Nonfiction, Memoir, Autobiography

In his autobiography, Hole in My Life, I found the truth in Jack Gantos’ statement about violence so sad, but some people are “freaks for violence” (4), and not just in prison.  As he writes, “Here we were all of us living in constant, pissy, misery, and instead of trying to feel more human, more free and unchained in their hearts by simply respecting one another and getting along, many of the men found cruel and menacing ways to make each day a walk through a tunnel of fear for others” (4).  Such a statement is a good one for opening conversation about the politics of school, for example, where bullying happens in hall ways, lunchrooms, locker rooms and on playgrounds.  Readers can apply the author’s observation to the social norms that permit children to bully and tease with impunity any vulnerable “others.”  It allows exploration of questions like, why do we push some people to the social margins?  Why do we alienate those who are different?  

            The book also validates the importance of self-communication.  Gantos describes the “bonfires of blame” (156) and the raging fires of guilt and self-loathing.  He shows us we are not alone in our self-abuse but that we need to find the will power to get past self-inflicted violence, to choose productive paths and alternatives, whether we find that escape in reading and writing, as he does, or in some other healthy distraction.  We can’t allow self-doubt and insecurity to conquer us.  We have to “make rules for ourselves and break them and make others until we get it right” (186), until we stop running in the wrong direction, until we find the confidence and the determination.

            Finally, I like his idea for organizing a writer’s notebook, a configuration worth sharing with other writers: Daily Entry Section—“filled with a wild stream of thoughts in a conscious effort to capture my honest feelings, true motivations, and crazed activities of each day.  The writing was kind of a blinding kaleidoscopic view of my life” (21); Golden Lines from Books—“I catalogued the parts that struck me dumb with envy and admiration for their beauty and power and truth” (21); Vocabulary Building—“where I’d write words and definitions I wanted to learn and use” (22); Moments of Inspiration—“devoted to book ideas, full-color flashes, like bits of film remembered, or a forgotten conversation suddenly pulsing to life” (22).  These seed ideas have the potential to grow into stories, essays, and poems.

Native American Literature

           If you haven’t yet read Sherman Alexie’s novel The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, it is a must read.  However, since this is a book about life, it is not without its disconcerting moments: masturbation, domestic violence, racism, alcohol related deaths, bullying, and the ill effects of poverty all figure into the text.  It also makes readers face the harsh truth: “That reservations were meant to be death camps” (217).

In spite of those moments, this is mostly a book about empowerment and hope.  It dispels some myths: “Hunger is not the worst thing about being poor” (8).  In addition, it helps readers see with new eyes: “The greatest gift is tolerance” (155). 

Through the main character, Arnold Spirit, a Spokane Indian a.k.a. Junior, readers further learn about resilience and about triumphing over handicaps.  Arnold reminds us all that life is laden with pain: “We all have pain.  And we all look for ways to make the pain go away” (107).  Some people turn to addictive behaviors, like alcoholism or eating disorders, but Arnold reminds us not to give up on the world; instead, we should find healthy escapes, like drawing:

I draw all the time. . . .

I draw because words are too unpredictable.

I draw because words are too limited. 

If you speak and write in English or Spanish or Chinese or any other language, then only a certain percentage of human beings will get your meaning.

But when you draw a picture, everybody can understand it (5).

And for Arnold, a stuttering, lisping, hydroencephaliac, communication is fraught with challenges, but important:

    

     So I draw because I want to talk to the world.  And I want the world to pay attention to me. 

     I feel important with a pen in my hand.  I feel like I might group up to be somebody important.  An artist.  Maybe a famous artist.  Maybe a rich artist (6). 

Thus, Alexie reminds us of the value of nurturing dreams, of paying attention to dreams.  Arnold’s dreams are not only about communication; they are connected to his desire to escape poverty.   Arnold knows his mother, given the chance, would have gone to college, his sister would be a writer of romance novels, and his father would have been a musician, but “nobody paid attention to their dreams” (11):

We reservation Indians don’t get to realize our dreams.  We don’t get those chances.  Or choices.  We’re just poor.  That is all we are.

It sucks to be poor, and it sucks to feel that you somehow deserve to be poor.  You start believing that you’re poor because you’re stupid and ugly.  And then you start believing that you’re stupid and ugly because you’re Indian.  And because you’re Indian you start believing you’re destined to be poor.  It’s an ugly circle and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Poverty doesn’t give you strength or teach you lessons about perseverance.  No, poverty only teaches you how to be poor (13).

Alexie also talks about anger, about how “volcano mad” or “tsunami mad” is a symptom of poverty.  Many of his characters exhibit such anger: Rowdy, Rowdy’s father, the Andruss brothers, even Arnold, who throws a book at Mr. P when he discovers his reservation school, Wellpinit High, is using books that are 30 years old or more.  His anger leads to his choice to attend the off-reservation school, Reardon.  Thus, Alexie invites readers to think about anger as a life-changing power.  Sometimes, anger provides the first step in making a dream come true; after all, activism has its roots in anger. 

This book also reminds us of the power of laughter as catharsis and the power of affirmation:

Do you know how amazing it is to hear that from an adult?  Do you know how amazing it is to hear that from anybody?  It’s one of the simplest sentences in the world, just four words, but they’re the four hugest words in the world when they’re put together.

                        You can do it (189).

Books in Verse/Poetry

            Many of the poems in Gary Soto’s A Fire in My Hands (Harcourt, 2006) invite opportunities to write.  What makes the poems in this collection so powerful in eliciting response is their universality and their commonness.  Soto accurately captures the emotions of growing up and shows adolescents how to revere the simple and the everyday: baseball games, a walk in the rain, friendships, first love, courtship, and food.  These struck me as especially effective and inviting:

s “Black Hair”—Borrow the line “I was brilliant with my body” and let that line lead your thinking.  This technique is often called “taking a line for a walk,” a metaphor inspired by visual artist Paul Klee (1879-1940) who described drawing as “simply a line going for a walk.”  Perhaps best known for his color-rich compositions, cosmic metaphors, and surreal figures in fantastic landscapes, Klee’s inventive, often humorous paintings and drawings allude to music, dreams, and poetry.   Drawing on this analogy, writing workshops use the method to spark critical thinking, writing, and discussion. After reading or hearing a song, poem, or other text, writers choose from the text a line that strikes them, copies it, and then continues in their own words, letting that line lead their thinking.  The strategy illustrates the power of spontaneity.

s “That Girl”—Recall your own first experiences with a first love.  Attempt to capture the sensations, the colors, and the details as Soto does.  Borrow any line and take it for a walk.

s “Oranges”—Recall a first date, a time you eloquently dodged embarrassment, or any other experiences this poem calls to memory.

s “Mating Season”—Experiment with the he says, she says format.  Consider taking a topic you enjoy, like basketball, and showing it through the female and male perspective or take a series of topics, like Soto does, and sift them through the gender lenses.

s “How You Gave Up Root Beer”—Write about an embarrassing moment or about an experience that forced you to make a change in your life.  Maybe it was a bad habit others had chided you about, like the persona’s mother’s scolding, that you are finally moved to care about and alter.

s “Eating Mexican Food”—Imitate Soto’s format and create your own rules.  They can be playful or serious, about the etiquette of eating or about another topic entirely.  Let your imagination be your guide!

s “Saturday at the Canal”—Borrow the line “I was hoping to be happy by seventeen” and take it for a walk, or simply recall a “get out of town” memory of your own.

s “How To Sell Things”—Many poets have utilized this format to capture a person, place, or experience.  Write your own how-to piece, giving thought to supplies and steps.

s “Hope”—Write an adventure from an animal’s eyes, similar to Soto’s telling from a dog’s perspective.

s “How I Learned to Fly”—Recall a fanciful childhood dream that you tried to make come true; tell that story.

s “Door-to-Door”—Borrow the lines “No matter how much I swallowed, / I couldn’t get the bitter taste of / That woman out of my mouth” and let those lines lead your thinking.  Borrow any other line and write whatever comes to mind.

Graphic Novels

                Although graphic novels are meant for all ages, Bone: Tall Tales by Jeff Smith really is suited for grades three through seven, unless the Big Johnson innuendo is intentional—then this might be adults only!  Or maybe Smith is just an artful writer, similar to those who create animations like Shrek to appeal to both children and adult audiences. 

While Smith’s plot is very elementary, the story does feature symbolism: a big hat means big ideas (a thinking cap), power, and maybe a big head (a little satire, there even); double pun: a dagger called Piecemaker; irony: a dragon named Stillman who is fired from his position because he can’t breathe fire; allusion: Big Johnson Bone is a facsimile of Davy Crocket crossed with Daniel Boone [that name actually made my antennae quiver since bone and Big Johnson are both phallic euphemisms, a double entendre]. 

Besides using sophisticated literary techniques, Smith invites readers to look through a critical theorist’s lens and to ask questions:

·         What forces are more powerful than fate? 

·         Are power and capitalism the ultimate providence? 

·         Does our thirst for money and material wealth lead us astray?

·         Is going to war madness or necessary? 

·         Do we go to war because we are afraid of hiding, because we seek pride, or because we want to vanquish fear?

·         What is fear? Is it “a big ol’ animal [that pounces] on ya before you knows it was even there” (73)?  Can fear “make it so’s you don’t even want to know what lies over that next big hill on accounta not wantin’ to be ascared again” (73)?  Do we allow fear to keep us from exploring?

·         If we resist going to war does that mean we’re cowards?

·         Do some regimes (especially the totalitarian types) need their “tails clipped” to teach them a lesson?

Such elements prove graphic novels can be every bit as complicated, challenging, and enlightening as more traditional and canonical literary forms.

Fantasy Literature

If we’re not talking about simple brain candy or pleasant escapism, one of the measures of a good book rests in its power to convey multi-layered messages, its ability to communicate on both literal and figurative levels.  Just as James Beane (1997) spoke of high pedagogy, for me to label a book “good,” it must impart high verstehen, high understanding.  Books that challenge the status quo, engender deep thought, make room for a perspective shift, or impart wisdom about human nature satisfy that criterion.  With its rich cultural and psychological insight, Patricia Wrede’s recent fantasy novel Thirteenth Child (Scholastic, 2009) earns such status. 

Like most great fantasy authors, Wrede provides a metaphorical commentary on contemporary society, firmly grounding her story in reality.  For example, at various points in the book, magic takes on a profound metaphoric meaning, a meaning we would miss unless we explore beyond the literal:

            The Society of Progressive Rationalists didn’t hold with magic and

magicians, . . . [believing] that magic was a snare and a crutch, and men

would only realize their full potential if they stopped using it and depended

on their brains and strong arms instead (75).

I’ve heard the same things said of prayer and religious symbols, the amulets and charms that give us hope.  Hope, an irrational but powerful force, can certainly magic us back to mental health and give us the strength to carry on against impossible odds. 

            At another point, magic sounds like a metaphor for technology: “Our ideas and imaginations can soar, if we don’t cripple them by looking to spells to do everything for us” (84).  According to the character Brant Wilson, sometimes manual machinery or methods are more reliable than those with enhanced mechanization.  Similarly, most of us have observed the correlation between dependence on calculators and a decline in rapid, reliable mental computations.

            Later in the text, magic aligns itself with knowledge, education, and talent since magic empowers performance, providing access to the resources required to complete a task.  Allusions to Socrates, Plato, and Pythagoras credit early intellectuals with “contributions to the development of modern magic theory, and the spells and techniques they invented or discovered” (51).  For example, “Pythagoras started number magic” (98), and towards the novel’s end, agriculture science takes on a magical quality as the characters use research methods to conquer the mirror bug and beetle infestation.  With this incident, Wrede also reinforces her view that “natural things change in ways that aren’t natural to them, once people get involved” (228).

            Finally, when Wrede describes three theoretical systems of magic: Avrupan, Aprihikan, and Hijero-Cathayan, she reveals how different world views give rise to various philosophical stances.  One culture may consider the number thirteen unlucky and the number seven lucky, while another may attribute alternate symbolism or interpretation to those same concepts.  Through Miss Ochiba, Wrede explains:

            This is the most important lesson you must learn about magic. . . .

There are many ways of seeing.  Each has an element of truth, but none

is the whole truth.  If you limit yourselves to one way of seeing, one truth,

you will limit your power. . . . To be a good magician, you must see

in many ways.  You must be flexible.  You must be willing to learn from

different sources.  And you must always remember that the truths you see

are incomplete (50).

The explanation easily applies to being a competent thinker or a scholar.  Wisdom depends on the examination of multiple perspectives, on researching different ways of knowing, on accepting that personal understanding and experiences provide only one, limited viewpoint.  Wondering about biases and preferences, Eff Rothmer asks: “How can [we] know [our way, our idea, our belief] is the best, if [we] don’t learn about anything else?” (53).   Without this thorough, balanced approach to knowledge acquisition, our learning is “woefully incomplete,” and while early scholars didn’t have access to later work to improve their understanding, Wrede justifiably considers ignorance inexcusable in anyone with access to a modern education (98).  After all, an alternate opinion isn’t necessarily wrong; it might simply be different.  As we encounter new truths and research different ways of knowing, Wrede reminds us that those truths are always incomplete.  Besides admitting that we can never know all there is to know, we must accept that all incoming data is refracted and discolored by the prism of our own personal understanding and experiences.  These facets reflect a limited viewpoint.  Rather than reject alternate opinions as faulty notions or as anomalies that lie too far out of our frame of reference, Wrede suggests we allow diversity to enhance our knowledge base.  Those with great knowledge often receive social recognition as prophets, seers who look beyond the literal with foresight, a kind of psychic power.

            All of these insights and layers prove this isn’t a book about wands, illusions, sleight of hand, or impossible feats.  Besides, what are imagination, creativity, and intuition—if not magic?  Those forces, which often defy logic, certainly have transformational power, power to change the world.