Songs Inspired by Literature

This video, created by Deborah Pardes, reveals the inspiration behind the songs...LITERATURE! Enjoy!

Sold by Patricia McCormick

Lakshmi is a 13-year-old girl living in Nepal with her mother and stepfather. When her stepfather gambles away the family’s income, Lakshmi must take a job in the city as a maid. Dozens of cities and strange tour guides later, Lakshmi realizes the maid job was a cover: she is in India and has been sold into sexual slavery, with little hope of ever returning home. Written in short vignette style chapters, this novel tells the heartbreaking story of a young girl attempting to survive with only the memory of happiness to keep her afloat.

This book continues to give me chills. It is sad, disturbing, and horrifyingly true. My heart is completely broken for these young girls who live everyday not knowing if they will ever see their families again who experience the violation of their innocence on a regular basis. Written with incredible care and seemingly impossible lyricism, this novel is a much needed dose of reality. Although undeniably harsh, the story McCormick tells is one that cannot be ignored and is an important novel for teen and adult readers alike.

Luna by Julie Ann Peters

For this book blog, I have chosen to write my response in the form of a letter to the author. I had an extremely positive reaction to this text and I wanted to frame my response in the form of a thank you to Julie Ann Peters, an author who I believe has taken an incredible leap and landed with grace. I fully intend on mailing an edited version of this letter upon reception of feedback.

Ms. Peters,

Thank you. You have captured the experience of a transsexual teen with such honesty, intelligence, and heart. Your novel, Luna was a joy to read for a plethora of reasons.

First of all, you gave your characters honest, realistic thoughts and feelings. You did not sugarcoat the incredibly challenging and heartbreaking discussion or experiences that accompany coming out as a trans individual and I think this truly made your book incredible. “She loved hearing that, that she could pass. Most girls spend hours and hours working on themselves so they’ll be striking, eye-catching, desirable. Liam would give everything to live one day as a plain, ordinary girl” (54). This passage really resonated with me. I have had so many similar conversations with my trans friends who have said those very same words and each and every time it breaks my heart. You have crafted this experience with precision and truth.

I was also very impressed with your seamless interweaving of the construction of gender and gender roles within the pages of the text. This allows your reader to place him or herself within the story, even if he or she does not have personal experience with a trans individual. The passage in which Regan is describing her babysitting charges was particularly accurate and succinct: “Pretty. A word for girls. The way handsome described boys. Liam was right; people did use boy and girl language. They expected different behaviors. When kids acted ‘out of role,’ as Liam put it, they were labeled tomboys or sissies” (50). Your mention of sexuality as a spectrum is also very enlightened; a bold yet important choice for a young adult novel.

Although your novel deals with issues of transsexuality, you take special care to not lump the T in with the G, L and B. This is often a challenge and I thought you did an excellent job of separating these identities and describing them respectfully and accurately. As you know, even people who have friends or relatives who identify as G, L, B or T still do not understand the difference between them. This particular inner monologue of Regan really stuck out for me: “He likes guys. We both do. That doesn’t make him gay. It makes him as straight as me because in side he’s a girl, Dad. Just like me. You have two daughters, okay?” (123). The separation of sexuality and gender from one another in your novel is very clear-cut in a way that I think young adults can really “get.” These distinctions and definitions are important and wonderfully effective when voiced by a likeable character in a novel.

In addition, I really admired your decision to give the voice of the novel to Regan rather than her transsexual sibling. Oftentimes coming of age stories are written from the perspective of the individual going through the identity discovery/crisis themselves. I thought having Regan tell the story was the perfect way to construct this narrative. This allows the book to reflect multiple perspectives, not just that of the trans individual. With Regan as narrator, the reader can get a sense of what it might be like to support a friend or family member going through something similar. It is a unique challenge that is not often discussed. I really appreciate the way you portrayed Regan. She was incredibly supportive, but also struggling and learning—a very honest depiction to which your readers can relate.

Overall, I thought your novel was incredibly well crafted, a very possible story with realistic issues and characters. Your willingness to write about a topic that many consider controversial is commendable. Thank you for creating a story in which even the most silenced voices can be heard. I cannot wait to share this story with my future students.

Sincerely,

Sarah Rose

La Linea by Ann Jaramillo

La Línea is the story of 15-year-old Miguel’s journey from Mexico to the United States. Miguel has been looking forward to crossing the border (la línea) for six years, eleven months and twelve days, since his parents left he and his sister, 13-year-old Elena, with their grandmother in Mexico. The siblings encounter many trials along their journey including train gangs, thieves, life-threatening exhaustion and living in constant fear of la migra. The story is incredible tribute to the power of family, resilience, and the incredible challenge (and importance) of overcoming obstacles.

La Línea is a fascinating, exciting and important text for students and teachers alike. Bringing together issues of belonging and immigration in a fast-paced adventure, Jaramillo has written a great young adult novel. Having little to no experience with immigration, this book was extremely enlightening for me. I am in awe at the lengths people are willing to go to immigrate to America and it made me aware of the things I previously took for granted. I think this is an important lesson for everyone and Jaramillo expresses it in a very well written, engaging story.

A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah

Talk about a visceral reaction. This book was incredibly terrifying. But, I’m glad I read it because there is no cure for ignorance besides education. A Long Way Gone is an amazing example of a text that promotes social change in an extremely powerful way. There is no way that a documentary on child soldiers or a newspaper article could have the power this book has. Seeing war through the innocent eyes of a child is the most authentic, honest portrayal of war there is. The most powerful aspect of the text was the changes Ishmael experiences throughout the book. It is awful to watch him be stripped of his innocence one page at a time. At the beginning, we see him responding as a civilian: “I turned away, and my eyes caught the smashed head of another man…I felt nauseated. Everything began to spin around me. One of the soldiers was looking at me, chewing something and smiling. He took a drink…‘You will get used to it, everybody does eventually,’ he said” (100). At that point in the text, I too felt sick to my stomach and I remember thinking “there is no way he will get used to this.”

However, we see the power brainwashing and propaganda can have on someone who has lost all hope. During training, the soldiers are reminded of their loss and coerced into allegiance with the government: “Visualize the enemy, the rebels who killed your parents, your family, and those who are responsible for everything that has happened” (112). Their leaders tell them, “Our job is a serious one and we have the most capable soldiers, who will do anything to defend this country” (123).
It was absolutely horrifying watching Ishmael fall into these (what I thought to be obvious) traps. It makes sense that he had to distance himself from his actions and be almost empty, similar to an abuse victim: “I just sat with my head in my hands, thoughtless” (109).

For a good part of the book, I must admit I was angry with Ishmael. I did not understand how he could transform so quickly from an innocent child into a soulless killer. However, I pushed through and knew deep down that what I really felt was remorse and sadness for his loss of innocence. He was truly a victim. This is absolutely devastating. This particular passage sticks out in my head: “I didn’t feel a thing for him, didn’t think that much about what I was doing. I just waited for the corporal’s order. The prisoner was simply another rebel who was responsible for the death of my family, as I had come to truly believe” (124). In hindsight, Ishmael is realizing that he had created excuses for himself and pointed out his reasoning for completing such terrible acts. The fact that I know he was a victim of a horrible crime does not eliminate the goose bumps from the back of my neck as a re-read this passage.
Horrifying memories reenacted aside, this book was extremely powerful for me. Having little to no knowledge of the situation in Sierra Leone, this book gave me a very personal account of the horrors that occurred there during the civil war.

And last but not least, I was so incredibly grateful for Esther, Ishmael’s nurse. She showed an incredible amount of compassion for Ishmael and was willing to step completely outside of her comfort zone in order to help him. She helped him to begin his lengthy but crucial recovery in a very powerful way. I would highly recommend this book to anyone, young or old, for it teaches an amazing lesson about the resilience of the human spirit. Happy reading!

The Circuit by Francisco Jimenez

--> “As usual, after the strawberry season was over in Santa Maria, Papa decided to move to the San Joaquin Valley in Central California to pick grapes. Like the year before, we had spent the summer months picking strawberries for Ito, the Japanese sharecropper” (96).

Francisco’s family is constantly on the move, looking for work and avoiding the immigration authorities. This memoir, The Circuit, tells the stories of that constant movement, through the childhood eyes of Francisco himself. I really enjoyed this book for many reasons.

First of all, Jimenez does an excellent job of capturing the experiences of his childhood using child-like language and understanding. This is an extremely powerful way to tell a story because it really felt as though young Francisco was speaking with all the innocence of a child. For example, in this story, Francisco and his older brother Roberto are trying to help their parents build a home: “Late one evening, thinking the caretaker had left, Roberto and I sneaked into the dump…we went back several more times until we got enough lumber to complete Mama’s floor. We also found pieces of linoleum and laid them over the wood to cover the holes and slivers. The different shapes and colors made the floor look like a quilt” (30). If Francisco had written this from an adult perspective, it is likely he mayn’t have been so optimistic about scavenging a city dump. However, written in a child’s voice, the unfinished floor becomes a patchwork quilt.

Secondly, the structure of the text works really well with the genre and subject matter. With the text broken up into smaller stories, it is as if the reader is experiencing “episodes” of the author’s life—an extremely accurate representation of how memory works. One of the stories that particularly resonated with me was the story about Francisco’s younger sister spending his penny collection on gumballs: “‘Did you put the pennies in the gum machine at the store?’ [Mama] asked. When my sister nodded again, my heart dropped to my stomach. I felt my face on fire. Everything blurred. I stormed out of the house, slammed the door behind me, sat on the front stairs, and cried” (107). This memory was presented so authentically I could imagine myself there. This was obviously a really horrible experience for Francisco because it is a memory that sticks out above others. I also liked what this story said about ownership: children take pride in their creations and collections just like adults and once that is taken away, they too feel robbed. However, we also see what happens after the pennies are taken and the house burns down—Mama comforts him and he learns a valuable lesson: “Feeling a lump in my throat, I started thinking about Carl, my pennies, the house. Then, for a long time, I thought about my librito and what Mama had said. I could see in my mind every word, every number, every rule, I had written in my note pad. I knew everything in it by heart. Mama was right. It was not all lost” (112).

And last but not least, I learned something—and any book that follows with that statement is one worth reading. I learned an incredible amount about Mexican culture and the spiritual practices that various Mexican families practice. I learned more about La Virgen and La Llorona and about the struggle between western medicine and curanderas. “‘The doctor told us my son would die because we had waited too long to take him there. He said it would take a miracle for him to live. I didn’t want to believe him,’ she continued gaining strength as she talked, ‘but he was right. It took a miracle’” (44).

Most importantly though, I learned more about the incredible strength and resilience it takes to keep a family alive and safe. The constant movement and hard work of this family really made me question by own strength. What if I moved to another country where the only work available was manual labor that was excruciatingly painful and never ending? Would I have the determination to push through it in order to save my family? I would like to think that I would, but Francisco’s story is a tribute to how hard this might actually be.

Review of: Little Brother by Cory Doctorow

Doctorow, Cory. (2008). Little brother. New York: Tom Doherty Associates, LLC. 978-0765319852.

 Marcus Yallow is a high school student senior with an incredible talent for technology. When he and his friends are caught up in the aftermath of a terrorist attack in San Francisco, they are arrested by the Department of Homeland Security and taken in for questioning. Upon release, they discover a police state in place of their city and must use their ingenuity and computer skills to undermine a power hungry government. Written in succinct, yet elegant prose and spoken from the voice of Marcus himself, this story brings to the surface important issues of personal and intellectual freedom, privacy, and power while treating the reader to an important coming-of-age story.

Cory Doctorow’s fast-paced, apropos novel draws in its reader from the very first scene. Marcus Yallow is a 17-year-old computer nerd on a mission. Skipping school one day to attend a gaming session for the brand new Harajuku Fun Madness online game, Marcus and his friends get caught in up in the frenzy of a terrorist attack and are soon captured by suspicious Department of Homeland Security (DHS) officers and taken to a far away prison. Inside, the friends are separated tortured for information. Upon release, Marcus, Jolu (Jose Luis) and Van (Vanessa) return to their families only to discover their former home has been turned into a near-police state in which everything and everyone is under full-time surveillance. Marcus takes on the task of undermining the DHS, freeing his community from the constant invasion of privacy and proving himself innocent through his brilliant computer skills and innovation.

Little Brother is a timely tale that broaches sensitive and controversial topics like freedom, privacy and terrorism while tying in actual government agencies and policies like the DHS, Guantanamo Bay, and The PATRIOT Act. Doctorow has created a frighteningly possible world in which technology rules and the government is omniscient this book will remind readers of the Orwellian world of 1984 (hence the name “little” brother and the protagonist’s avatar, w1n5t0n). With gait-recognition software, untraceable Internet (Xnet) and instant messaging programs (IMParanoid), Doctorow creates an incredibly advanced technological world that only a fantastic science fiction novel could offer. The scene he sets for the reader is wildly imaginative yet at the same time entirely plausible; the perfect setting for a novel that aims to challenge one’s perceptions to the core. Not only does Doctorow take great pains to describe his technology, but his characters as well. Marcus and his friends are likeable, realistic teenagers from incredibly broad backgrounds. They are diverse in culture, race, socio-economic status, gender and intelligence. Doctorow has done a great job of creating a space in which each character is recognized for his or her brilliance in a particular area. This underdog story gives hope and much-needed agency to teenagers from all walks of life. Although much of the book revolves around the tech-savvy teens attempts to rescue their family and friends from the increasing clutches of the government, Doctorow does not fail to include the unbearable, emotional, intense excitement of adolescence.

With incredibly well written prose, intense issues and robust characters, Doctorow has created a novel that will open minds and spark discussions for years to come.

Little Brother was awarded the 2009 White Pine Award, the 2009 Prometheus Award and the 2009 John W. Campbell Award.

Here is a link to the book website, on which you can read interviews with the author, further information on the book and DOWNLOAD THE ENTIRE BOOK FOR FREE!

Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World by Jennifer Armstrong

Armstrong’s vivid imagery and incredible story telling drew me into the story of the Endurance from the very first page. Being that I am ordinarily a huge fan of fiction, I was hesitant to pick up Shipwreck, but I was pleasantly surprised. Armstrong does an incredible job of weaving together pictures from the trek, diary entries from the crew, historical facts from the period seamlessly while telling the story in the style of a regular novel. Although she gives us the end of the story at the beginning (and those familiar with the Shackleton’s tale, already know!) she writes in such a way that the reader does not care to put it down. It is not “what happens” to the men or how the book ends—we already know that, it’s history! —but it is the journey, and as any experienced reader knows, this is the making of a good story.

Armstrong’s ability to create a documentary style story that is personal, intriguing, and emotional made it hard to believe she wasn’t there. I felt as though some of the emotions expressed in the story could only have been recorded by a member of the crew. Armstrong keeps her reader emotionally engaged in the experience by using similar language as the crew. The ship becomes a part of the crew, a character in the story: “Struggling out onto the ice, the crew witnessed the last of Endurance, a mile and a half away, as her bows went under. Then the ship dived quickly and the ice closed over her with a rush…The long-delayed death of their ship sent a wave of sadness and depression over the crew. While she lasted, Endurance had been a visible link to the world they once knew” (59).

In the past when I have read nonfiction texts, I have been disappointed by their lack of focus on the people, the players in the drama themselves. I was concerned that this text would primarily give me detailed information on the weather, the ship, the wildlife etc, but leave out the most interesting part: the adventurers! However, I was not disappointed. Armstrong’s incredible, no doubt intensely involved research provided her with stories galore to share about the men that made up Shackleton’s Endurance. I could imagine nearly every one of the men with their own unique quirks and tastes and I could envision their arguments, practical jokes, and their celebrations of “the Ritz.” I must not forget to recognize Frank Hurley’s photography for these incredible images! There is one photo in the book in which the men are dressed for a variety show and one man is in blackface. At first I was shocked that this was included in a book published today, but then my concern quickly diminished when I noticed Armstrong’s informative description of the concept with subsequent disapproval: “The crewman on the left in ‘blackface’ illustrates a form of racial slur common to the era which no one today would tolerate” (38). This carefully composed commentary alongside a riveting story of survival is what makes this book great.

I feel that an excellent nonfiction text for young adults is comprised of factual information, narrative, stimulating language and illustrations (either vivid descriptions or pictures themselves). Unfortunately, young adults often find history to be boring and it is up to educators and nonfiction authors to alter this perception. Nonfiction not only teaches the reader something, but asks questions too. What does this historical event teach us about the human experience? How will this concept affect our future? Etc. Jennifer Armstrong is one example of an author who has done this successfully. She has done her research; not only of Endurance and her men, but also of young adult writing. Her style includes engaging language that assumes a certain degree of knowledge, but also works to teach her reader new vocabulary in an interesting, non-condescending way. Her descriptions of the men, particularly Shackleton, beg the question: How do we nurture hope? What can this crew of determined, brave men teach us about the human condition?

Like Howard Zinn, Armstrong teaches history through the people who experienced it. Because of her dedication to creating such a reading experience, young adults, alongside their teachers and parents, will be drawn to this human story of struggle and perseverance.

Feed by M.T. Anderson

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M.T. Anderson’s Feed brings to the surface issues that merely linger on the periphery of our mind and jars our perceptions. Technology becomes the embodiment of life and vice versa.

At first, this idea was difficult for me to grasp. The first few pages were incredibly frustrating because of the coarse, simplistic language. However, the purpose of this style of writing became extremely clear after the first chapter: he wants us to understand the dangers and limitations of technology. He makes us think about language and the ways in which it is manipulated and destroyed by technology. This is an incredibly bold statement for someone to make in the era of ultimate technological advancement, but it is this earnest assertion that makes this book so enthralling.

It seems to me that many people would find this idea of a “feed” to be quite intriguing and potentially desirable. Who wouldn’t want unlimited access to news, movies, television shows, music, and all the information the world has available within arms reach? This is what Anderson wants you to think:

“People were really excited when they first came out with feeds. It was all…this big educational thing, da da da, your child will have the advantage, encyclopedias at their fingertips…That’s one of the great things about the feed—that you can be supersmart without ever working” (47).

But then he quickly alters your perspective by pointing out the dangers that might accompany such a technology. What would happen to individuality? Privacy? Intelligence? Emotion? Anderson’s ability to elicit such questions within a young adult novel is what makes this book worth reading. All the while you are imagining traveling to the moon and “low grav” night clubs with juice that floats in the air and watching music videos during algebra and all of the sudden: WHAM! You are hit with all of these important moral, existentialist questions. As soon as you think you could get used to having everything “closer than [your] fingertips” you begin to realize the frightening potential of it all. Upon being hacked into on the moon, Titus has his memories subpoenaed and his feed shut down and the computer-human hybrid is no longer covetable.

My favorite part about this novel was the way that Anderson wove together technology, communication and emotion. Watching the interactions between Titus and his family and friends was extremely interesting. People in the novel are never (and can never be) completely present in the moment. They always have something—likely many things—going on in their head at any given time and cannot fully give their attention to any one thing. This has as incredibly adverse effect on the relationships in the novel. For example, Titus cannot always come up with the appropriate words to describe his feelings, so the feed helps him. His father gets annoyed when he speaks out loud instead of through the feed. Is he actually involved in meaningful relationships or does he only follow what comes through is feed? Does it matter? This really made me think about the way I interact with other people. Do I try to hold meaningful conversations while I’m watching television or writing an email? Is multitasking actual effective or does it just mean everything gets done faster but not as well? I often find myself checking Facebook for updates on my friends’ lives rather than picking up the phone. What role does or should technology play in our lives? Is Feed our future?

This book was not just written—it was carefully crafted. Anderson has given us a glimpse into a futuristic world with its own language, norms, and worldviews. He invites us to think—and I say, “Yes!” Log off, sign-out, unplug and open this book. Happy reading!

The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer

This book made me cringe. And cry. And laugh. And want to scream. And that, to me, is the sign of an excellent book. Farmer’s frighteningly possible imaginary story is an incredible creation. From the setting of Opium/Dreamland to the concept of mindless “eejits,” Farmer has done an excellent job of taking science to an entirely new eye-opening, bone-chilling level. I am always hesitant to read science fiction because I feel more inclined to read books that I find particularly relevant to my own life. However, after reading The House of the Scorpion, I have a newly found appreciation for the genre. Like Orwell’s 1984, Farmer’s novel forces us to face the things we are most afraid of—and makes them very realistic. Given the current state of science in our society it is not unlikely that cloning could become a part the world as we know it. All the issues Farmer broaches—cloning, illegal drug empires, dictatorships, exaggerated versions of Communism, and brain washing—make for an incredibly dense and intense novel. To top it off, she gives us a main character with a less-than-desirable identity who is going through the pains of puberty while trying to save his own life!
From the second I opened the book to the last sentence, I found myself cheering for Matt. He is an incredibly realistic teenage boy. He is simultaneously trying to find his identity, build his self-esteem, and attempt a romantic relationship, all while undermining and admiring authority figures. He is the ultimate underdog in the story and it is for that reason that he is so likeable. Not only did Farmer draw me in with the rapidly paced plot, but her vivid descriptions of the smells and sights of Opium and the treatment of the “eejits” elicited an unpleasant visceral reaction that erupted from my gut.
“The evil smell made Matt’s eyes water, and he could barely focus on the dense yellow sludge on the bottom…he threw himself off the horse and sucked desperately at the inhaler. His lungs filled with liquid. A terror of drowning swept over him, and he tried to crawl away from the trough. His fingers dug into the rotting fish-slimed oil” (172).

I really enjoyed this book because it made me think. It made me question the role of government and the issues surrounding cloning and drug wars. Is cloning moral? What is the goal of stem-cell research? Should the government play a role in science? To what extent?
It also helped me to realize that the issues teenagers deal with—dating, relationships, identity, culture, appearance, belonging, family, work, play, and so on, are completely timeless and have and will continue to affect teenagers in any era. She also does a wonderful job of showing the reader how Matt grows throughout the story. She does this explicitly by labeling the sections “Youth”, “Middle Age”, “Old Age”, “Age 14” and “La Vida Nueva,” but she also does this implicitly by slightly altering his language and endowing him with more mature thought processes as the story unfolds. At one point towards the end of the novel, Matt has begun to realize the possibility of escape. One such inner monologue follows:
“Matt felt light-headed. This meant that every single night the Keepers turned into zombies. This meant the factory was left unguarded. The power plant that electrified the fence was left unguarded. A big sign flashing FREEDOM lit up in Matt’s mind” (309).

I also appreciated the mixture of English and Spanish phrases and the incorporation of Mexican folklore into the text. This was also an excellent way to demonstrate the timelessness of cultural beliefs, language and lore.
If Farmer’s novel can intrigue an unwilling reader, I have no doubt it will be a perspective-altering read for anyone interested enough to dive into this novel.

Airborn by Kenneth Oppel

Now this is what I call fantasy. Oppel takes us on a journey of mystical creatures, fantastic ships that ride on air, and gives us an epic battle that forces us to the edge of our seats. The best part of this book was that I was able to suspend my disbelief in order to enjoy the book and this is what makes a quality fantasy text. I loved this book. I was completely enthralled by the majestic nature of the airship and loved imagining every element Oppel described. To top off this incredible setting and description of this fantastical story, Oppel also provides his reader with a humble, brave and likeable protagonist. His love and respect for the Aurora is what ensures the reader loves it too—the way in which he personifies it makes it an admirable character of its own! The best part of Matt Cruse’s character is his respect for the rules and regulations of the ship—his adherence to the tradition and structure of the ship is what makes him so charming. When Kate invites him into her first-class cabin, he very politely declines: “Thank you, miss, but I can’t…I’m crew, not a first class passenger. I can’t just sit down in your stateroom!” (100). It is fitting, then, that he is skeptical of Kate’s conjecture of the magical creatures she believes her grandfather saw. However, like Mina in Skellig, Kate helps Matt to see and believe in things beyond reality. For many teenage boys, the undivided attention of a beautiful young girl would be appreciated and reciprocated, but Matt does not interpret it this way. He does not want anything to get in the way of his potential promotion, even if she is beautiful. The way he talks about the Aurora allows the reader to understand her as practically human—the one constant in Matt’s life, his home. He even uses female pronouns to describe the ship, and does everything in his power to protect her from any and all evil. “The idea of the ship being sawed up like a cadaver made me feel faint. My home, left in ruins, ever to fly again” (281).
The other element that I particularly enjoyed within this text was the author’s connections between the characters on an almost spiritual level. Matt is connected to Kate because he is the one who sights her grandfather; they are both connected to the pirates through the cloud cats and Kate’s grandfather’s presence on the island, etc. These types of connections make a complex text like this more enjoyable because they allow the reader to comprehend the text on an even deeper level.
Not only does Oppel provide us with a magical airship, but we meet mystical creatures and there is a battle to overtake the ship—all the excitement necessary to keep the reader engaged. Alongside all of the excitement, Oppel makes some pretty bold statements about the relationships between men and women and seems to be relatively feminist about the latter’s role in the world. He also comments on privilege versus hard work and the relationships between the classes. It is a smart, engaging and overall FUN book to read that I would recommend to young and old readers alike.

Skellig by David Almond

Even after turning the last page of the book two days ago, I am still trying to figure out what or who Skellig might be and I don’t really know how I feel about that—do I want a more involved explanation or am I satisfied with opened-ended ambiguity? Skellig was unlike any fantasy book I have ever experienced. To be honest, had it not been labeled fantasy, I think I would have enjoyed it more. I was expecting more fantastic elements than the book lent itself to, and this was disappointing. However, I enjoyed the mythical elements of the text and found myself in a state of wonder for a good majority of my reading. My favorite mythical element of the text was Michael’s ability to feel his baby sister’s heartbeat alongside his. This is such an important part of the book, because it demonstrates not only a kinship relationship between them, but a spiritual element as well. This is an aspect of the story that could not exist in a contemporary realistic fiction novel. Watching the simultaneous life-death teetering of both Skellig and the baby kept the novel in motion and tugged the reader’s heartstrings. Although I did not find myself particularly drawn to the character of Skellig—I found him to be quite whiny and less than charming—I found that I cared about him more because I felt that his existence was the only way that Michael’s sister could be saved, and that was the part of the story that I cared about.
At some points throughout the text, I felt as though the author might be attempting to reference to God or a religious figure and leave the interpretation up to his readers. This made for a very interesting interpretation. What is the author trying to say about God or angels? Are we intended to take a religious view of Skellig? How does this add or take away from the text?
Other fantasy texts I have read have been placed in entirely fictitious lands with entirely mythical and impossible creatures (i.e. Harry Potter and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe). This is what I was expecting with Skellig and because of my expectation, I was disappointed. Had I gone into the text completely open, I think I may have taken away more from it.
Stepping back from the genre label of this text, I believe it has many positive aspects. First of all, the family dynamics in the story are incredibly heartwarming. What father-son duo is as close as Michael and his father? What boy is so in-tune with his emotions that he can feel his dying baby sister’s heartbeat alongside his own? At one point, when his sister’s heart stops for a moment, he feels it: “My heart’s stopped. Feel my heart. There’s nothing there” (149). I also appreciated the characterization of Mina and her mother. Mina is just as magical as Skellig (and ten times more charming), but she will not go away when the baby’s health is restored. Mina also teaches Michael the important lesson of not letting school get in the way of one’s education. He learns and remembers more during their explorations than a year of school possibly could. (An important thing to remember as an educator!) The mother-daughter relationship of Mina and her mother mirrors Michael and his father, and their welcoming home is one of the only ways Michael can survive the stress of his sister’s illness. The relationship between Michael and Mina is also particularly interesting because Mina allows for Michael to have these spiritual, magical experiences while Michael attempts to remain grounded in reality. After Skellig lifts them off of their feet and shows them their wings, Michael goes to the window. “‘What are you doing?’ she whispered. ‘Making sure the world’s still really there.’ I said’” (95). For him, the fantasy world is an element of his reality and he wants to have both. In the end it appears as though Skellig has served to bring Michael together with both Mina and his sister, and once he is gone, he has Mina and his baby sister to remind him of the fantastical elements—or extraordinary, as Mina would say—of everyday life.