Are You There, Blog? It's Me, Elizabeth

What did you read when you were eleven? I was most definitely NOT into eleven-year-old-girls doing eleven-year-old-girl things (unless they were training to be witches).

This summer, my best friend asked me if I wanted to go the see the movie Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret (based on the classic young adult book of the same name). I had never read the book, but because we are both big into banned books, I said sure. It struck me as the sort of book she would have read as a kid, and it made me feel good that she wanted to share it with me.

We sat in the dimmed theatre as the previews ended and the title screen and date - 1970 - came up.

I leaned over and whispered, "I've never read the book." There was a pause and she whispered back, "neither have I." Turns out we both assumed, because of our banned books crusades, that the other had read the book at some point.

Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret.

It is one of the long-running repeat offenders on the banned books list. It is 53 years old. FIFTY-THREE. This is one of those books like To Kill a Mockingbird and Julie of the Wolves that every time I see it on a list of challenged titles, I roll my eyes and say, "seriously? This one again?"


Ooh, check out this piece of history (original 1970 cover).

 

One of the more recent covers. I like that it lends itself to the idea of waiting for answers.

Watching the film (and, later, reading the book as my annual personal banned book challenge) it seemed pretty innocuous.

An 11-year-old girl moves from New York City to suburban New Jersey and begins her journey to fit in with other girls her age. She is self-concious that she is still flat chested. She and her new clique discuss bras, when they'll get their periods, what boys they like... y'know, eleven-year-old girl stuff.

The girls sneak a medical reference book and a playboy magazine from various parents to examine the anatomy, wondering what they'll look like when they're older; wondering what their male classmates look like under their clothes.

In addition to being flat-chested, Margaret has also yet to get her period, which causes her much angst when members of her friend group start getting theirs. She and the other girl in her group who have yet to start "men-stroo-ating" buy pads at a drug store, mortified by being rung up by a teenage boy and, in a panic, add a couple other items to their purchase because heaven forbid they should be seen ONLY buying feminine products.

Margaret has a lot of questions. Their joke of a sex ed class consists of a presentation by a representative of a feminine products company. Rumors fly about the busty girl in class and what she may or may not be doing with older boys... Margaret's questions increase when the source of these rumors turns out to have been lying about other things.

Margaret also has questions about religion. Her mother was raised Christian; her father, Jewish. Margarets maternal grandparents disowned her mother when she married outside the faith, but her Jewish paternal grandmother is a constant in her life, and usually a source of support.

The book opens with a "prayer." Despite being non-religious, Margaret often "talks" to god, treating him as a "Dear Abby" sort of figure. At first, her quandry about religion is as simple as whether she should join the YMCA or the Jewish Community Center.

Margaret's teacher, himself new and unsure, assigns the class to each choose a topic for a year-round study. Margaret, having decided that almost-twelve is old enough to choose her own religion, decides that she will spend the year studying different religions to pick one that suits her.

(Though what Margaret considers "different religions" boils down to Jewish and three Christian denominations.)

Sounds pretty innocent, right?

Well, let's keep in mind this book was released in 1970. This was a time when discussing many of these subjects in mixed company would have been taboo, or at least recently-so. Heaven forbid we discuss bras, "busts," periods, and the like. Heaven forbid girls should talk about boys they like, what it might be like to kiss them.

Margaret's parents raising her essentially agnostic and allowing her to choose her own religion as she got older would have been seen as extremely groundbreaking.

This was also a time when there was very little discussion, both in school and the home, about what a young woman could expect when her period started. The presenter at the girls' special assembly gets flustered at the mere mention of tampons. One of the girls in Margaret's circle of friends becomes hysterical when she starts her period in a restaraunt bathroom.

Margaret narrates examining herself in the mirror, looking for signs of puberty. She stuffs three cottonballs into each side of her trainer bra and is pleased with the results. (And if there's anyone reading this who didn't do something similar as a teen or pre-teen I'd be much more shocked than I was reading either scene.) Margaret worries that she's taking too long to develop.

"I just want to be normal. Please, God," she begs.

That, for me, is really the crux of why we should let our kids read these books. "Hey, this girl is worried about x - she's just like me." "This boy is struggling with Y - he's just like me."

In 1970's, kids who couldn't get these answers turned to Playboy and medical textbooks. Now they can turn to YouTube, Tik-tok, and a rabbit's warren of porn and disinformation on the internet.

When my daughter is ten, eleven, twelve, I hope she'll turn to me when she has questions. But if she doesn't I'd rather she turn to Margaret, a book about a girl her age, than pretty much anything else.

Review of Grace Lin's Before the Sword

Just a quick snippet of a review here:

This book had everything I love: coming of age adventure; backstories from mythology and folklore; a misinterpreted prophesy; the hero's backstory; a villain origin story; and, of course, a kick-ass heroine.

Technically a middle-grade book, it's a good, solid story for any age, honestly. The youngest middle grade readers might be intimidated by the size, or slightly frightened by monsters and action, but middle grade, young adult, and YA readers will all find something to love here.

The book serves as a prequel to the 2020 live-action Mulan, and, therefore, has slightly different names and family dynamic than the 1998 animated film.

For more about the book and the author, you can visit Grace Lin’s website.


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Banned Books Week Day 6*: Burn, Baby, Burn

*If you feel like you're missing a day, yesterday I did a Throwback Thursday with my review of Out of Darkness.

Ray Bradbury, writing Fahrenheit 451: You shouldn't ban books.

1950's parents: Let's ban this book!

That seems to be how it goes, doesn't it?

As some of you know, last year I challenged myself to read a classic banned book that I hadn't read before, and review it for banned books week. I decided to do the same this year and, due in large part to nearly unanimous response from my readers, I read Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. (F-451, from here on out because I'm lazy.)

I wasn't sure what to expect going into it. I read it without looking up why it had been challenged. I had attempted to read a collection of his short stories a while ago and had not been impressed.

I was very pleasantly surprised with F-451. The language was BEAUTIFUL. The book was written by someone who obviously loved words, about someone who would come to better appreciate words. I haven't read a book with language like that since The Book Thief.

The world was also very well created - it felt very Twilight Zone-y, and I mean that in the best possible way. Of course, it didn't long pre-date the show, and Bradbury's work was used in an episode (and I think also inspired others). For me, there was a very clear atmosphere and color scheme.

What struck me the most, though, was how well a story written in 1953 captured the ennui and lack of attention span of 2022. In F-451, the main character's wife has speakers called seashells that she wears in her ears constantly - they are described as being silver and thimble-sized. She is constantly listening to radio shows, constantly watching her "parlor family," the unending broadcast of TV on the three walls of a room in their house. And that's not enough - she wants to be so immersed in the fictional television world that she asks Guy to buy her a fourth TV wall, even though it would cost about a third of his annual salary.

Honestly, the above is even just a small sample of how far gone most of society has gotten. They listen to their seashells and watch their parlor families unceasingly. The neighbor girl relates how she's constantly losing friends to car crashes - in this society people are so aching for stimulation that they speed and crash as casually as my husband might play a video game.

Of course, the one way in which the population of this world is not allowed to find stimulation is through reading. Books are illegal. Possession of even one will get you arrested. Neighbors report neighbors and the firemen come to burn not only the books but the perpetrator's home.

Guy is one of these firemen, but things take a turn for him in part because of his observant young neighbor's joie de vivre and because a woman's whose book collection they were about to burn gets the jump on Guy and his colleagues and sets both the books and herself on fire in a final desperate attempt to take at least that small act from them.

Guy finally comes to understand that he no longer believes in burning books, that he hates this world he lives in where no one sees, no one feels, no one connects. He starts saving books, but of course is found out. Long story short, he escapes the city and joins a group of "hobos" - who turn out to be "retired*" professors and a minister. They promise to teach Guy a technique they developed to remember the entirety of any book they've ever read. These men are the new library; they promise to pass down their collective knowledge until the world is ready for the books to return.

*Most are strongly hinted to have been driven out of their professions.

Not finding anything too bothersome in the book, I looked up the reasons it was challenged after I was done. Of course, profanity (as always) was at the top of the list... and yeah, maybe for the 1950's it might have been a tad strong, but it wasn't constant, and I feel like there wasn't much worse in there than "damn." Violence was also a complaint, as was a description of the Bible being burnt. (But, wasn't that the point? That Bradbury was CONDEMNING violence and book burning, not condoning them?) Other complaints included mentions of both suicide and abortion. Granted, once again, these came off as very tame to my 21st century sensibilities. The attempted suicide is accompanied by blase technicians who pump the would-be victim's stomach with less interest than a mechanic repairing a car. Abortion is mentioned in passing as Guy hurls accusations of unfeelingness at his wife's friends, one of whom who has had multiple divorces and abortions. And, let's be perfectly honest - a lot of those complaints would either go over younger teens' heads, or be completely unimpressive to older teens today.

All in all though, a really great book. Try reading it instead of burning it.


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Half Sick of Shadows, Sick of Anachronisms

Ok, first, let me say that I know that King Arthur is a legend far removed from any real historical character at best, and complete fiction at "worst." However, it's universally accepted that King Arthur is "medieval" - which, yes, I know that leaves about a 1,000 year swath in which the tales can be set. They were first written down in the 12th century (though mentions of names from the Arthurian legends can be found as early as the 800's), but most Arthurian scholars now agree that if Arthur were a real person that he likely lived around 500 AD - technically medieval, but so close to the fall of Rome that it straddles that ancient/medieval line. Personally, this is the era I think of when I think of King Arthur... but my perception is colored by the fact that I saw The Mists of Avalon (set in that early 500ish-600ish "the Saxons are invading" era) before I read any of the original (Mallory or Monmouth) Arthurian works.

Still, going on the "classic" interpretation of Arthur being high medieval (knights in armor) - such as you would expect from Mallory, Monmouth, and De Troyes - or even going on the idea of Arthur somehow being Victorian - per the works of Tennyson and the Rossettis (which of course is at odds with British history of not just the British Isles, but a good chunk of the world being united under Victoria) - that still leaves things just all over the place in terms of artifacts, costumes, architecture and other details in this book. Yes, I know it's a legend - put pick an era and stick with it.

(I recently watched a video on Youtube where the creator broke down the MuLan films by what time period the legend of MuLan is supposed to be set in. This is exactly what I'm talking about. This "legend" is supposed to take place in such-and-such century - let's try and make our film accurate to that period.)

In any case, first - how to classify the time period, as it is written in Half Sick of Shadows?

Throughout the book there is the constant reminder that "Albion" (an old word for England - not including Scotland) is not unified - placing this pre-Alfred the Great (late 9th century). Characters also comment multiple times that someone wearing a risque outfit would get stoned to death if seen like that in Camelot. While I don't know for sure that stoning people for infractions took place in medieval or ancient Britain, that definitely does seems more of an early period punishment (whereas late medieval/early renaissance, you could just as easily be labeled a witchy temptress, but that would get you hanged or burned at the stake, not stoned). But there are also knights in full plate armor (late medieval, and Renaissance era) as well as architecture described in such a way as to make me think of high Gothic (approximately 1100) or later. Glass windows and mirrors are commonplace. The clothing feels even later - corsets are prevalent in the court of Camelot, and at a coronation the courtiers are wearing powdered wigs. Between that, the teacups, the hot cocoa, and the mention of chenille - a fabric that wasn't invented until the 1830's - I want to ask the author if this book takes place inside a Rossetti painting (the Rossettis being Victorian painters that were fond of painting knights, ladies, and other Arthuriana). There was even a point where Merlin mentions that Excalibur was placed in the stone by the ancient first king of Camelot that I started to wonder that maybe this whole thing was taking place in the far future.

I know that's a big long rant. I did mostly enjoy the book. The characters were interesting, the whole premise of moving between past, present, and future as Elaine's visions unfold was fascinating. Indeed there were several nights that I was up reading later than I should have been.

There were a couple places I was disappointed, though:

Visions of the future/spoilers follow

-What happened to Mattie? At one point Elaine, a seer, is introduced to her neice Mathilde (referred to as Mattie to differentiate from another relative by the same name). Mattie has seen the same vision of Elaine's death that Elaine references at the beginning of the book. After the scene where she's introduced to Morgana and Elaine, who discover her skills as a seer, Elaine arranges for Mattie's family to come to court at Camelot so that she (Elaine) can mentor her. But after that scene Mattie is never seen nor referred to again.

-Elaine's saccrifice negated Elaine and the reader both know from the get-go that Elaine will drown, and that it will be her own choice not to fight back up to the surface. We know this, we know this, we know this. We know this, just as anyone who has read Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalot" (or heard Loreena McKenna's adaptation thereof, or listened to Emilie Autumn's "Shalot" which of course is a retelling of Tennyson's work) knows that Elaine, the Lady of Shallot, dies. It's the why and the when that we don't know.
In the end, it turns out that Elaine, having spent the last 400 pages seeing visions of the people she loves the most betray each other in ways that she is tangentially involved in, in ways that she has "set them on the path" of, she decides to take herself out of the equation and drown herself in the lake that surrounds Avalon. It seems a fitting end to a young lady who has spent her time sacrificing to protect others, to a character we know MUST have a tragic end. But wait... what's this? Elaine is... not dead? Brought back to life by the Lady of the Lake? She's now the new Lady of the Lake and... basically hides out on Avalon to watch fate unroll.
I mean... I love a happy ending. I love a book where when all seems lost the characters are somehow able to pull a happy ending out of the air. Don't get me wrong, when it's done well it's incredible. But this made it seem like there was no depth or meaning to her sacrifice, and made the fact that Arthur, Gweneviere, and Lancelot would mourne her unnecessarily seem cruel to those characters. (Though I will say that the author explains in her afterword that she started writing this in high school, rewriting, and rewriting again, and finally finishing over the course of more than a decade. So maybe the ending was something she came up with as a teenager. It is not only what I would have written in highschool but also what I would have wanted to read in high school. And as someone who has been working on 3 novels for more than 10 years now I don't exactly have room to talk...)

1: -What happened to Mattie? At one point Elaine, a seer, is introduced to her neice Mathilde (referred to as Mattie to differentiate from another relative by the same name). Mattie has seen the same vision of Elaine's death that Elaine references at the beginning of the book. After the scene where she's introduced to Morgana and Elaine, who discover her skills as a seer, Elaine arranges for Mattie's family to come to court at Camelot so that she (Elaine) can mentor her. But after that scene Mattie is never seen nor referred to again. -Elaine's saccrifice negated Elaine and the reader both know from the get-go that Elaine will drown, and that it will be her own choice not to fight back up to the surface. We know this, we know this, we know this. We know this, just as anyone who has read Tennyson's The Lady of Shalot (or heard Loreena McKenna's adaptation thereof, or listened to Emilie Autumn's "Shalot" which of course is a retelling of Tennyson's work) knows that Elaine, the Lady of Shallot, dies. It's the why and the when that we don't know. In the end, it turns out that Elaine, having spent the last 400 pages seeing visions of the people she loves the most betray each other in ways that she is tangentially involved in, in ways that she has "set them on the path" of, she decides to take herself out of the equation and drown herself in the lake that surrounds Avalon. It seems a fitting end to a young lady who has spent her time sacrificing to protect others, to a character we know MUST have a tragic end. But wait... what's this? Elaine is... not dead? Brought back to life by the Lady of the Lake? She's now the new Lady of the Lake and... basically hides out on Avalon to watch fate unroll. I mean... I love a happy ending. I love a book where when all seems lost the characters are somehow able to pull a happy ending out of the air. Don't get me wrong, when it's done well it's incredible. But this made it seem like there was no depth or meaning to her sacrifice, and made the fact that Arthur, Gweneviere, and Lancelot would mourne her unnecessarily seem cruel to those characters. (Though I will say that the author explains in her afterword that she started writing this in high school, rewriting, and rewriting again, and finally finishing over the course of more than a decade. So maybe the ending was something she came up with as a teenager. It is not only what I would have written in highschool but also what I would have wanted to read in high school. And as someone who has been working on 3 novels for more than 10 years now I don't exactly have room to talk...) -Gweneviere is a warrior AND a werewolf Yes, really. Full stop. Um, excuse me, why isn't this the main storyline? That sounds funny and sarcastic, but I mean it sincerely. When you have a character whose story is explosively more interesting than the other major characters' stories, it makes me wonder why she isn't the focus. I say this as someone who is very aware that the main character in at least one of my novels-in-progress may be overshadowed by cooler characters in her story.

-Gweneviere is a warrior AND a werewolf Yes, really. Full stop. Um, excuse me, why isn't this the main storyline? That sounds funny and sarcastic, but I mean it sincerely. When you have a character whose story is explosively more interesting than the other major characters' stories, it makes me wonder why she isn't the focus. I say this as someone who is very aware that the main character in at least one of my novels-in-progress may be overshadowed by cooler characters in her story.


With all that said, though, it wasn't a bad book. Honestly, most people aren't anywhere near as picky as me about all the stuff I went off on above. So, really, this time around I will say don't let my opinion color whether or not you read the book.


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Review: Flygirl by Sherri L. Smith

"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly." Langston Hughes

Ida wants to fly. Ida yearns to fly. Flying reminds Ida of her deceased father, who taught her. But Ida is a woman. In 1941. Oh, yeah - she's also Black. The thing is... Ida's father's side of the family is mixed. She inherited his very fair skin. She has "good hair." When she dresses a certain way, walks and talks a certain way - and avoids her darker family members and friends - she can pass for white.

Honestly, if timing had been different, if the War hadn't started, if her older brother hadn't enlisted as a medic... If her younger brother hadn't found an article about how the army was putting together a group of female pilots (the Women's Army Service Pilots, or WASP), Ida would have just continued what she was doing - scrimping and rationing, cleaning houses, collecting scraps for the War Effort - indefinitely. But not only does she itch to fly, she also itches to do something, anything, to help bring her brother home sooner. So, doctoring her father's pilot license and borrowing a nice hat and fur, she joins the WASP.

I had been curious about both the WASP in general, and this book specifically, since I read Orleans by the same author several years ago. Somehow it got forgotten, pushed to the side. But after Out of Darkness, I wanted to read another historical novel about someone outside my own experience... and this one immediately resurfaced in my mind.

It was a good read, an interesting peek into both the life of a Black woman at the time, and any woman in the army during WWII. Actually, I should say, civilian women among military men. The WASP were not militarized until the Carter administration, and as such, the ladies are treated as the lowest of the low - interlopers, unworthy, given all the planes and tasks that the men don't want to deal with. Made to bunk in poorly thrown-together rooms on the base, or to stay in boarding houses off-base. Asked to show their worth by flying an experimental plane dubbed the "Widowmaker" when no man wants to touch it because of all the problems and accidents it's had so far. Some of the men don't think women should be there, don't think they should be flying. Others discount their instincts or their careful checking of equipment.

In addition, Ida has to deal with the added stress of "passing" - of hiding her true self and heritage, as not only are Black women not allowed in the WASP, but her basic training takes place deep in Texas where a Black woman caught passing will find herself in immediate danger. Though, interestingly enough, Ida isn't the only one dealing with prejudices. She immediately takes to two other bunkmates, becoming fast friends, and the three of them are referred to as a "carny," a "hick," and a Jew.

I enjoyed the book, and I enjoyed learning about the challenges these ladies faced. The pacing wasn't what I would have expected for a wartime novel about a woman hiding her identity, but it was a good read with important themes. I felt the ending just sort of... happened. It wasn't terribly climactic and became more about Ida's thoughts and which of her relationships had changed. Though, a big message of the book is about that transition of early adulthood - you grow apart from your childhood friends. You wonder if your fate lies with your family or with your dreams and skills. Should you pursue your dreams, no matter what, or should you do what others expect of you?

But don't worry, just because Flygirl didn't take off for me the way I expected doesn't mean I'm done with Sherri. I've already moved on to another book of hers, The Toymaker's Apprentice. And I'm loving it so far.

Review: Out of Darkness by Ashley Hope Perez

As some of you know, this book was put on my radar because a mom at a school board meeting in Texas pitched a fit about the reference to anal sex on "page 39." The book was pulled from two middle school libraries in the district shortly after that. I don't know how many more other schools may have pulled it at this point, because the video from the school board meeting has spread like wildfire.

I had initially posted a news story about the board meeting on my Facebook page, but after Banned Books Week, I was contacted by the author's publicist to ask if I was interested in writing a blog post about Ashley's response (which you can read here).

As I often do when someone makes a stink about a book being inappropriate, I got curious and decided to read it. (That's what I do, y'all - banning a book just makes me want to read it more.)

So I checked out a copy from the library. I actually don't check out books for myself from the library that often, because I really only get a short window of time at night to read and I'm always concerned I'm going to run out of time and that someone else will be waiting for the book, so I won't be able to renew it. I was even more concerned when I picked up the copy I'd requested. I was not expecting a 400 page tome. But I shouldn't have worried - I ploughed through the book quickly, often staying up well past when I should have gone to bed, especially as I neared the end.

What follow are, first, a basic review, and then, secondly, my thoughts on the offensive phrase that got the book pulled as compared to other content in the book.

Review, with minor spoliers

Out of Darkness is the story of Naomi and Wash. In New London, TX, in 1937, a Black boy befriends a Mexican girl who has recently moved to town with her stepfather and her half siblings. Her stepfather is white, and the twins (Beto and Cari), though mixed, pass for white, especially since their father enrolls them in school as Robbie and Carrie Smith. Naomi, however, is dark enough that Wash first mistakes her for Black and wonders how he could have missed a new girl in "Egypt Town," the Black Quarter.

Naomi has many struggles. Her stepfather, Henry, works long hours in the oil fields and is often away, leaving her to care for her younger siblings, run the household (cleaning, mending, cooking, shopping) while also attending high school full time.

Naomi is quiet and keeps to herself. The boys at school think she's exotic and alluring, despite being aloof. The girls at school have nasty things to say about her. (Well, the boys do, too, but it's a different kind of nasty.) But with Wash's genuine attention to and friendship with Cari and Beto, she begins to open up and find some enjoyment in her new life.

But, alas, no one's going to read a 400 page book about Wash and Naomi and their Happy, No-Conflict, Idyllic Life. This is Texas. In the 30's. A Black boy and a Mexican girl can't be friends. A Black boy and "white" children can't be friends. And most of the kids at the otherwise all white school look down on Naomi. Those would be enough problems to deal with without Henry's long hours, alcholholism, possesive nature and his... history with Naomi and her mother. That would be enough to deal with without the school using raw natural gas for heat rather than safer, refined gas or oil from the oil company. That would be enough to deal with without falling in love with the "wrong" person. And that would be enough without the literal powder keg of the school exploding, and the figurative powder keg that goes off when a black boy carries the body of a dead white girl out of the rubble.

The author, Ashley Hope Perez, skillfully layers in foreshadowing until you know, YOU KNOW, something terrible is about to happen. But, with that said, it was still beautiful, even the dark parts. (Even the many, many dark parts.) It is an amazingly well-written tale of love, friendship, family, hope, despair, possession, toxic relationships, abuse, racism, and disaster. It is fantastic.


There are better reasons to ban a book - warning for spoilers and potential triggers

I am so aggravated that the book has been pulled from school bookshelves because of a line where highschool boys fantasize about Naomi, and suggest "put it in her cornhole." That's worth pulling the book? Wash and Naomi are both called the "n" word. But that's OK - at least it's not "cornhole."

Another phrase that upset the mother at the school board meeting was "pussy, or the idea of pussy," again, brought to us by the fantasizing of the boys in Naomi's class. That's worth pulling the book? The book opens with an explosion - a true, historical event that still stands as one of the worst three disasters in Texas history. There are details about the rescue workers collecting small body parts and putting them in baskets, while parents had to identify their children by clothing or birthmarks because their faces weren't recognizable. But that's OK because at least those bodyparts weren't a "pussy."

As the book goes on, we learn more about Henry and Naomi's relationship. Henry started making her touch him when she was seven. He tries to force himself on her in the kitchen as a teenager when he comes home drunk and mistakes her for her (long-deceased) mother. But that's OK - it's not "cornhole."

Naomi's mother had a history of miscarriages - and young Naomi was present for at least two of them, and remembers them in great detail. But that's OK because it's not "pussy."

Henry makes Beto go hunting with him to "make a man out of him." He forces him to shoot a bird even when it becomes clear that the boy doesn't want to. Henry bullies him so badly that eight-year-old Beto wets his pants.

There are also beautiful, tender, intimate moments between Naomi and Wash, serving to offset Henry's force and lack of concern about consent.

Henry drinks. He sleeps around. He sees a man catch on fire and burn to death at an oil rig. He has a tin of condoms in his drawer (referred to exclusively by brand names like "Romeos)... but when a doctor told him his wife couldn't survive another pregnancy, he protests, "she's my wife - a man's got a right." Naomi remembers lying awake at night before the twins were born listening to the mattress squeak while her mother cried. But that's OK because no one says "pussy" or "cornhole."

Cari, Beto's twin, dies in the explosion. Her face is smashed. So many children die that Henry decides to make a coffin rather than wait for one. Meanwhile, Cari lies on the kitchen table while Beto mourns underneath.

The white men of town (it was the whites-only school that exploded) decide someone needs to be held responsible. They focus on Wash, who was nearby (because he worked on the property), mostly because he had the audacity to touch a dead white girl. His family are terrorized and beaten. Their house is burned. Henry forces Beto to throw a rock through the window of his friend's house. Henry forces his son to watch his friend be beaten by an angry mob.

I wanted so badly, SO BADLY for this book to have a happy ending. But Naomi and Beto both survive the explosion - a miracle. Wash narrowly avoids a lynching - another miracle. So when Wash and Naomi reunite and attempt to run with Beto, and Henry catches up to them, you know that three miracles was too much to hope for.

Hnery, by now very far gone, and showing his true colors, forces Beto - at gunpoint - to tie Wash to a tree so Henry can beat the already-injured teenager more. He forces both boys to watch while he rapes Naomi. He gives Beto a sadistic choice - shoot your friend, or watch me shoot your sister. Beto makes a third choice, but too late to protect Wash and Naomi. But please, by all means, protect us from the words "cornhole" and "pussy."

And yes, that all sounds horrible... but I still loved the book. It's still worth the read. Sometimes you need to read things that bother you.


I am not, of course, suggesting that the book should be banned for ANY reason. Is the book for everyone? No. Is it appropriate for middle schoolers? For most of them, no, but then again, I am not the mother of every middle schooler in Texas, so I shouldn't be the one to make that call.

Dr. Seuss II: Scandalous Boogaloo!

Ok, so everyone knows Dr. Seuss drew weird pictures.  The people didn’t look real.  The animals didn’t look real (has he ever SEEN a horse?  His horses are terrifying…).  He has all kind of made-up animals, and people that look like maybe they’re animals.

 

Dr. Seuss occasionally shows up on banned and challenged lists because people decided that some of his books (“Hop on Pop” and “The Cat in the Hat”) promote misbehavior in children.  (Though, if you’ve read either Pop or Cat, you know Pop tells his kids “you must never hop on Pop” and the fish turns out to be right about not letting the Cat into the house while Mother is out.)

 

A few months ago, though, Dr. Seuss came under fire not for encouraging misbehavior, but for “racist” depictions in some of his books. Word came out that some of his early books would no longer be published.

 

At first there was a hue and cry about cancel culture… but it turns out that Dr. Seuss’s estate chose to pull six books from publication, rather than an announcement coming from a school system that they would no longer use ANY Dr. Seuss books.

 

Curious, I checked out “If I Ran the Zoo” from our library.  I had a vague recollection from my time as a children’s librarian that this one had some Asian caricatures in it.  And upon re-reading it, it turns out it does – as well as “Persian,” Russian, and African.  The African ones, to my eye, are the ones that immediately jump out as the most bothersome, followed by the Asian ones.  But, with that said, 1. I was looking for them (I think it’s possible small children might not be as aware as, again, all Seuss’s illustrations are funky-looking people), and 2. It was first published in 1950. 

 

And while, yes, I agree that illustrations from 1950 that were considered fine then can be considered bothersome or racist now, but, y’all, it was 71 years ago.  (Oh my god, y’all, 1950 was 71 years ago…)  We’ve moved on.  We’ve improved.  Dr. Seuss’s estate has moved on – in recognizing that these illustrations are no longer appropriate and in deciding to cease publication, they are stepping in and saying, “OK, we’re better than this.”

 

They aren’t telling you not to read it. They’re saying “we feel weird continuing to publish these.” And that’s OK.

Special Throwback Thursday: Where Were You?

It was early on a Tuesday morning. The phone rang before my alarm went off, which was aggravating. I was a sophomore in college and overloading on classes - I had been up very late. I ignored the phone.

After the alarm went off, my roommates and I dressed and staggered to the dining hall. I had lemon mint scones, and either a coke or diet coke for my caffeine - I was never a coffee person. My roommates and I sat in an alcove with a window seat.

A friend of ours, also a sophomore, came running up to us, skidding to a stop on the terrazzo floor. He was yelling something about planes and a tower, the pentagon, more planes, a field... I was half asleep and didn't understand - had a new Die Hard movie come out?

"Travis, what movie is this?" I mumbled.

"It's not a movie! It's happening right now!" he yelled and took off to tell others. My roommates and I were still confused. No one else in the dining hall seemed to be worked up. Yet. We went to class.

By the time I made it two buildings over and three floors up, news had spread. I should point out that most of us did not have cell phones; the few that did rarely got reception on our rural, mountain-top campus. But I was on my way to a theatre class, and many of my classmates were a year or two older and had friends who were already in New York. They had heard what was going on. There was a phone in the hallway outside the classroom and many of us lined up to call and check on friends and family.

I remembered that my dad had been planning to leave that morning for a business trip. I couldn't remember where he was going. Panicked, I called my mom, knowing I wouldn't be able to reach him if he were in the air. My mom reassured me - he was headed to Austin, but the plane had already been grounded. He and his coworkers were trying to rent a car to make the long drive back to Atlanta. She had been the one calling early that morning.

In a daze, we finally all congregated in the classroom. No official word had come down yet as to whether to cancel class. Our professor used the morning's event to segue into a discussion of tragedy. After that class we found that there would be no classes for the rest of the day; the school that didn't close for ice storms was cancelling classes.

I walked to the bank, about a mile down the road in our small university town and withdrew $100 (most of what was in my meager college student's account), just in case. I had dressed for the chilliness of the Tennessee mountain morning but was now too hot in my 3/4 length blouse and long skirt. I didn't go to the common room with the TV when I got back to the dorm. I didn't watch the 24-7 new coverage. (No live streaming on our young internet.) I didn't see the towers fall 'til almost a week later. I knew that if I stopped, if I watched it, I would crash, just like they did. I had too much work to do. I had a big paper due at the end of the week. I watched it later, after the Time Magazine special edition had already come in my student mail box.

Tuesday morning. September 11, 2001. I was 19. I was in college in Tennessee. Where were you?

Everyone's Busy

"How do you get it all done?" my sister, a full-time teacher and the first-time mother of a one-year-old, asked me recently.

"I don't," I, the stay-at-home mom of a two-year old, answered.

"Really?" she asked, sounding relieved. I offered to send her pictures of my absurd piles of laundry. I DID send her a picture of my outrageously-long to-do list.

This morning, my husband asked me what the significance of three stars in front of an item on my to-do list was... seeing as about 3/4 of the list were three star items.

I'm busy. My sister is busy. I don't have time to do things I want to do. I don't have time to do things I need to do. My sister is the same way. Most moms I know are the same way. My husband feels the same way about both his work days, where he spends so much time on zoom meetings that he can't get any actual work done, and also about his weekend projects he's had on his to-do list for years. (Such as installing the doggy door we bought before Baldur died.)

Everyone's busy. Our neighbor is constantly ferrying her teenagers to various sportsball games. My diet program addresses the issue of planning ahead and taking healthy snacks and meals with you so that you don't have to stop and get takeout, in a tone that implies that most people are doing so most days of the week.

Everyone's busy.

I recall a Loony Toons cartoon from 1954 wherein a housewife spent all day running errands, arriving home just before her husband. He asks her if she picked up something for him, and she apologizes that she forgot. He is annoyed, asking what she did all day. We're treated to a rerun of her day, going to the bank and various other outings, in each of which she is delayed or something goes wrong. She cleans the house with a vacuum - "there were ATTACHMENTS to do the work," she narrates, as her past self dumps dozens of tubes on the floor. The vacuum breaks down and she ends up sweeping.

Everyone's busy. Now we have Roombas and better cars and higher speed limits (and I believe the cartoon housewife may actually have been doing errands on foot). We have dishwashers and washing machines, cell phones and voice-activated TV's. We should have more time, right?

It feels like we've always been busy. That 1950's housewife had a vacuum and a dry cleaner and an oven and various electric kitchen appliances. She should have had more time, right?

When I was a kid, I was a big fan of the Little House on the Prairie books. The Ingalls and Wilder families got up before dawn to milk the cows and do other farm chores. The children walked miles to school. Ma was constantly cooking, cleaning, sewing... Pa was often plowing. Laura's first job was a in a tailor's shop. She basted men's shirts. She sewed from 7:00 AM to 7:00 PM. She had a break for lunch (which she ate with the tailor and his family). She did this all week - I want to say Saturday, too. She was fourteen.

But those plucky homesteaders had farm tools and kitchen implements. They had needles, thread, scissors, and woven fabric. They had domestic animals and crops. You would think they would have had more time...

I'm currently reading Guns, Germs, and Steel, a book about how societies evolved, but more-so, how societies evolved differently - which societies had easily domesticable animals and plants, and which were hunter gatherers. The author states that you would think the farmers would have it easier, had more food, and more time... but that actually early farmers needed even more time and effort to produce the food they needed than did hunter-gatherers.

We're all busy. We've always been busy. How we define busy changes. The things I've learned from the above books will be helpful to me when writing period pieces... if I can even find the time in my busy life.

How has "busy" changed for you over the course of your life? If you're a fellow writer, how does a character you're currently working on define "busy?"

(By the way, I wrote this while Elianna was taking a rare second nap...)

Book Review: The Terror by Dan Simmons

A couple years ago, AMC produced a TV series based on this book. Jason and I really enjoyed it, and I decided I wanted to read it. I had kind of forgotten about it until reading Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan, about John Rae, the explorer who discovered what happened to the Terror and Erebus.

It was a long read (over 700 pages), but very enjoyable. Even knowing what happens, I found myself wanting to keep reading each night, wanting to keep pushing past when I should have lain down and gone to bed.

Brief overview:

In 1845, an expedition lead by Sir John Franklin sets out from England to discover the long-searched-for Northwest Passage - a water route between the Northern Atlantic and Northern Pacific oceans. The Franklin expedition - 129 men and two ships, the Erebus and the Terror - never returns and there are no confirmed survivors. This is an imagining of the horrors the crew encountered while marooned in the Arctic, including extreme winter weather, scurvy, tainted food stores, impossibly difficult physical labor, the hubris of their captain, rats, fire, and, last but not least, a monster resembling a huge polar bear that stalks the mission.

The first part of the book is told in flashbacks. It opens with now-Captain Crozier on deck, in the bone-shattering cold, giving kind of a "how we got here" overview in his head. The chapters then go back and forth for a while between a few characters - Captain Sir John Franklin, Dr. Goodsir, and others - give background on events leading up to Crozier's current situation.

Goodsir serves as kind of an everyman - an audience avatar - when he volunteers to go on an exploratory mission and fails miserably at keeping up with the hard work the other sailors endure, as well as expressing shock at Captain Franklin's callous disregard for the life of the native man his men shot by accident.

Franklin immediately establishes himself as the one who carries the blame for various failures. At a dinner party, a seasoned explorer expresses concerns that Sir John doesn't have enough supplies - of food or coal. Franklin has no clue how much he's actually bringing with him; he feels like this is someone else's job to figure out. He just smiles and nods while the other explorer grows obviously more concerned about this voyage. Franklin comes off as a hubristic idiot. Actually, calling him an idiot isn't fair - he seems to be doing it on purpose. He repeatedly ignores sound advice from Crozier - his second in command - other explorers, and various officers on his mission. There are so many things that just would not have gone wrong if he had just listened to other people... but, no, determined to rid himself of his reputation as "the man who ate his shoes" on his previous Arctic mission, he plows ahead, so certain of his own infallibility.

As mentioned above, Sir John often expresses the thought that the natives are somehow less - not worthy of saving from death, not worthy of a proper burial... In the book, many other characters also express this period-accurate disdain for the Arctic peoples they encounter. (In the show, this is toned down, with some of the characters seeming to be pro-native, and even speaking some of the Inuit language.) As was also par for the period, there's a decent amount of disdain for women, Irish characters, characters of non-noble birth, and homosexuals (exclusively referred to as "sodomites").

While the setting is bleak, and often gory, and even the most likeable characters flawed, you do find yourself rooting for most of them, hoping that at least SOME of them make it.

I've read some other reviews and opinions that the last few chapters and the fates of a couple of characters comes out of nowhere, but I didn't think so. I thought it was the sort of thing where everything these two had experienced, everything they had endured together came together to form only one possible, inevitable scenario. Want to know more?

Here be spoilers...

In the show, Captain Crozier and Lady Silence - the native woman who's father was accidentally shot by the crew - end up being the only survivors. He's taken in by her people, but their connection ends there (or at least is no more special than them both being part of a very small, close-knit community). In the book, she rescues him when he's shot multiple times by mutineers, and nurses him back to health over a period of several months. She teaches him to live like a native. They share dreams - as they began to do when Crozier suffered from severe alcohol withdrawal earlier in the book. Eventually, she takes him to be her husband. I do mean that - Lady Silence/Silna is the one who initiates a physical relationship with Crozier, though by that point he understands that they also have an intertwined fate. Their interractions in the last couple chapters seem less to me "out of nowhere" and more what happens when two people have been through so much trauma together that they come to realize that each of them is the only person who could understand the other. It's not romantic, per se, but it's fitting.

And, yes, people have complained about the age difference. Crozier is in his early 50's by the end of the book, whereas when the expedition encountered Lady Silence two years earlier, the doctor determined she was between 15 and 20 (much younger than in the TV adaptation). Yes, this is a shocking age difference by today's standards... but in the 1840's it was not. Indeed, Crozier had proposed about five years earlier to a woman in her early 20's who turned him down not for his age, but for his station (she claimed she couldn't be a mere captain's wife). Girls in their teens were married to men old enough to be their grandfathers all the time back then. For me, what sells it is that Silna knows exactly what she is doing and it is Crozier who seems surprised at first, as well as their ironclad devotion to each other through the remainder of the book. Each is willing to give up their world and follow their spouse; Crozier is the one who gives up his old life to be with Silna.

Really the only thing I found to be problematic in the book is the outdoor New Year's carnivale. For so much of the book, the author has been hammering into us what the extreme cold is like for the crew. The (heated) intterior of the boat is only just barely above freezing on the warmest decks. The crew are wearing layers upon layers. They are constantly losing toes. The men on watch on the deck have to constantly move, constantly stomp to keep from freezing. More than once someone accidentally touches metal and loses skin for their carelessness. And yet at the Carnivale, where we are told it is a whopping -100 degrees, men stay out wandering around, eating outside, hanging out in a tent labyrinth, wearing costumes either over or under their cold weather gear... for hours! It just seemed glaringly out of place to me.

I did think it was interesting that at one point a crew member references the wreck of the Essex, an American whaling ship sunk during an encounter with an enraged whale, marooning its crew in life boats in the tropical Pacific. It reminded me that I had also read a book about that incident a few years ago. I'll have to do a compare/contrast of the two.

It occurred to me recently that I should include Readers' Advisory at the end of reviews. This is a book for both fans of history, and fans of horror. In particular, if you like setting-based suspense and horror - something like Sphere, where you're trapped by the elements with a dangerous and unknowable presence. For the history fans, if you like The Terror, you might also enjoy In the Heart of the Sea, by Nathaniel Philbrick, and Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan.

Throwback Thursday - In the Heart of the Sea

So, I'm doing something a little different for Throwback Thursday this week.

The blog post I want to revisit is from my former website. I had planned to eventually set up an archive page here, but as you can guess, I have not yet gotten around to it. That post will be under the second markdown, below. The first markdown is a little snippet I posted on my Facebook page five years ago (five years ago, Oh my god...) about watching the film that was based on the book I review below. Now I'll have all of this in one spot!

Mid-July 2016, Jason and I watched the film In the Heart of the Sea, and really enjoyed it. My response to it is here:

From Facebook post, July 17, 2016

As a librarian and a writer, there are some classics out there that I am kind of embarrassed to admit that I haven't read. One of these is Moby Dick. I recently watched In the Heart of the Sea. It's a movie based on a book of the same name about Herman Melville speaking to one of the few survivors of a whaling ship that was attacked by a huge whale (and served as his inspriation for Moby Dick). It's a very good movie, which makes me sad that it didn't do better. Plus, as an actor, I also now have a TON of respect for the actors portraying the stranded whalers who lost tons of weight to look like they had been lost at sea for months; Chris Hemsworth lost 35 pounds, and Cillian Murphy looks like he was mummified.

After we finished the movie, I turned to my boyfriend and said, "Huh, that was really good - I'd like to read it." He responded, "yeah, I never read it either." I then clarfied that I was NOT talking about Moby Dick, but rather the book the film was based on.

For some reason, Melville is one of those authors people kind of cringe away from. No one picks up Melville for fun, just like no one picks up Dickens for fun. It's sad to say, but I'm just as guilty of this as the general population. As much as I love a rich vocabulary, some of those Victorian authors intimidate me.

But I guess that's ok, because Melville himself (at least according to the movie) is intimidated by Hawthorne. Which makes one of the closing screens, a quote by Hawthorne about how Moby Dick is the Great American Epic, all the more touching.

I liked it so much that I turned around and checked out the book from the library. I apparently finished it quite fast (oh, those pre-baby days!) as I posted the below review two weeks later:

Adapting from Page to Screen

Sometimes when having watched a movie and then read a book, I can say to myself, "Ok, I see why they changed that."

Sometimes it's a case of condensing a timeline or characters so as to make something easier to follow. Sometimes it's making characters older, younger, or changing something about their looks or personality to make them either more believable or more accessible to a broader audience. Sometimes it's adding "drama" (a problem that wasn't there in the original version to up the tension) or changing or leaving out something that the characters did to make them more relatable or sympathetic.

You may remember from my Ivey Ink Facebook post of July 17 that I recently watched In the Heart of the Sea. This is a movie based off a book that was written about a historical whaling ship disaster. The book was based on the accounts of several survivors of the Essex (a whaling ship); their stories also were a big influence on Herman Melville writing Moby Dick.

I enjoyed the film, and I found the book fascinating as well. However, upon reading the book, there were several very obvious, "wow, I see why they changed this for the movie" details. First of all, without some changes just for sake of narrative and the flow of plot structure, it would simply be a documentary that no one would watch unless they were interested in 19th century whaling and shipwrecks.

One of the major changes was the dynamic between First Mate Chase and Captain Pollard. In the film, Chase and Pollard do not get along, as Chase feels he was passed over for the position of captain simply because Pollard's father is a captain and one of the owners of the whaling company. In real life, Chase was several years younger than Pollard and they had been working their way up the ranks together for the last four years; Pollard had been First Mate previously and prior to that had been Second Mate, while Chase had previously been Second Mate and prior to that Harpooner. But which movie would you rather see:

"An orphaned farm boy* (played by the studly Chris Hemsworth) has worked hard to prove himself to The Man as capable sailor and has been promised a captaincy. However, at the last minute, he is passed over for promotion in favor of the boss's son (played by the brooding Benjamin Walker). Now they must struggle to scratch out a living from the violent sea with the forces of nature stacked against them." or "A tall 22-year-old and his pudgy@@ 28-year-old coworker of four years receive promotions and head out to hunt whales."

*And by the way Chase's father was still alive, and living in an expensive house in town, at the time of the voyage. @@Yes, Pollard is almost consistanly referred to as "portly" in the book. (Maybe this is repeatedly pointed out to help explain why he was one of the few who survived. He had more excess weight that could be lost without major inconvenience.)

However, like I said, injecting some drama for sake of narrative is understandable. Another major change (or, rather, omission) is even more understandable.

I don't know what you know about whaling. I didn't know a lot before I read this book. The movie shows a whale being hunted and killed (and only one hunt is shown to completion in the film, when there would have been HUNDREDS during the actual voyage of the Essex). It shows a couple brief scenes to get the point accross - a whale being harpooned, a spray of blood landing on the faces of the whalers as the whale dies (we do NOT see the blood actually spraying out of the whale itself), and a few short shots of the whale being butchered. We are also treated to a scene of the cabin boy being lowered into a hole in the whale's head to scoop out the last of the oil. He serves as something of a bridge between the characters and the audience, as his obvious horror and disgust at this task is more along the lines of what people who grew up learning about environmentalism and animal rights would feel.

These scenes in the movie really gloss over the realities of whaling that are gone into in more depth in the book.

As I mentioned above, a whaling voyage that lasted two years (as most of them did) and returned to port with 1,500-3,000 casks of whale oil would have had to kill hundreds of whales to fill their quota. I had been under the impression that, like the plucky homesteader of a slightly later period, the whalers used all of the animal - sell the bones and teeth for furniture and jewelry, eat and/or salt down the meat to sell, do...I dunno, something with the skin. No. The oil and blubber are the only parts of the whale used and the rest is DUMPED INTO THE OCEAN. The book describes the Pacific as being just a slick of oil, blood, and decomposing whale during a large part of the 19th century.

From a contemporary perspective, it's disturbing. What makes it even more jarring is that in the book the scene of the full hunt and butchery of the whale comes either immediately before or immediately after a scene in which the sailors complain to the captain about their small portions of rationed salt beef and salt pork. You people are throwing away dozens of tons of meat every few days and you don't think to keep any of this to augment your rations?

What makes it even worse than that, though, is that on their way to the whaling grounds of the Pacific the ship stops at the Galapagos islands so that they can hunt tortoises to bring on the voyage as food. The tortoises were preferred to any other live source of meat because their metabolisms were so slow that the crew didn't have to feed them. The ship takes on dozens, possibly hundreds, of tortoises, fully intending to just leave them in the hold and not give them food or water. Ever. Until it's time to kill and eat them. The cabin boy's memoir reflects his misgivings about the assumption that just just because the tortoises didn't NEED to eat didn't mean that they SHOULDN'T, as he claims that every time he went down into the hold he saw them licking things.

If these weren't bad enough crimes against nature, one of the crew members set one of the Galapagos islands on fire. As a prank.

It's scenes like these that make it extremely difficult to think anything other than "I'm glad most of you died miserable deaths of starvation adrfit at sea - you're horrible people!" As I said, sometimes you have to change things in a story to make the characters relatable on screen. Even without these scenes shown in the movie, it's hard not to root for the whale when he attacks the Essex after the whalers harpoon another whale in his pod.

But, as my sister is fond of saying, "why ruin a perfectly good story with something like facts?"

Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

"Confess. Unburden your soul."

Alright, I confess. I'm a theatre major and I've never seen Wicked. Go ahead, lock me up.

Up until recently, I hadn't read Wicked, either. A friend of mine, fascinated by the world-building in my writing, loaned it to me and I just finished.

First, I would like to say that, while I appreciate that she finds my writing to be good, my world-building is not on par with Gregory Maguire. (Though, admittedly, I am not very familiar with the original L. Frank Baum Oz books, so I don't know how much Maguire is inventing, and how much he's expanding upon.)

Interestingly, the day before I finished reading Wicked, Jason and I watched a film called The Reckoning, which was about a woman in 1665 who is accused of being a witch and the torture she endures as the authorities try to get her to confess.

How things change! In 1939, in a film based on a book published in 1900, Glinda famously (even cutely) asks Dorothy, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" Dorothy, aghast, responds, "I'm not a witch at all," more in line with what we'd expect from someone accused of witchcraft in the 17th century. "I am innocent to a witch - I know not what a witch is," proclaims a character in The Crucible, based on events from the Salem Witch Trials of 1692-93.

This was supposed to be a review of Wicked. It seems to be turning into a review of accusations of witchcraft.

It doesn't spoil anything to say that Elphaba in Wicked chooses to become a witch. Or rather, she chooses to pose as one and things kind of fall together for that persona. She and her sister don't balk when people start - jokingly, at first - to refer to them as the Wicked Witch of the East and the Wicked Witch of the West (based on where each of them lives).

In the film I referred to, Grace obviously does not chose to pose as a witch, and the amount of torture she endures is in hopes to save her infant daughter.

Interestingly enough, we watch both women slide along the slippery edge of insanity. The scale is different, to be sure: Elphaba's story spans approximately 40 years, Grace's merely a few days.

Elphaba slowly endures parental neglect, hardships, friendlessness, sudden personal loss, and denial of the forgiveness she desperately seeks. When her sister, Nessarose, is unexpectedly killed by the falling house, and her old school friend Glinda gives away Nessa's shoes - shoes that her father made for the favored sister, shoes that Nessa had promised would be Elphaba's some day - Elphaba finally allows the cloak of "Wicked Witch" to slip around her and goes off the rails trying to get the shoes back from her sister's unwitting killer. (And I mean, really, if my old college roommate gave a prized family heirloom to the person who killed my sister, I'd be pissed, too.)

Grace, on the other hand, has physical hardships and, arguably, more psychological hardships thrust upon her within a very short period (we aren't given a timeline of events prior to her arrest, but from arrest to the end of the film is four days). She maintains her innocence, refuses to give in even as she sees visions of both her dead husband and Lucifer himself.

In drastically different endings, Grace is saved by water, while Elphaba, famously, is destroyed by it. Though, reading Wicked while having seen The Wizard of Oz, Maguire handles Dorothy's (and Elphaba's) motive differently than the source material. Both Grace and Elphaba have a moment of peace as their trials finally end.

The Punishment Food

"Throw him in the dungeon! Give him only bread and water!" - any medieval or fantasy tyrant worth their salt.

"It is not the bread and water I fear. I can live on bread - when have I asked for more?" Joan of Arc (per George Bernard Shaw)

"I. Love. Bread." Oprah

Hm... One of these things is not like the others.

Ah, bread. The staple of civilization. The most basic of basic commodities in Western and Middle Eastern culture for millennia. Cultures are defined by the bread characteristic to them. Open a story with the description of a meal - whether the bread on the table is a baguette or biscuits - and you've solidly placed a setting in the reader's mind. And what else? Is bread the ONLY thing on the table? Is it stale? Is it white or coarse wheat? Is it merely there along with a mountain of meats and delicately prepared exotic fruits and vegetables? Each of these scenarios says a lot about your world and your characters.

And yet now... now, there's a movement - dare I say an obsession? - with eliminating bread (or, more specifically, refined carbohydrates) from the diet. What was the most basic staple, the food that even the most hated prisoner was allowed, has become a special treat: "I've been good on my diet all week - I'm going to have a roll with dinner." I wonder, 100 years from now, if someone reads a story (a "chick lit," a YA that deals with dieting and body image issues, etc.) if that person will be confused as to why the character in the book eschews bread... or confused as to why bread is even an option. (No, I don't really think the latter is going to happen. 10,000 years of the existence of bread isn't going to be toppled by a couple decades of a diet fad. We'll have a new obsession in 100 years.)

So, bread - the basic food. ONLY bread - the "punishment" food, or the "reward" food depending on what era you're talking about. A friend and I were talking about another "punishment" food the other day.

"Why do we eat bitter herbs and unleavened bread, my uncle?" Eliezar, The Ten Commandments

My friend is Jewish, and shortly after Passover, her husband found huge box of matzoh at Costco - a four or six box package for a dollar, or something ridiculously cheap like that. "I know it's supposed to be the 'punishment' food." She shrugged. "But I like it." Funny thing is, I like it, too (and I'm not even Jewish - we always just had it around when I was a kid). She gave me a box. Later that afternoon, I sent her a picture of the "punishment" food all dolled up with peanut butter and sliced pears. Yum!

And the bitter herb thing? My sister used to eat parsley straight. And the flat seaweed sheets you're supposed to use for sushi. We both like matzoh. I like kale. I once scared all the kids in my first grade class because I told them my favorite food was spinach. For most people, the thought that you HAVE to eat these stronger, often bitter, greens for your health is less than desirable. But for me? Sure, I'll take that kale salad. Can I have a side of matzoh?

But, then again, I also love bread.

Traumatic Victorian Children's Books

As some of you know, last week my daughter had strep throat. She's 20 months old, and it's the first time she had a fever (not counting a low-level one after one of her immunizations). She handled it really well - I think because we got on top of it quickly. She came home from preschool feeling warm and when she still felt hot at nap time, I took her temperature and called her pediatrician. Within 24 hours of that nap, she had seen the pediatrician, had a strep test, and started antibiotics. Aside from the fever itself, the only symptom she had was falling asleep on the couch (and really, who among us hasn't done that?)

As some of you may also know, strep throat when accompanied by a rash, is Scarlet Fever. Yes, THAT scarlet fever - scourge of Victorian children's books. In those books, if someone speaks the words "scarlet fever," those who are not yet sick are whisked away to a distant locale to quarantine safely (Little Women) and, while the child lies sick, their belongings are burned (The Velveteen Rabbit).

The Victorians understood how contagion spread, but hadn't yet developed methods of sterilization, aside from the Kill It With Fire Method. Outside scarlet fever and The Velveteen Rabbit, another scene that sticks in my mind is from a film adaptation of The Secret Garden. Mary Lennox has just been told her parents have died of cholera. She drops her doll in shock; a man snatches it up and throws it on a pile of burning items from houses where people have died. I watched as Mary's doll's yellow yarn hair first turned brown, then black, as the doll began to scorch - all while Mary shrieked - "My doll, my doll, no, give me my doll!" paired with a soldier talking over her to another soldier explaining that she doesn't understand.

(To be honest, I can't remember if this scene happens in the book. I watched this film version SO many times as a kid and only read the book once or twice.)

This scene, and the burning of the toys in The Velveteen Rabbit, was very much on my mind last week. Jason brought Elianna back home from the doctor with instructions to throw away her toothbrush and toothpaste after she started her antibiotics, and to wash everything her mouth had come in contact with. In the midst of tossing pacifiers in a mesh bag and putting them in the dishwasher, and putting Brad Foxie, Maddison, Baldur, and Night-Night Bunny into the washing machine, I thought about these traumatic scenes in children's books, and was very grateful for antibiotics and the "hot" setting on our household appliances.

This happy photo brought to you by modern washing machines.

This happy photo brought to you by modern washing machines.

Rest

Every Easter... or maybe it was Palm Sunday... anyway, one weekend near Easter/Passover every year, we always used to watch The Ten Commandments when it was broadcast on a major TV network (I mean, it doesn't get better than Charlton Heston and Yul Brenner snarking at each other).

There's a scene where Moses (Heston) takes mercy on a stone cutter who hit an overseer in order to save an old woman. Moses, being a Good Boss, has a discussion about what the Hebrew slaves need to work better, rather than just taking "Master Butcher" Vincent Price at his word that they are lazy and expendable. The stonecutter mentions extra food and a day of rest. "A day of rest!" echoes the crowd in awe, as though he just suggested they all be given their weight in gold. Moses grants them the food, and the day of rest, and the Egyptians harp on this for while.

This was unprecedented. If you were a worker, you worked. That's what you did. The idea of taking a day off for rest, for contemplation, that just wasn't done.

Not trying to get super religious here, but there is something to the "remember the Sabbath day and keep it Holy" commandment. When was the last time you took a day off - really took a day off, where you did nothing, or only did things that relaxed or rejuvenated you?

I've recently been trying to be more aware of giving myself down time - time to relax, time to think, time to do nothing and just let my brain go. It's hard. I am the sort of person that I'm ALWAYS doing something. But I'm trying to take a few minutes in the evening to just sit quietly with my eyes closed. I made it three minutes last night! : D

We as a society need to be better about resting. We've gotten it into our heads that if you're doing nothing, if you're not being "productive," you're "lazy." But your body and your brain need time to rest, to relax, to do nothing.

I commit to doing nothing for at least four minutes today - who's with me?

Put the Band on Stage

The past couple days I've been thinking a lot about theatre. Specifically, songs I've listened to have triggered a need to choreograph and/or design. Listening to "Rock Around the Clock," I was thinking about choreography for Grease (particularly egregious, as I turned down an offer to choreograph said show...). Today, driving to Elianna's appointment, my randomizer brought up “Prologue/Tradition” from Fiddler on the Roof and oh... my brain wouldn't shut off.

"Hey. Hey!" my brain said, "What if some of the band were up on stage with the rest of the villagers? What if you hid instruments in the props? Have a mama or a daughter with a tambourine disguised as an embroidery loop. And banging kitchen implements! Oh! And have a papa or a son with a xylophone hidden by an anvil!"

And it kept going. I was brain storming all kinds of props - house and farm implements that could be turned into instruments, or vice versa. Thinking about how to costume everyone. Wondering if we could get away with having an alto woman in a beard playing the Rabbi (there are never enough guys for shows). Heck, can we have the whole band in costume on stage?

Then I started thinking about what other shows you could have the band on stage. When I was in college, we did Cabaret and the band was in costume as the club's band. When I was in high school, we did Anything Goes, and the band all had fancy music stands so they looked like the ship's band. They all had a big moment where they reacted to the news that there was a wanted criminal on board. "SNAKE-EYES JOHNSON?!" the whole band cried in unison. And what about Grease? Put all the band in letter sweaters. Or do period marching band costumes.

And, yeah, I know it increases the costume budget - suggesting period marching band costumes is probably not the way to get the producer or director to agree to having the band in costume on stage.

But Fiddler? Yeah, you could probably do it with Fiddler - raid thrift stores for peasant shirts, old "dress" shirts, floppy pants, broomstick skirts, aprons... Grab surplus fabric for cheap to make head scarves for the ladies. Small throw blankets make great shawls. While that's not the most historically accurate way to do it, I feel that Fiddler is one of those that can be costumed partly from what the cast already owns. Which is probably why I see a lot of community theatres doing it.

I just like the idea of including the band in stage when you can - for a lot of shows, I feel that it adds something.

I also think that if I ever were to get back into theatre, I'd likely be doing costuming or choreography. Possibly directing. I have a feeling that if Elianna ends up getting into theatre that I will definitely get dragged back in. Now I'm reminded of the time I did costumes for our high school's production of I Never Saw Another Butterfly. I was also in the show, and was still madly sewing stars of David onto sweaters and shawls backstage during final dress rehearsal. I accidentally sewed my own sweater to my skirt and had to hobble out onto stage clutching my sweater to my knee. Yeah, let's not do THAT again : )

Where to Draw the Line

How do you define a generation, an era? (No, don't start singing RENT.)

We look back at history and have made neat little red lines at events and dates: the Ancient world ends with the Fall of Rome. The modern world begins with Columbus "discovering" America in 1492. The Protestant Reformation begins with Martin Luther nailing a piece of paper to a church door. Right? Well, not really.

Every so often something comes along that defines a generation or an era. Often, this is the sort of thing that at the time people might or might not recognize it's significance (man landing on the moon or the Kennedy assassination vs. the first time a fax or an email was sent, for example). But it seems like we've had a lot of them in my lifetime: 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the 2008 recession, or the entire dumpster fire that was 2020. And that's just since I've been an adult - what about the fall of the USSR or the Berlin Wall?

20 years from now, 50, 100, will we look back on one of these events as the moment that propelled us into a different era? What will be call that era? Post-9/11? The Great Climate Shift? After COVID?

I don't know the answer, but it's fun to guess, to speculate. I have a story that I want to write that takes place far enough in the future that time is now counted from a different, more recent event (as opposed to our current AD/CE numbering). It's approximately 500 PT. What's PT? Post-terrestrial era.

We like to think we have these nice, neat lines, these dividers on the timeline. But really, we don't. Rome didn't fall in a day, and people didn't suddenly look around and say, "well, I guess I better quit being ancient - that was SO last year."

And my post-terrestrial era? It's counted from the moon landing in 1969. (1970 being 1 PT.) Does that mean that instantly everyone was living in outer space in 1970, just like in the Jetsons? No, of course not. But you have to draw the line somewhere.

So, where do you draw the line in your life? What point do you look at and say, "After this point, everything was different."? For my parents, it might be Kennedy or the Moon Landing. A year or two ago there were certain events I might have picked. But I think now for a lot of us it will be that March 13, 2020 was the day it all changed.

Book Review: Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan

I bought this book in a giftshop in Orkney, after Jason and I saw John Rae's memorial in the nearby St. Magnus Cathedral.  I was intrigued by the idea of an explorer whose work was pushed down and forgotten simply because he reported facts that rubbed the bigwigs in the wrong way.  I had actually been putting this one off for a while, though - another non-fiction book about Scottish history that I picked up on our trip was drier than I had hoped and I was concerned this might be, too.  Fortunately, I was wrong - Oh, my goodness, John Rae was a character!

So, imagine this.  You work hard.  It's a demanding job, but you love it.  You're willing to work with a team, provided everyone does their share of the work; in fact, you generally work even harder than some of the people on your team so that you can ensure success.  You keep asking your supervisor for time off (it IS hard work, after all) and they keep hedging.  Your job doesn't leave you time for a love life and you're not getting any younger. People on your team complain, "that's not my job."  They don't follow your directions and someone gets hurt.  But you finally finish that big project - the one you've been working toward for so long... and someone else gets the credit.  You make honest reports and no one believes you - or worse, cast you as an attention seeker.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet John Rae, mid-nineteenth century Arctic explorer.  He's just like you.  Actually, he's cooler than you, but we'll get to that.

Who watched the TV show The Terror?  It was on AMC a couple years ago and was based on the novel of the same name.  The novel was inspired by the true events of the Franklin Expedition, a mid-nineteenth century British expedition to find the final link in the Northwest Passage.  The book and show take what little we know about the expedition - that the ships were trapped in ice and, presumably, the whole crew died - and expands into some supernatural scariness (and the show in and of itself is worth a watch if it's still available out there).  How did we find out what happened to the Franklin Expedition?  John Rae.

But let's back up.  The book Fatal Passage begins with plucky John Ray, a 19-year-old newly graduated surgeon from Orkney*, Scotland.  He set off for Canada, to join the Hudson's Bay Company.  The HBC was a company of traders and explorers in arctic Canada and had been heavily involved, along with the British navy, in charting as-yet-unmapped areas and searching for a navigable passage from the Northern Atlantic to the Northern Pacific (the Northwest Passage).

*Fun fact - people from Orkney are called Orcadians, which I think is flippin' fantastic.

Rae gleefully spent the next several years getting to know the arctic landscape; learning native hunting, building, and dressing styles; and snowshoeing across hundreds of miles in the winter just for kicks.  He started as a "surgeon" (comparable to a nurse practitioner today) and worked his way up the ranks as a general Jack of all trades, eventually becoming Chief Factor (director) of a major trading post (called a "factory" at the time).  He was well-respected by peers and supervisors, as well as by French fur traders, and native and mixed-race locals.

Not only that, Rae was rather progressive.  He was incredibly vocal in how much he admired the natives' (mainly Inuit, but some Cree, Ojibwe, and other groups) ingenuity, and thought that "half-breeds" (mixed-race European and Native American) were the best men that could be had for any job.  He also made notes in his own correspondence that he does not use the term "half-breed" as an insult, as many do.

Rae was eventually tasked with exploring uncharted coastline in search of the Northwest Passage, which everyone and his brother was doing those days.  Rae usually put together his own team.  It was usually comprised of just as many natives and half-breeds as full-Brits, as they were used to the terrain, the weather, the work, etc.  In fact, the only time he used naval officers that he was told he had to use rather than men he chose was the only expedition in which anyone died - which was EXTREMELELY unusual for 19th century arctic expeditions.  Rae was not only the first European explorer to winter in the Arctic "Native style," but also the first European to winter in the Arctic without losing a member of his team.  Given that his teams were usually much smaller (10 or so hardy men) that the large HBC and naval expeditions (100-200 sailors, often with no Arctic experience), this is really saying something.

Rae relished the work early on.  He loved snowshoeing and hunting - he considered "a long day's march in snowshoes is about the finest exercise a man can take."  He enjoyed living off the land and taking as few supplies as possible.  (This man often slept outdoors in the Arctic on a sleeping skin with one blanket.  I get cold in a 72-degree house with 2 blankets.)  He didn't shy away from doing MORE than his share of the work: shooting the majority of the food his group would eat, taking meticulous weather and geological measurements, trying to thaw his frozen Complete Works of William Shakespeare, and sleeping in his own individual igloo* rather than with the rest of his team for warmth because all the others were smokers.

*The term used in the book is "ice hut,” but I wanted to use igloo this first time to indicate the native-style building.

His most successful journey - the one in which he not only discovered the last link in the Northwest Passage (a strait later named for him) but also was the first to encounter anyone with knowledge of and artifacts from the doomed Franklin expedition. 

Having returned to his summer mooring, after having spent much of the winter trekking around and mapping - he was approached by natives who had cutlery and other items, some of which had very distinct initials and the family crest of Sir John Franklin himself.  He paid the natives well for these items, and interviewed the entire group separately, using his trusted interpreter (even though he himself spoke some of the Inuit language).  They all reported the same thing - a couple years prior (approximately five years after the Franklin expedition set sail) they had seen a group of ragtag white men (none in this group had ever seen Europeans before) dragging a boat like a sled, and heading south.  Later, another group of natives had reported to them that they had found the remains of this group - all dead, but many having been mutilated.  Rae came to the same conclusion as his second-hand witnesses - the last survivors of the Franklin expedition had resorted to butchering and eating their dead companions. 

Torn, Rae debated whether he should return to the area that the Natives had indicated to confirm the story.  But it would require back-tracking quite a long distance (ironically, the strait he discovered was quite close to where the doomed encampment lay).  It was too late in the season for him to make that trek and return while his route back to "civilization" (in this case a rural fort) was still navigable.  Many of the waterways he was using were ice-blocked for 10-11 months out of the year - basically, if you weren't traveling in August you were out of luck. 

In the end, he made the decision based on the state of his team.  Two of his men were very badly worse for the wear - one had frozen off two toes and could barely walk, let along keep up the strenuous pace needed to get to the Franklin crew site and back before winter set in and they had to hole up in ice huts, and hope that they had enough supplies. 

It was a difficult decision for him, but he ultimately decided that he would not risk his men's lives, especially since it was now all but impossible that Sir John Franklin or any of his men had survived.  There were other rescue expeditions out there, too, and they deserved to know the truth so they could also decide how much of a risk they were still willing to take for what now was not a rescue mission, but one to confirm the location of the bodies.

Rae, an honest man who was always meticulous in detailed record-keeping, wrote a very thorough letter to his superiors.  Unbeknownst to him at first, it was then sent to London and published by the Times.  And then... oh, the scandal!  Even though Rae had made clear what had happened, he still euphemized, still skirted using gory language.  He reported that the "the state of the bodies and the contents of the kettles" indicated that the last few survivors had been forced to use "the last resort." 

Still, Victorians knew how to read between the lines and they were most definitely not happy.  What, cannibalism?  Not, not our fine British officers!  The kindest opinions toward Rae were along the lines of, Oh, this poor Orkney yokel, poor naive man, taken in by the lies of the nasty, tricksey savages*. General opinion, however, was even more harsh.  Many speculated that Rae himself fabricated the story to tarnish the reputation of Sir John (who, honestly, was a less-than-stellar explorer and politician anyway) so that he could get the reward money.  Rae hadn't even known there'd been a reward until he traveled to London after the letters had already been published - without his knowledge.

*The assumption that any and all natives will lie whenever they get the chance is something consistently repeated in the articles and letters of the time and is REALLY uncomfortable to read.  Rae, to his credit, defended his interpreter and the natives - going to so far as noting that the one time his interpreter tried to lie about something when he was much younger (Rae had known him for over a decade at this point) that he had been absolutely dreadful at it because he had never lied before.

Chief among Rae's detractors was Lady Franklin, who for years had refused to believe her husband was dead (this news coming ten years after he had last been seen), and of course was appalled at the insinuation that her husband might have been among those final men desperate enough to eat their fellows (documents were found during another expedition that eventually confirmed he had died before the ships had become ice-locked and therefore couldn't have been one of the cannibalistic "survivors").  She continued to send out search parties - funding many of them in large part herself.  She continued to smear Rae's name to the point that several other explorers were credited with his discoveries including, most egregiously, Franklin himself. 

There was quite a bit of arguing of semantics.  Should the discoverer of the passage be the person who found and theorized that passage was navigable?  Should it be the first person to traverse it on foot?  In the latter instance, Franklin's crew was credited for a while on the assumption that they had dragged their boat over the frozen last link in the passage before they died.  Other explorers were credited with finding other passages that would later turn out to not be navigable with nineteenth-century ships.  This is how they treated the man who not long before was their go-to for any Arctic expedition - "Oh Rae's in that quarter, Rae will do that." 

Interestingly, while the British continually tried to downplay his achievements, even question his sanity for "going Native" and using Inuit methods of survival rather than "tried and true" modern techniques, the Norwegian explorers of the same period seemed to appreciate Rae much more - "This guy!  This guy knows what's going on!" (Ok, that's not an actual period quote.)  In fact, it was a Norwegian explorer in the first decade of the 20th century who finally successfully navigated the Northwest Passage, using Rae's route - 50 years after he discovered it, and after so many others had died trying to disprove Rae's journey.

Rae himself eventually retired from the HBC, married, and gave up Arctic exploration.  His last excursion was an exploration of the Canadian Rockies to determine the best route for a telegraph line.  He took his wife along for part of the journey, which was extremely unusual for the time.

Rae was a really interesting guy.  Even after his retirement, he kept active - hunting and hiking.  It was not unusual for him, even in his 70's, to walk 20 miles to the train station.  He lived to be nearly 80 years old.  He kept a massive collection of Inuit artifacts, referring to the native people as "my friends the Esquimaux.*" He was progressive man, a man ahead of his time.  He understood that smoking was unhealthy, and theorized that scurvy was caused by "lack of something [the body] gets from vegetables" decades before vitamins were discovered.  He was a man who respected and admired Native Americans - to the point that he not only paid those on his teams well, but usually provided them more pay than originally contracted once they returned due to how arduous the work was.  He was so progressive that at times while reading the book, I chuckled to myself, "Huh.  Wonder if he was a time traveler."  It kind of wouldn't surprise me.

*We know now that "eskimo" is a Cree slur that means "snow-eater," but Rae didn't know that.

All (actual) quotes are from Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan, who himself is usually quoting Rae's own correspondence.

The memorial commissioned by John Rae’s wife, Kate.  Rae sleeps beneath a buffalo skin blanket, wearing his mocccasin boots, as he was wont to do.

The memorial commissioned by John Rae’s wife, Kate. Rae sleeps beneath a buffalo skin blanket, wearing his mocccasin boots, as he was wont to do.

The exterior of St, Magnus’s Cathedral in Orkney.  Rae is buried in the church yard in the back.  No, this isn’t brick - it’s red sandstone, local to Orkney.

The exterior of St, Magnus’s Cathedral in Orkney. Rae is buried in the church yard in the back. No, this isn’t brick - it’s red sandstone, local to Orkney.

The interior of St. Magnus’s Cathedral.

The interior of St. Magnus’s Cathedral.