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.

A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly

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After reading The Book Thief, I was taken aback by the power of books and language. To my extreme gratification, A Northern Light was equally invested in the incredible potential of the written and spoken word. Donnelly’s book is beautifully written and important. Her playfulness with language, her ability to switch from past to present smoothly, in addition to her feminist twinge made this book an awesome, enlightening read.

To be honest, I have never been one for historical fiction mainly because I cannot stand the ways in which people (particularly women and people of color) have been historically marginalized. This is not to say that this has been resolved, but it is just more evident and shocking in early twentieth century texts. This book was a great experience for me personally because it showed me the injustices I feared, but fought against them. The fact that Mattie is the first in her family to get her high school diploma, her best friend is not only male, but African-American, and that she has a job outside of the home to support her family are all elements of a story from 1906 that I did not expect.

I loved seeing 16-year-old Mattie go through all of the typical teenage trials and tribulations, but in an entirely different setting. She argues with her siblings, fights with her father, hates her name, falls in love, experiences the tug of sexual desire and doesn’t know what to do with it (who does?), and plays made up games and a secret language with her best friend. Like any teenage female, Mattie compares herself to other girls: “Belinda is a pretty name. It feels like meringue in your mouth or a curl of sugar on snow. Not like Matt. Matt is the sound of knots in a dog’s coat or something you wipe your feet on” (51). She becomes giddy with emotion when Royal kisses her, but fears she will lose her independence or intelligence: “Can a girl be unmanned? I wondered. By a boy? Can she be unbrained? (78). One element of the story that I felt was incredibly different from most teenagers experiences in modern day, was the compulsion Mattie felt to support her family’s dreams, rather than her own. This pull between family and independence was incredibly powerful and really made me think about what I would do in the same situation. For Mattie, is a matter of love versus language, love being marriage and family—her expected role, and language being following her dreams of going to Barnard to study and write literature. “I wondered if all those things were the best things to have or if it was better to have words and stories…Nobody I knew had both” (96-97).

The way the book is structured with alternating chapters focusing on Mattie’s story and Grace’s, we can see the way in which the latter affects the former. While she is falling in love with books and boys, she is also reading the story of a woman who gives her entire self to her man, only to be left completely alone and eventually killed. This affects the way Mattie views relationships and allows her to see that things are not always as they seem: sometimes people will use and abuse you for their own benefit, without caring at all. Understanding this allows her the courage to break off the engagement to Royal, whom she has realized is using her to gain land on her father’s property.

Both of these plot lines allow Mattie to continually develop her love of reading and her passion for the story: “There were lives in those books, and deaths. Families and friends and lovers and enemies. Joy and despair, jealousy, envy, madness, and rage…I could almost hear the characters inside, murmuring and jostling, impatient for me to open the cover and let them out” (200). The words in the letters and the books are what allow her to escape the life she doesn’t want and free her from a destiny that is inopportune. One again, the power of texts prevails, what English teacher can argue with that? Happy reading!

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

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“Where’s the fight? He wondered. Where’s the will to hold on? Of course, at thirteen, he was a little excessive in his harshness. He had not looked something like me in the face. Not yet” (189).

This quote sticks in my mind because it is so symbolic of the text as a whole. This book is constantly asking: What is worth surviving for? Everyone is the story chooses survival over resignation for one reason, each individually unique: for Liesel it is books and her papa, for Rudy it is a kiss from Liesel, for Hans it is his family and accordion, for Ilsa Hermann—the mayor’s wife—it is the opportunity to provide for Liesel what no one else can, etc. Written from the voice of “Death” personified, the stories embedded in the novel give the reader an opportunity to see how each character interprets life and what he or she deems indispensible. This is an incredibly powerful structure for a book and I have no doubt that other readers were as affected as I. The style of the narrative took away the complexity and boiled life down to its most simplistic elements. What is needed to live a life worth living? At some points in the novel, survival become literal—with bread and coffee grounds, but in others survival is grounded in the human soul. Liesel does not differentiate between books and food—they are equally vital: “‘You hungry?’ Rudy asked. Liesel replied. ‘Starving.’ For a book” (287). This book allows the reader to see the true power of various art forms like music, writing, drawing, and reading. These are not just extracurriculars! They are essential to life.

Liesel’s adoration and thievery of books is such an interesting and effective way to show the Holocaust through a child’s eyes. She not only sees injustice in the physical mistreatment of Jews, but she is able to see the ways that language has been taken away and limited for them. She is able to understand the power dynamic in a whole new way based on her understanding of language. It was so refreshing to meet a young person who truly perceived the power of words. She sees the complexity of language and the ways it can be used to both free the mind AND manipulate it. This power through the manipulation of words culminated beautifully when Max took Mein Kampf and physically covered its pages in white paint in order to write over them—the ultimate subversion. Not only was Max taking away the power of Hitler’s words by deleting them, he was literally replacing them with his own language. This was so incredible: it gives me chills to recall.

After Max has been walked to Dachau and her papa has gone to war, Liesel takes her anger out on words: “Soon there was nothing but scraps of words littered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn’t be any of this. Without words, the Fuhrer has nothing” (521). What an insight for a young child!

There was so much to this book, it is challenging to discuss all of the elements I found to be interesting, important or perception-altering, but I think the role of the narrator in the text was extremely pivotal to my understanding of the novel. I can honestly say I’ve never read (or cared to read) in which “death” plays a primary role but I was pleasantly surprised, by the outcome of this “character” in the text. “Death” has been personified in movies, books and on television as an evil, malicious being, with strong dislike for happiness or life-giving energy. This book completely flipped this idea on its head, and made me think about dying in an entirely different way. Death does not relish in taking life, death wants to understand people better, death wants to be fought and not freely accepted. With so much more to it than I can express adequately, this book is a must read for everyone, take the time to step into Liesel’s world and be forever changed. Happy reading!

The People Could Fly: American Black Folktales by Virginia Hamilton

This book was a wonderful departure from the previous texts we have read. It was whimsical and mythical. I enjoyed being able to step into a notably fictitious world and allow myself to be mesmerized by the stories. I can’t honestly say I have had very much experience with folktales other than those recreated by Walt Disney and I was pleasantly surprised. As a person who favors contemporary realistic fiction above all else, I found myself more intrigued and interested in the stories than I thought I would be!

The combination of the stories, illustrations and genealogy of the tales made this book a very interesting collection. I really enjoyed the way Hamilton focused on the language of the characters and allowed the dialect to come through to accurately represent the culture from which the story originated, for example: “Don’t know some animal tells. Hear um but forget um” (31). Hamilton later comments that this story is “A version of a dialect plantation tale from the Georgia Sea Isles” (34). Her research and succinct explanations make this book even more enjoyable because the reader can be aware of the historical context: she frames the text for us! I enjoyed imagining these stories being told orally or read aloud while simultaneously showing the illustrations. There is so much that reading aloud can express that one cannot merely get by reading text on a page.

Throughout my reading I thinking that I was becoming privy to a secret language, a code of characters and plots created to inspire hope in slaves through the passing of tales of hope through generations. Hamilton has opened my eyes to a new understanding and appreciation of the story. The creativity and adaptation utilized by Hamilton is incredible. While most of the characters fit an archetype popular in many folktales throughout the world—Bruh Rabbit, Tar Baby and a variety of Johns—Hamilton manages to give them a flair that is all her own and makes the story that much more memorable. For example, in “Doc Rabbit, Bruh Fox and Tar Baby,” Hamilton says “the Tar Baby wasn’t gone speak to a stranger”: a comment most likely added to appeal to a contemporary audience who learned the concept of “stranger danger” as children (15).

I find this set of stories particularly appealing because they can be read at the surface level or beyond. The stories have so much aesthetic appeal (particularly with the added grayscale illustrations!) on their own, it is tempting to read them purely for their beauty and readability, but we all know this is an impossible task for literature students. I also enjoyed the “trickery” tales. However I don’t particularly agree with the phrase “trickery” because that implies that the “bruh” character is doing something wrong when he is doing something to protect himself. He is in fact outsmarting his opponent, rather than tricking him. In the story, “Manuel Had a Riddle” for example, Manuel is trying to outsmart the king in order to earn a fortune to take care of his widowed mother. I found myself cheering for Manuel as he “tricked” the king. I will always appreciate a story in which intelligence defeats power and the latter respects the former’s wishes. “He got his fortune and he took it to his mother. He and his mother then had a lot of everything and ever after they lived happily” (75). In the case of “John and the Devil’s Daughter,” we see both John and the Devil’s daughter working together to outsmart the Devil so that they can live happily ever after. In this case not only does intelligence conquer power but love triumphs over evil.

The story “Little Eight John,” was one of the only tales in the book that dealt with trickery within the family unit (with the exception of “John and the Devil’s Daughter” in which the Devil’s occupation supersedes his family role). In most of the stories, the families are working together to defeat an outside antagonist—symbolic of the dynamic between slave families and plantation owners. In this story, I didn’t much care for the protagonist, Little John who enjoyed at his (somewhat) indirect causal of his family’s misery. However, I still found myself shocked at the severity of his punishment and haunted by the story. But I will remember it, and that is the beauty of these tales. These stories are meant to be remembered, passed on, adopted and adapted for the storyteller and audience alike. Happy reading!