My Brain Needs Cleansed

I've been reading and taking notes from a book containing some horrible examples of Progressive Era racism and hatred. I feel icky when I take notes from sources like this. It wears me down, which only makes the process go slower. I don't feel this way when I am using this work in my writing, because then I have the time/space to argue against it or show how it represents the thoughts of group "x." Taking notes is different. I think that it leaves me feeling unclean because I am not reacting to the material at this stage - I'm just typing out what I'll need for later so that I can get the book back to the library as soon as possible.


I feel ill. I must find time to read something light and fluffy this evening.

An Almost Car Accident

Yes, I was almost in an accident. Why me?

So, here's the story. I was driving down the city street when I came upon a construction zone. I proceeded cautiously. The flagman (and yes, it was a man) waved me forward (traffic was one-lane for a segment of the block). I proceeded slowly, as one should. Unfortunately, the idiot in the white van in the oncoming lane of traffic chose to not heed the flagman's sign that said "STOP." He kept coming. Fast. At this point I was in that lane and couldn't move over without colliding into the construction equipment. The flagman was vigorously waving the stop sign at the van. The van driver kept coming at both me and the flagman. Fortunately, I was able to get through the one-lane section in time to swerve into my original lane, thus missing the on-coming van. I don't know if it ever slowed down. I sure hope someone was able to get that license plate number.

I still can't believe that the driver didn't heed the flagman's commands. This was so dangerous, and not just for me. If I had been hit, I would have been protected by my car and its many airbags. If the van driver had hit the flagman, the flagman would have been seriously injured if not killed. This may have happened in town but that van driver was not driving an appropriate speed, especially near a construction zone. Some people should not be allowed to drive.

Naturally, this happened while I was on my way to a routine check-up. My heart rate was definitely higher than normal - not nearly what it should be for someone "at rest." Blood pressure was up, too. Fortunately my brief description of my pre-appointment experience let the doctor see that I wasn't suddenly falling apart at the seams.

Finding The Canon (With Apologies to Mike)

Over at Ad Nauseum, Mike Shapiro recently posted about about "Finding the countercanon." I've been mulling over this issue in between bouts of grading over the weekend (which didn't stop me from commenting, of course). I'll say more after the following excepts from Mike's blog. Mike writes:

"Perhaps because of my privileged upbringing (private school) and context (exurban midwest), or perhaps because of a discomfort with confronting difference, the English literature I have come to know is white and male. Looking back on my literary career, I am beginning to worry that I have for too long bought into the separate-but-equal mentality of the canon.
Where other literatures have come into my education they feel decontextualized, tokenized, colonized: the sheer talent of a Toni Morrison, for example, would invalidate the canon’s premise were she not acknowledged, so there she is, with Ralph Ellison and Maxine Hong Kingston. But I don’t understand Morrison, Ellison, or Kingston in anything of the depth with which I understand Henry James, Thomas Pynchon, or even Zadie Smith....

Back to my problem: as a product of my time and place I know the canon as it is espoused by my university, and I know the canon as it is espoused by my authors. (Woolf and Rushdie are graciously forthright about the books they think people should be reading.) But I don’t know, and I don’t know how to know, the canons that boom outside the walls of my little University, the list of 100 Essential Books They Won’t Teach You In College."

I'm all mixed up when it comes to issues of canonicity. In the past, I've discussed some of my issues with school. I haven't always connected with the books I read in school. Now, as Mike noted in his comment to my comment, I read a lot. It isn't a big secret that I have an obsessive relationship with reading and my books. But, this didn't happen because I was a good student by most school standards (which, as many know, I frequently question).

Now, this doesn't mean that I don't know what's in The Canon - I do. I know the composition of The Great Books curriculum (ok, mainly because my grandma had a self-study set). The thing is, I didn't relate to the texts we read in school that fit in the canon. I suspect that they felt as decontextualized to me as the non-canonical texts felt to Mike. When I read the The Red Badge of Courage at age 15 for my English class, I completely checked out. But, I was obsessed with a book I didn't read for school - Dostoevsky's The Idiot - at that same age. I read The Communist Manifesto on my own when I was 14. We certainly weren't reading that in school in northeastern Indiana during the 1980's. I read the The Prince not long after that. I thought it was the perfect guide to high school. Of course, this was all during my horror genre phase. Go figure. At the same time, I wasn't considered a good student by many of my teachers. I didn't connect with learning in ways that were "school appropriate" or with the materials we were taught with. And yes, I did get in trouble for reading in class.

I developed what some might term an "attitude problem." I decided that School really had next to nothing to say about whether or not I was smart and that the "education" it put forth really wasn't all that useful. After all, this is the same institution that wouldn't let me take a one semester course in auto mechanics because it wasn't intended to be for pre-college students. Whatever.

Sidenote - I still remember what happened in my high school Dramatic Literature course when we were allowed to choose an unassigned play for a report. I chose A Raisin in the Sun. My teacher's reaction was, and I quote, "why would you want to read that?" I just looked at her dumbfounded. This was before multicultural literature requirements in the classroom. By the time my brother took the class with the same teacher 6 years later, that play was part of the curriculum (multicultural state reqs in place).

So, I did read a lot that was considered canonical throughout high school and college, but I didn't always feel like I was reading about me or someone I could relate to. And, in college I was a German major, which gives me a much different frame of reference than most of my colleagues in the English Department. While this came in handy when studying for my prelims in critical theory (it's really amazing how many German authors/texts are referred to by various theorists), it doesn't really make me feel all that smart when everyone around me is referring to all of these books, authors, poets, etc., that I haven't read and sometimes haven't even heard of. When I TA'd for intro literature courses here, I was introduced to several authors that all of the other TAs knew (naturally). My knowledge of the works of Bettina von Armin, Kafka, Schnitzler(subject of the undergrad thesis), Heine, Fanny Lewald, and others don't count for much in my current department. Now, when I took a grad lit course in the German department, I felt more at home in the sense that my frames of reference (in terms of literature) made sense to others.

Maybe my literary reference points don't matter as much since I am in comp-rhet. And, my background in German fairy tales certainly does help me with some of my work with children's literature. But have I followed The Canon? Probably not.

There are advantages (maybe) to my scatter shot approach. I wouldn't be as interdisciplinary as I am without my reading background. My disciplinary allegiances have been questioned by those with a hand in my fate. People can't figure me out or they worry that I'm either not comp/rhet enough or not LIS enough. I don't have a whole lot of control over this if I want to maintain the integrity of my academic identity.

So, what brought all of this on (besides Mike's post)? Well, in the mail today I received my copy of PMLA and once again I feel disengaged from English. PMLA represents my own version of Brecht's Verfremdungsaffekt. Whenever it arrives, whatever illusions I had that I belong in English evaporate. The distance overwhelms me. There is rarely anything for me as a comp/rhet person in it, and just as little for someone who works with children's and YA lit. Most of the articles bore me. Much like episches theater, PMLA works to distance me from the pleasures of English. I am smacked upside the head with the establishment trying to make itself cool. While I know that PMLA doesn't represent all of English, or all of Modern Languages for that matter, it still has this effect on me every time I see it in my mailbox. The oppressor awaits, knowing that I can't help but look through it, waiting to crush my soul.

Really, a lot of what I find in this journal is the same sort of academic conformity trying to look cutting edge that makes me feel rebellious and contributed to my tuning out much of my pre-college schooling. This is probably a bad attitude. It could lead to trouble.

I think that much of it has to do with the fact that PMLA doesn't represent my portions of English. If it did, I'd probably feel much different about it. If I gave up my MLA membership, I wouldn't have to see it in my mailbox, but I still have hope that there is a place for me and my work in that world. This isn't true for everyone in comp/rhet. I've heard many comp/rhet folks discuss why they aren't and never will be members of MLA. I don't feel that way yet. I hope I don't - part of me wants to belong there for reasons I can't quite pinpoint. I feel like I should be there, even if the type of work I do isn't always the most recognized work in the association. I guess I'm trying to find myself in the canon of disciplinary work. I'll have to wait and see what the future holds.

The Printer's Devil

Today's selection is The Printer's Devil by Paul Bajoria. Set in Victorian London, this historical thriller features murder, intrigue, colonial interests, orphans, gender roles, and many many characters. I'll admit, the ending didn't satisfy. It felt anti-climatic after all of the twists and turns the plot took. At first, I wondered if this was because a second book/sequel was to come out, but I had the same issue with that book - The God of Mischief - as well.

The thing is, the endings weren't bad, but compared to the rest of each book they fell short. I was completely entranced by the suspense and action up until the end. I stayed up way later than I should have reading each book. I suspect there is a let-down because there is so much going on in each story. I think that as an adult, I want an equally complex conclusion. I'm not sure if kids (and here I'm thinking upper-elementary/middle school) would want the same thing. I must recruit some young readers to get outside opinions.

But, I would still recommend both books despite my quibbles with the endings.

I Need A Grading Break

So I did more quizzes.

You Are a Comma

You are open minded and extremely optimistic. You enjoy almost all facets of life. You can find the good in almost anything. You keep yourself busy with tons of friends, activities, and interests. You find it hard to turn down an opportunity, even if you are pressed for time. Your friends find you fascinating, charming, and easy to talk to. (But with so many competing interests, you friends do feel like you hardly have time for them.) You excel in: Inspiring people You get along best with: The Question Mark

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

You Are Strawberry Ice Cream

A bit shy and sensitive, you are sweet to the core. You often find yourself on the outside looking in. Insightful and pensive, you really understand how the world works. You are most compatible with chocolate chip ice cream.

What Flavor Ice Cream Are You?

You Are a Caramel Crunch Donut

You're a complex creature, and you're guilty of complicating things for fun. You've been known to sit around pondering the meaning of life... Or at times, pondering the meaning of your doughnut. To frost or not to frost? To fill or not to fill? These are your eternal questions.

What Donut Are You?

You Are Disturbingly Profound

You're contemplative, thoughtful, and very intense. Taking time to figure out the meaning of life is a priority for you. Because you're so introspective, you often react in ways that surprise people. No one can really understand how you are on the inside... and that disturbs them.

Are You Disturbingly Profound or Profoundly Disturbing?

Quiz Time

I saw this one at Russian Violet's place:

You Are a Chow Puppy

Don't fence me in! You're an independent spirit that won't be tied down.

What Breed of Puppy Are You?

I think this is hilarious. I've always wanted a chow chow, and apparently I could be one.

The Fairies in Tradition and Literature

My first weekend selection is Katharine Briggs' The Fairies in Tradition and Literature. While fairies and folklore aren't necessarily children's literature, they sometimes show up in literature for children or are alluded to. Briggs' described this book as a continuation of her book The Anatomy of Puck in which she examined fairies in relation to Shakespeare's work, as well as other writers of that time. It is a wonderful reference book and is a pleasure to read.

The text is divided into three units: The Fairy Peoples, Traffic With the Fairies, and Some Literary Fairies. It also contains a nice appendix with lists and definitions of fairy types and specific fairies. Last winter, this list was used by my niece (age 11). I had the book out and she asked about it. I gave her a brief summary and named a few of the fairy types mentioned in the book. She recognized one and said "Oh, that's from Harry Potter." This led to an interesting discussion in which she was first disappointed that the name (Dobbie, if you're interested) wasn't entirely Rowling's creation, but then she became interested in how intertextuality works (and no, I didn't use that term with an 11 year old). She started reading the lists at the back of Briggs' book to look for other names she might recognize from Harry Potter and other books. She found Padfoot, Grindylow, and some others I can't remember.

Anyone working with children's literature - particularly fantasy and nursery rhymes - will benefit from reading books like this one. One thing I would note - when shopping at online booksites for books such as this one, the customer reviews aren't always helpful. Some people buy these books not realizing that they are academic-type books or expecting happy little fairies or Tinkerbell-like fairies and are then disappointed. This comes through in their reviews.

Revolting Rhymes

Oh yes! Roald Dahl's Revolting Rhymes is today's selection!

I can't do Dahl justice, so I will provide quotations from selected rhymes.

From "Cinderella:"

Poor Cindy's heart was torn to shreds.
My Prince! She thought. He chops off heads!
How could I marry anyone
Who does that sort of thing for fun?
The Prince cried, "Who's this dirty slut?
Off with her nut! Off with her nut!"

From "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs:"

Oh where, oh where had Snow White gone?
She'd found it easy, being pretty
To hitch a ride into the city.

From "Goldilocks and the Three Bears:"

This famous wicked little tale
Should never have been put on sale.
It is a mystery to me
Why loving parents cannot see
That this is actually a book
About a brazen little crook.

From "The Three Little Pigs:"

The little pig began to pray
But Wolfie blew his house away.
He shouted, "Bacon, Pork, and Ham!
Oh what a lucky wolf I am!"
And though he ate the pig quite fast,
He carefully kept the tail till last.

The Penderwicks

The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy by Jeanne Birdsall

Yesterday I revisited a classic. Today, I look at a nostalgia book- one that reminds me of books from the past. The latest Penderwicks book came out last month and I look forward to reading it, but in the meantime I highly recommend this 2005 National Book Award Winner.

The four Penderwick sisters are spending the summer at a cottage in the country where they engage in adventures and mischief. I've heard the book described as Blyton-esque and reminiscent of some of Nesbit's and Enright's works, and I'd say that's a fair assessment. It is fun, frothy, adventuresome - everything you want in a family-on-summer holiday book. Really, the title pretty much says it all!

The Book of Dragons

For today's selection I decided to choose one of the classics of children's literature.

Edith Nesbit's The Book of Dragons is a collection of eight short stories featuring very different dragons. The first story is "The Book of Beasts," in which a young king opens pages of a book of the same name, releasing the beast featured on each page. When he releases the dragon, his kingdom is endangered, leaving him to find a way to save his people and his position.

Other stories include an ice dragon, an attempt to waken St. George, a pack of giant hippopotami (and others) destroyed by a dragon, and more.

Each story is a nice length for a read aloud or for a quick read by oneself.

Wringer

Jerry Spinelli's Wringer is a tough book.

Every year in Waymar, at the conclusion of the Family Fest at a local park, is the annual pigeon shoot in which the men of the town use pigeons - 5 thousand of them - as target practice and the ten year old boys serve as wringers, wringing the neck of injured (but not yet dead) birds. Boys in the town look forward to their tenth birthday, the day they are eligible to become wringers. That is, boys other than our protagonist, Palmer LaRue. Palmer's dreaded the day since his first experience at the pigeon kill as a four year old.

Unfortunately for Palmer, the gang of boys he runs around with are led by the bully Beans, a virulent pigeon-hater who can't wait to be a wringer. When Palmer invites a pigeon (Nipper) into his room one winter night, he acquires both a pet and a secret. When the gang discovers Palmer has the pigeon, he becomes an outcast living in fear for himself and for Nipper.

This is a story of callous brutality and the power and perils of peer pressure. While we didn't have a pigeon killing event where I'm from, I feel like I know these kids. The pressure to belong to the "right" group, despite the personal consequences, is powerful. Palmer's early desire to align himself with a group of bullies is, in some ways, easy to understand. His membership protects him (until he rebels) from harassment. He gains the esteem of other students in his school. But, the secrecy weighs on him. And, in the end, his choice to follow his own conscience places him in an uncertain position at the story's end, a realistic conclusion to a difficult situation in a difficult book.

The Haunting

It's Children's Book Week!

Today's selection: The Haunting by Margaret Mahy.

On his way home from school eight year-old Barney discovers he is being haunted, and not much later he learns his great-uncle Barnaby (whom he was named after) has died. But he soon learns that Barnaby isn't the one haunting him, rather, the haunting is related to a secret about relationships, inheritances, and family.

Have I mentioned how fond I am of Margaret Mahy? The Haunting won her the Carnegie Medal in 1982. She's a wonderful writer - I love her sentences. Here are a few:

"When, suddenly, on an ordinary Wednesday, it seemed to Barney that the world tilted and ran downhill in all directions, he knew he was about to be haunted again."

"There were some elderly family friends, all unknown to the Palmers, and sitting in the biggest chair of all, Great-Grandmother Scholar, even more scribbled on and screwed up by time than Barney had remembered her. She was absolutely neat, so neat that she seemed like a doll brought out of a glass case in a museum and sat up especially for the occasion. But her eyes were sharp and unfriendly, and her wrinkles were untidy - even wild as if time had played a careless game of tic-tac-toe all over her."

"Tabitha found she could easily imagine Barney being whisked off the path, could see a horribly think but hairy arm coming out of the bushes and pulling him into the shadowy tunnels of the hedge. And then of course he would never be seen again. Tabitha shuddered, astonished to find how precious he was, how much she wanted to look after him. Up until then he had simply been a brother, part of the family furniture, around the house whether she wanted him or not."