expose our underbelly, but to seek correction for the wrong.

I’m sure there is a balance somewhere here between the words of Shylock/Shakespeare and the words of Lewis: a balance between seeking revenge and the traditional understanding of turning the other cheek. In Shylock’s case, his revenge comes to a rather messy end, literally. On the other hand, we’ve all known people who’ve been walked all over in their cheek turning. The only true answer is wisdom to make the right choice when wronged.

Wrestling with Writing & Other Thoughts

“Freedom risks its own abuse, thinking risks error, speech risks misunderstanding, faith risks failure, and hope risks despair. The risk of life is death, and man is man only by virtue of his risks of the future.” Madeleine L’Engle

Why are kids today so afraid of putting their own thoughts down on a page? Maybe because for generation upon generation they have fought against educators who have told them they are stupid or that their opinions don’t matter. Sure, in formal writing, many students don’t have the expertise to write with authority, but why are they scared to even attempt an interpretation of another’s words? Have we really put our young readers and writers in a position where they feel like anything they have to say will be easily dismissed by those who “know better”? It’s a sad thought I’m wrestling with this week.

I find that the best books I’ve read, the best T.V. shows I’ve watched, the best movies I’ve seen, the ones I want to read or watch over and over again, are the ones that pose questions without concrete answers. When I can read Dumbledore’s final revelations to Harry at other-world King’s Cross in Deathly Hallows four times and still be just grasping at the edges going “Huh?” in the end, that’s a good piece of writing. When I can watch a season finale of Doctor Who and, again, feel like I’m trying to keep sand from running through my fingers to reach an explanation, that’s genius on the part of the scriptwriters. Epically confusing movies are harder to come by, but I suppose this line of reasoning could apply to why everyone raves about Inception. I think as rational, thinking beings, we don’t always want to have things explained to us, or neatly tied up with a bow at the end. Maybe that’s why I’m not a big fan of Jane Austen. I want to read the book that I could imagine writing another chapter for. What if the Monster didn’t really die at the end of Frankenstein?

It might appear I just went off on a bit of a rabbit trail from where I started, but hold on a minute. There’s something to be said for encouraging young writers to explore thoughts that may or may not be correct. Sometimes there really isn’t a nice, neat, “right” answer. More often than not the blanks on my students’ homework questions are for the “What did you think…” questions. Literature, good literature, is open to interpretation. The beauty of a well-written book is that we can still wrestle with it 10, or 100, or 2800 years later. Madeleine L’Engle wrote Wrinkle in Time while she was struggling with some weighty theological and scientific concerns, looking for an explanation to how the world works. C.S. Lewis wrote A Grief Observed while grappling with his grief over the loss of his wife. J.K. Rowling wrote portions of the Harry Potter series while coming to terms with her mother’s death and her own beliefs about an afterlife. I write best when I’m looking for answers, shouldn’t our students learn this is okay too?

Several years ago I had a student who would come over to my house for help with papers. It was like pulling teeth the first few sessions. I sounded like a broken record asking her the “Why?” questions. She was afraid to offer her own voice.

“I’m supposed to respond to this book I read.”

“Okay, what did you think?”

“I hated it.”

“Okay, go with that.”

“I can’t tell the teacher I hated it.”

“Why not? As long as you can explain what you hated about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now why did you hate it?”

“I didn’t like the author’s tone.”

“Why? What didn’t you like about it?”

And so on from there. It’s completely acceptable to have a response in writing that goes against the norm. We need to teach kids to be confident in their own voices in all situations. A young person can respectfully disagree with their elders, and even the “experts.” They just have to learn how, and we need to teach them. The world is only getting darker, and if they can’t learn to take a different angle, even if it feels uncomfortable, they will not succeed out there. We need to let them question even the “well-established” facts. Was Alexander really great? What did you think about how that war turned out? Was Iago truly evil, or was he just a misunderstood product of his environment? Does DNA evidence preclude double jeopardy? And those are just a few of the topics being bandied in my classes lately.

I love to teach writing. I love to see the light bulbs go off in their heads. I love when the above dialogued student calls me asking if she can come over just so I can ask her the “Why?” questions. I love that my son asks me weird questions all the time. Now I just need to remember that while thinking may risk error, and speech may risk misunderstanding, the risk is worth the reward.