Today I finished reading R.J. Palacio's WONDER (Knopf, 2012). There was a lot to love about it; there were a few things I didn't love. I'll start with the good.
August Pullman is about to start fifth grade. He's also about to attend school for the first time in his life, having been home-schooled by his mother and snugly cocooned within his loving family until now. Born with such severe facial deformities that he was not expected to survive, Auggie has beaten those odds, and undergone numerous corrective surgeries, but, in his words: "I won't describe what I look like. Whatever you're thinking, it's probably worse." Welcome to middle school.
For the first 80 pages, the reader is inside Auggie's head, finding out what it feels like to have kids in your class stare at you out of the corners of their eyes and cringe when they touch your hand by accident. Then the point of view shifts. The reader learns what it's like to be Olivia, Auggie's older sister, who learned by necessity a long time ago that no matter what she does, she will never come first in her family. Olivia understands and shoulders her premature responsibilities with such grace that it breaks your heart. We learn what it's like to be Justin, Olivia's first boyfriend, and Miranda, her former best friend. And we learn what it's like to be Summer and Jack, fifth-graders who have the courage to befriend Auggie despite the threat of social ostracism. We watch as all of them grow and change through the course of a school year, nudged along at times by helpful adults, but often having to find their own paths through the woods.
The need for kindness and empathy is a very important lesson, and this book teaches it in myriad ways, by expertly showing instead of telling. Toward the end, unfortunately, I must admit that I felt I was being walloped over the head with the Message, and that the principal's speeches were the author's least successful way of conveying it. I also found myself wishing that Auggie were just slightly less saintly - more 10-year-old boy, less Gandhi. Because his observations are conveyed so keenly, I think it would be easier for middle-grade readers to identify with being an ordinary kid who happened to have been born with a deformity - which, of course, could have been any one of them - but more difficult to identify with a nobility of spirit that almost never lapses into universal human failings. I think that if I were ten or eleven, I would want to read about Auggie because no matter how different he was on the outside, he was like me on the inside. But to be like 10-year-old me, he would have to be noticeably imperfect. In other words: a little less of a wonder.
Despite these quibbles, I found the book to be a wonderful read, and I believe that you will too. Every middle-schooler would benefit from meeting Auggie Pullman.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New Years Day
I spent today quietly, rotating between two very pleasurable activities - workin' on the book, and reading R.J. Palacio's WONDER - and one very unpleasurable activity - obsessively tracking the ongoing Theater of the Absurd production of "Congress and the Fiscal Cliff." Really - How can some of our duly elected officials stand to look at themselves in a mirror?
But let's talk about fiction so we don't have to start throwing things. Let's talk about fiction so we can be calm and rational and civilized. Let me report that, at 75 pages, my book is now beginning to feel like a book, or at least a first draft, rather than an amorphous blob. Let me tell you how excited I am to have finally reached the stage at which I can put it on a leash and take it out for a walk.
And let me say that WONDER is pretty wonderful. I'm still only about a third of the way into it, except that for years now, I haven't been able to read books in any normal way. I flip forward, backward, completely randomly. I'd flip sideways if I could. A paragraph here, five pages there, whatever strikes my fancy. And then I go back and read the whole thing in linear fashion, and that way I can understand how it's constructed. That's the way I learn. So I already know everything that's going to happen to Auggie in fifth grade, but I'm still reading. See the difference? Anyway. More later after I've read it from beginning to end, but it's been a satisfying companion to me today.
And I guess that's my New Year message: be grateful for the little things. A good book to read. The time to write, and some well-turned sentences to show for it. A warm house. Two excellent dogs. A peaceful day (if you don't count the Congress part, and I won't).
Wishing you all those things, and other appropriate blessings, for the coming year.
But let's talk about fiction so we don't have to start throwing things. Let's talk about fiction so we can be calm and rational and civilized. Let me report that, at 75 pages, my book is now beginning to feel like a book, or at least a first draft, rather than an amorphous blob. Let me tell you how excited I am to have finally reached the stage at which I can put it on a leash and take it out for a walk.
And let me say that WONDER is pretty wonderful. I'm still only about a third of the way into it, except that for years now, I haven't been able to read books in any normal way. I flip forward, backward, completely randomly. I'd flip sideways if I could. A paragraph here, five pages there, whatever strikes my fancy. And then I go back and read the whole thing in linear fashion, and that way I can understand how it's constructed. That's the way I learn. So I already know everything that's going to happen to Auggie in fifth grade, but I'm still reading. See the difference? Anyway. More later after I've read it from beginning to end, but it's been a satisfying companion to me today.
And I guess that's my New Year message: be grateful for the little things. A good book to read. The time to write, and some well-turned sentences to show for it. A warm house. Two excellent dogs. A peaceful day (if you don't count the Congress part, and I won't).
Wishing you all those things, and other appropriate blessings, for the coming year.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
FAREWELL
Today I lost my beloved curmudgeon of a father-in-law, Harold Newton Barr. He was as honest and decent a man as I have ever been fortunate enough to know.
He didn't make it to his 92nd birthday next March, but he did make it to his 64th wedding anniversary on Dec. 19th. My son was driving back home from D.C. that day so he stopped to have lunch with his grandparents in Baltimore and made them very happy.
Hal grew up in Brooklyn with his parents and older brother. He served in World War II, then attended Alfred University and studied ceramics engineering. Back home after graduating, he met Barbara Weiner at a skating rink, and they married in 1948 and moved to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where Barbara taught school and Hal worked on the secret government research project. They lived briefly in Chicago, where Alan was born; then in New Jersey, where Rick was born; then, by 1957 or so, settled in Baltimore, where Fred was born and where they stayed to this day. They worked, raised their boys, and developed a network of close friends with whom they took vacations and celebrated holidays. When the boys were in their late teens, Hal and Barbara began leaving them home and traveling internationally, and they didn't stop visiting other countries until they were in their 80's.
Hal and Barbara traveled with my family a lot too, within the U.S. We shared trips to Florida, Maine, West Virginia, Lake Tahoe, and Oregon, as well as many other places. Hal was a wonderful photographer, and preserved a lot of our family adventures on film. I think many of my kids' best childhood memories stem from those trips. Hal loved gadgets of all kinds, and in his later years, when he couldn't get out much, he got great pleasure from the ipad his kids and grandkids gave him.
Hal collapsed suddenly this morning at home and stopped breathing. No lengthy suffering, no dreaded move to a nursing home, no loss of mental acuity. He's been a huge part of my life for the past 20 years, and now so much has changed. My husband, the most devoted son I have ever seen, has lost his dad. My kids have lost their grandpa - and, make no mistake, he was Nate's grandpa, not his step-grandpa, right from Day One.
And I've lost one of my best champions. As cranky and temperamental as Hal could be, he never left any doubt as to how much he loved all of us. I hope we all did the same for him.
He didn't make it to his 92nd birthday next March, but he did make it to his 64th wedding anniversary on Dec. 19th. My son was driving back home from D.C. that day so he stopped to have lunch with his grandparents in Baltimore and made them very happy.
Hal grew up in Brooklyn with his parents and older brother. He served in World War II, then attended Alfred University and studied ceramics engineering. Back home after graduating, he met Barbara Weiner at a skating rink, and they married in 1948 and moved to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where Barbara taught school and Hal worked on the secret government research project. They lived briefly in Chicago, where Alan was born; then in New Jersey, where Rick was born; then, by 1957 or so, settled in Baltimore, where Fred was born and where they stayed to this day. They worked, raised their boys, and developed a network of close friends with whom they took vacations and celebrated holidays. When the boys were in their late teens, Hal and Barbara began leaving them home and traveling internationally, and they didn't stop visiting other countries until they were in their 80's.
Hal and Barbara traveled with my family a lot too, within the U.S. We shared trips to Florida, Maine, West Virginia, Lake Tahoe, and Oregon, as well as many other places. Hal was a wonderful photographer, and preserved a lot of our family adventures on film. I think many of my kids' best childhood memories stem from those trips. Hal loved gadgets of all kinds, and in his later years, when he couldn't get out much, he got great pleasure from the ipad his kids and grandkids gave him.
Hal collapsed suddenly this morning at home and stopped breathing. No lengthy suffering, no dreaded move to a nursing home, no loss of mental acuity. He's been a huge part of my life for the past 20 years, and now so much has changed. My husband, the most devoted son I have ever seen, has lost his dad. My kids have lost their grandpa - and, make no mistake, he was Nate's grandpa, not his step-grandpa, right from Day One.
And I've lost one of my best champions. As cranky and temperamental as Hal could be, he never left any doubt as to how much he loved all of us. I hope we all did the same for him.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Something to Celebrate
It's December 19th, my one-year blogiversary! Time to stop and reflect on what this blog has meant to me over the past year. More than anything, it has given me a home for my thoughts - a home that others can visit whenever it suits them to. It has led me to new friends whom I have never met in person but still feel that I know so well. It has taught me that all writers start from the same place. Some are younger when they start, some older; some achieve success early, some never achieve it at all; but we're all born with a little person inside, someone different from our everyday selves, who very soon starts screaming to be let out, to be heard. This blog has been my place to let my inner little-person out to yell and bluster and jump up and down and say some things that I believe needed to be said. Many times over the past year, this blog has made it possible for me to keep on with my writing without sinking into months-long periods of despair over the pointlessness of my efforts. And, too, this blog has brought me out of myself, given me the courage to reach out and contact authors I admire and ask them for interviews. Not once have I gotten no for an answer. I have gotten encouragement and honest, thoughtful responses to my questions.
This blog has given me a place to grow and change. In other words: a place to live. Thank you, readers, official followers, unofficial followers, interviewees, comment-leavers, fellow writers, and everyone else who has helped me get to this point, thrilled to be starting my second year here. You are all awesomely awesome, and I am awesomely grateful. Please stick with me! I have a feeling that the best is yet to come! Happy winter solstice holidays, and happy New Year. May it bring peace and love to where they're most needed.
(Can you open this picture? If you can't: in honor of Nelson Mandela and whatever time he may still have with us, these are the South African doves of peace, and the logo reads: "Peace Is In Our Hands.")
This blog has given me a place to grow and change. In other words: a place to live. Thank you, readers, official followers, unofficial followers, interviewees, comment-leavers, fellow writers, and everyone else who has helped me get to this point, thrilled to be starting my second year here. You are all awesomely awesome, and I am awesomely grateful. Please stick with me! I have a feeling that the best is yet to come! Happy winter solstice holidays, and happy New Year. May it bring peace and love to where they're most needed.
(Can you open this picture? If you can't: in honor of Nelson Mandela and whatever time he may still have with us, these are the South African doves of peace, and the logo reads: "Peace Is In Our Hands.")
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
GOD, GUTS & GUNS - revisited
I was jusr reminded today of a post of mine from this past July, and I thought it was worth reposting: theartofnotgettingpublished.blogspot.com/2012/07/god-guts-and-guns.html. Thanks for listening.
Monday, December 10, 2012
WHERE DOES THE TIME GO?
My mom turned 90 on December 3d. I threw a party for her yesterday. Here's what she and I looked like:
Go ahead, say it. We look old. She perhaps slightly more so than me, but neither of us exactly in our prime. And, in fact, a close-up photo of the back of my head would have revealed that I was wearing my newly-acquired hearing aids. How's that for decrepitude? On Saturday I will turn 57. And yet, when I type that number, it feels like I'm lying. Whenever I read in a newspaper article that the subject is 57, my immediate reaction is: "Wow. Old." I have to stop and remind myself: Yo. That's you, honey.
Here's the thing: there are so many of me inside my head. The little girl who believed that witches resided inside the toilet and emerged when someone flushed, so in order to defend myself I would wash my hands, open the bathroom door, stand poised like a sprinter on the starter's block, then flush at hyperspeed and run like hell. The 8-year-old who dreamt at night of marrying the 19-year-old Paul McCartney. The tween who attended the Zionist summer camp where we sang the Israeli national anthem at line-up each morning. The high-schooler who tied my skate laces together over my shoulder to take the subway to the rink at Rockefeller Center. The incredibly sheltered college student who developed a crush on my classmate, Domingo Nieves, eight years older than me and back from serving as a medic in Vietnam.
We're all in here, all the people I've been. The young lawyer who spent her Saturday nights sitting in the back of comedy clubs, chatting with the other wives and girlfriends of the comics. The me who used to act in community theater. The me who worked as a stringer for my local paper. The me who was a single mother of a two-year-old son, spending weekends touring all the local firehouses so he could sit in the cabs of the trucks and wear the hats that swallowed up his head and the yellow coats that came down to his ankles. The me who represented a client on appeal who had been sentenced to the death penalty.
All of those me's and their moments on the stage are gone. But still... I feel so sure that there are many more me's still to come, so much to look forward to, so many bitter and sweet experiences from which to learn. So I don't feel old at all, really. And maybe, if I'm very fortunate, I never will.
Go ahead, say it. We look old. She perhaps slightly more so than me, but neither of us exactly in our prime. And, in fact, a close-up photo of the back of my head would have revealed that I was wearing my newly-acquired hearing aids. How's that for decrepitude? On Saturday I will turn 57. And yet, when I type that number, it feels like I'm lying. Whenever I read in a newspaper article that the subject is 57, my immediate reaction is: "Wow. Old." I have to stop and remind myself: Yo. That's you, honey.
Here's the thing: there are so many of me inside my head. The little girl who believed that witches resided inside the toilet and emerged when someone flushed, so in order to defend myself I would wash my hands, open the bathroom door, stand poised like a sprinter on the starter's block, then flush at hyperspeed and run like hell. The 8-year-old who dreamt at night of marrying the 19-year-old Paul McCartney. The tween who attended the Zionist summer camp where we sang the Israeli national anthem at line-up each morning. The high-schooler who tied my skate laces together over my shoulder to take the subway to the rink at Rockefeller Center. The incredibly sheltered college student who developed a crush on my classmate, Domingo Nieves, eight years older than me and back from serving as a medic in Vietnam.
We're all in here, all the people I've been. The young lawyer who spent her Saturday nights sitting in the back of comedy clubs, chatting with the other wives and girlfriends of the comics. The me who used to act in community theater. The me who worked as a stringer for my local paper. The me who was a single mother of a two-year-old son, spending weekends touring all the local firehouses so he could sit in the cabs of the trucks and wear the hats that swallowed up his head and the yellow coats that came down to his ankles. The me who represented a client on appeal who had been sentenced to the death penalty.
All of those me's and their moments on the stage are gone. But still... I feel so sure that there are many more me's still to come, so much to look forward to, so many bitter and sweet experiences from which to learn. So I don't feel old at all, really. And maybe, if I'm very fortunate, I never will.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
KAMI KINARD RIDES AGAIN!!
Great news from Kami Kinard, fabulous blogger, nerdy chick extraordinaire, and author of humorous middle-grade novel THE BOY PROJECT. Of course, we all know Kami from my posts about her, Parts I (the interview) and II (my musings), as a result of which we all ran out and bought, read, and loved TBP, right? Of course right! Well, Kami wants us all to know that she has just signed a contract for her second book, a companion to TBP. Read all about it here! And then let Kami know on her blog that you can't wait to read about the further adventures of Kara McAllister, her best friend Tabbi, and those confusing, exasperating creatures known as BOYS! Say it with me now: NERDY CHICKS RULE!!
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