A boy named Nikolai wants more than anything to find the answer to three important questions that he feels will make him into a good person: When is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do? His three friends each have their own answers, but Nikolai doesn’t discover the deeper meaning behind the questions until a series of events lead him to reflect on his experiences. Jon Muth based this tale on a short story by Leo Tolstoy and weaves his love of Russian literature throughout this book for children in the names of the major characters (Nikolai, his friend Sonya the heron, Gogol the monkey, and Pushkin the borzoi dog). The illustrations, also by Muth, are graceful watercolors. This is a wonderful book to share with a thoughtful older child. It is also used in the “Giving” series of New Books, New Readers. (Diane Magras)
Rules is the story of a middle-school girl whose younger brother has autism. Over the course of a summer, new friends and neighbors enter her life and force her to rethink how she deals with her brother. Catherine is the kind of character I loved as a girl: brave, but not heroic; quirky, but still completely recognizable and real. This would be a good read for any family affected by autism, but it’s just as much about friendship in general; in my experience, girls in middle school can use all the positive input they can get on that topic. An interesting connection to the Council is that the little brother frequently speaks in lines he remembers from Arnold Lobel’s Frog & Toad, a book used in several of our programs. Keep an eye on our Humanities on Demand podcast for another connection, still to come: we’re in touch with Cynthia Lord about recording her reading excerpts from the book and/or discussing it with young readers. (Brita Zitin)
I have a sort of morbid fascination with dystopian fiction, and have just finished reading Pastoralia by George Saunders, a collection of wonderfully-crafted satirical short stories and a novella probing at the current state of American life. These are bizarre and bitingly funny tales, often lurching firmly into the realm of the absurd, yet they do provide a sort of fun-house mirror look at some serious themes around family, commerce, and work culture in 21st century North America. This was a 2000 New York Times notable book.
Pastoralia brings to mind another terrific, even more sinister, view of life in the future: Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake. This 2003 novel, short-listed for the Booker Prize, is the account of a man who at first seems to be the sole survivor of a bio-technological disaster that has caused the destruction of the human race. While the overall tone of this work is unabashedly grim, its plot moves along at a snappy pace, leavened throughout with Atwood’s acerbic humor. (Erik Jorgensen)
This memoir begins with Walls’s powerful remembrance of getting into a limousine in Manhattan to go to an important event when, to her horror, she sees her mother, dirty and disheveled, rummaging through garbage cans along the street. Walls quickly puts her head down and hurries into the car before her mother sees her, as guilty as she is relieved to have escaped her mother’s notice.
Walls fills out the story behind this incident in the rest of the book. Walls left home in her late teens in order to save herself from the terrible dysfunction of her family, guilty at leaving her siblings but working to get them, too, out of the household as soon as they were old enough. Her love of her parents, and the deep joy and pain that they gave their children, can be felt throughout the memoir. Her parents were intelligent, creative, non-conformist, loving and unorthodox. Rose Mary devotes her time to painting and writing, feeling burdened by the responsibilities of raising four children and often leaving them to take care of themselves. She enjoys the continual upheavals in their life because, she admits, she is “an excitement addict” bored by routine. Rex is a perfect match for her, as he is brilliant, restless and charismatic. He is beloved by his daughter and gives his children a rich education in how to love life and live fearlessly, use their imagination, and explore physics and other subjects from an early age. This man who, one Christmas, took the children out into the desert night and gave each of them their own star (something that Walls still treasures), also drank, moved his family suddenly in the middle of the night as he lost job after job, felt he must be constantly vigilant against a society wanting conformity and mediocrity and periodically disappeared for days with the family’s meager grocery money, leaving them hungry. As the story progresses, the family’s life becomes increasingly unstable as both parents deteriorate. The children slip through any safety net that society might provide, and the family becomes even more impoverished, often going hungry and living in almost unimaginable—but all too real—living conditions.
Many have written about their troubled childhoods, but this memoir stands out because it is so beautifully written in both its form and in its emotional complexity. It would be understandable if Walls’ memoir were an angry indictment of her parents or left us pitying a girl whose first memory is of catching on fire when cooking herself dinner at the age of three. She does not settle for either. Instead, Walls has written a loving, deeply felt and unflinching account that refuses to settle for easy answers, judgments or emotions that would dilute the depth of the complexity—the love and the pain—of her relationship with her parents. The book left me with a lot of things to ponder, but most of all it left me in awe of the strength, and the fragility, inside Walls and in all of us. This text is used in Literature & Medicine: Humanities at the Heart of Health CareŽ. (Elizabeth Sinclair)
List contributors: Brita Zitin is one of Born to Read’s program officers. Erik Jorgensen is the executive director of the MHC. Elizabeth Sinclair in the Coordinator, Literature & Medicine: Humanities at the Heart of Health CareŽ & Program Director, Let’s Talk About It. Diane Magras is the MHC’s development director and editor of this newsletter.