THE BOXCAR CHILDREN AND THE ZOMBIES, Ch. III — A New Home in the Woods . . . the Dark, Dark Woods

At last Jessie opened her eyes. It was morning, but the sun was covered by clouds. The color of the sky was like a giant bruise. She sat up and looked all around her. It seemed like night because it was so, so dark. Suddenly it began to thunder, and she saw that it was really going to rain.

“PSM V47 D661 Fracto nimbus advance clouds of a thunderstorm” by Unknown. Hover on photo for details.

“What shall we do? Where shall we go?” thought Jessie.

The wind was blowing more and more clouds across the sky, and the lightning was very near.

She walked a little way into the wood, looking for a place to go out of the rain.

“Where shall we go?” she thought again.

Then she saw something ahead of her in the woods. It was an old boxcar.

“What a good house that will be in the rain!” she thought.

She ran over to the boxcar. There was no engine, and the track was old and rusty. It was covered with grass and bushes because it had not been used for a long time.

“It is a boxcar,” Jessie said. “We can get into it and stay until it stops raining.”

She ran back as fast as she could to the other children. The sky was black, and the wind was blowing very hard.

“Hurry! Hurry!” cried Jessie. “I have found a good and safe place! Hurry as fast as you can!”

Henry took Benny’s hand, and they all ran through the woods after Jessie. Violet trailed the group to make sure nothing followed them.

“It’s beginning to rain!” cried Henry.

“We’ll soon be there,” Jessie shouted back. “It is not far. When we get there, you must help me open the door. It is heavy.”

The stump of a big tree stood under the door of the boxcar. There looked to be blood on it. It bothered the children none at all. They had seen more blood than that for free with their breakfast cereal. Jessie and Henry jumped up on the old stump and rolled back the heavy door of the car. Henry looked in. No one looked to be home.

“There is nothing in here,” he said. “Come, Benny. We’ll help you up.”

Violet popped in next, and, last of all, Jessie and Henry climbed in.

They were just in time. How the wind did blow! They rolled the door shut, and then it really began to rain. Oh, how it did rain! It just rained and rained.

Violet looked through the slats of the boxcar’s side. Her eyes grew wide.

“Look!” she said. “Look . . . the undead!”

Two zombies were stumbling toward the boxcar. One might have been a farmer at one time. He wore ragged overalls. The other might have been a businessman. He still wore a tie.

“What will we do? What will we do?” cried Jessie.

“We will stay quiet and stay in here and see what happens,” said Henry. They all crouched low.

At there very moment, a crack of lightning and thunder loudly burst over there heads. It made the children jump a bit and Benny shrieked until Violet popped a hand over his mouth.

The lightning made the zombies look straight up. And they continued to look straight up. They looked straight up into the pouring rain for five, then ten, then fifteen minutes. At seventeen minutes they both fell over. Even in the pounding rain, they could be heard gurgling.

“They are water logged!” Henry cried. “They can’t drown, but they are too heavy from drinking in the pouring rain! Stupid zombies!”

Before anyone could say more, Violet had pushed open the boxcar door and found a railroad spike in the mud. Thirty seconds later, the undead had been made completely dead by a 10-year-old girl. After her assault, Violet stood in the rain to wash the gore off her clothes.

The other children remained in the boxcar with their mouths open. Violet returned.

“What a good place this is!” Violet said. “This boxcar is just like a warm little house with one room.”

After awhile the rain and lightning and thunder stopped, and the wind did not blow so hard. Then Henry opened the door and looked out. Yep, the two zombies were now permanently out of commission, he thought. All the children looked out into woods. The sun was shining, but some water still fell from the trees. In front of the boxcar was a pretty little brook ran out the rocks, with a waterfall in it.

After Henry and Jessie dragged the now very dead farmer and businessman deeper into the woods to rot, the children all gathered near the boxcar.

“What a beautiful place!” said Violet. “And if they come in ones and twos at a time, I can take them!

“Henry,” cried Jessie. “Let’s live here!”

“Live here?” asked Henry. He was a pretty boy, but a little slow.

“Yes! Why not?” said Jessie. “This boxcar is a fine little house. It is dry and warm in the rain.”

“We could wash in the brook,” said Violet.

“Please, Henry,” said Jessie. “We could have the nicest little home here, and we could find some dishes, and make four beds and a table, and maybe chairs.”

“No,” said Benny. “I don’t want to live here, Jessie.”

“Oh, dear, why not, Benny?” asked Jessie.

“I’m afraid the engine will come and take us away,” answered Benny.

Henry and Jessie laughed. “Oh, no, Benny,” said Henry. “The engine will never take this car away. It is an old, old, car, and grass and bushes are growing all over the track.”

“Then doesn’t the engine use this track anymore?” asked Benny. “There must be a few train engineers left in the world.”

“They don’t use the track anymore. I don’t know about the engineers,” said Henry. He was beginning to want to live in the boxcar, too. “We’ll stay here today, anyway.”

“Then can I have my dinner here?” asked Benny.

“Yes, you shall have dinner now,” said Henry.

So Jessie took out the last loaf of bread and cut it into four pieces, but it was very dry. Benny ate the bread, but soon began to cry.

“I want some milk, too, Jessie,” he begged.

“He ought to have milk,” said Henry. “I’ll go to the next town and get some.”

But Henry did not want to start. He looked to see how much money he had. Then he stood thinking.

At last he said, “I don’t want to leave you girls alone.”

“Oh,” said Jessie, “We’ll be all right, Henry. We’ll have a surprise for you when you come back. You just wait and see!”

“Good-by, Henry,” said Benny.

So Henry walked off through the woods.

When he had gone, Jessie said, “Now, children, what do you think we are going to do? What do you think I saw over in the wood? I saw some blueberries!”

“Oh, oh!” cried Benny. “I know what blueberries are. Can we have blueberries and milk, Jessie?

“Yes,” Jessie was beginning. But she suddenly stopped, for she heard a noise. Crack, crack, crack! Something was in the woods.

THE BOXCAR CHILDREN AND THE ZOMBIES, Ch. II – Night Is Turned into Day . . . Thank Goodness

Soon the children left the town and came to a road. An, oh so quiet road. The big yellow moon was out, and, mercifully, they could see everything very well.

“We must walk fast,” said Henry. “I hope the baker and his wife don’t wake up and find us gone.”

“The Blue Moon” by Josué Cedeño – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Blue_Moon.jpeg#mediaviewer/File:The_Blue_Moon.jpeg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As they had before, they walked down the road as fast, and as quietly, as they could.

“How far can you carry Benny?” asked Violet.

“Oh, I can carry him a long way,” replied Henry. He hid his fear well. He never wanted to be confronted with the choice of dropping his little brother for self-preservation versus being consumed. It haunted him when he slept. If he slept.

But Jessie said, “I think we could go faster if we woke him up now. We could take his hands and help him along.”

Henry stopped and put Benny down.

“Come, Benny,” he said. “You must wake up and walk now. And I mean walk. Not stumble or canter or amble like those who should be in the grave.”

“Go away!” said Benny.

“Let me try,” said Violet. “Now, Benny you can play that you are a little brown bear. Not an undead bear, but a real, live bear. And you are running away to find a nice warm bed. Henry and Jessie will help you, and we’ll find a bed.”

Benny like being a little, living brown bear, and so he woke up and opened his eyes. Henry and Jessie took his hands, and they went on again.

They passed some farmhouses. Hard to tell if they had been overrun or not. They were all dark and quiet. The children did not see anyone or anything. They walked for a long time. Then the red sun came up.

“We must find a safe place to sleep,” said Jessie. “I am so tired.”

Little Benny was asleep, and Henry was carrying him again. The other children began to look for a safe place.

At last Violet said, “Look over there.” She was pointing to a big haystack in a field near what looked to be an un-assaulted farmhouse.

“Romanian hay” by Paulnasca – Transferred from the English Wikipedia. Original file is/was here. (Original upload log available below.). Licensed under CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Romanian_hay.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Romanian_hay.jpg

“A fine place, Violet,” said Henry. “See what a big haystack it is!”

They ran across the field toward the farmhouse. They jumped over a brook, and then they came to the haystack. Henry was still carrying Benny.

Jessie began to make a nest in the haystack for Benny, and when they put him into it, he went to sleep again at once. The other children also made nests.

“Good night!” said Henry, laughing.

“It is ‘Good morning,’ I should think,” replied Jessie. “We sleep in the day, and we walk all night. Kind of like the undead! When it is night again, we’ll wake up and walk some more. I worry about what’s out there in the night, but oh, well!”

The children were so tired that they went right to sleep. They slept all day, and it was night again when they woke up.

Benny said at once, “Oh, Jessie, I’m hungry. I want something to eat.”

“Good old Benny,” said Henry. “We’ll have supper.”

Jessie took out a loaf of bread and cut it into four pieces. It was soon gone.

“I want some water,” begged Benny.

“Not now,” said Henry. “You may have some water when it gets dark. There is a pump near the farmhouse. But if we have the haystack now, someone – or some thing – will see us. Do you want to be gnawed on?”

When it was dark, the children came out of the haystack and went quietly toward the farmhouse, which was dark and still. Nearby was a pump, and Henry pumped water as quietly as he could. He did not even wake up the hens and chickens.

“I want a cup,” said Benny.

“No, Benny,” whispered Henry. “You will have to put your mouth right in the water. You can play you are a horse.”

This pleased Benny. Henry pumped and pumped, and at last Benny had all the water he wanted. The water was cold and sweet, and all the children drank.

Then they ran across the field toward the road.

“If we hear anyone, living or dead,” said Jessie, “we must hide behind the bushes.”

Just as she said this, the children heard a horse and cart coming up the road. It was driven by a zombie couple. The horse also looked dazed. He had a bleeding bite mark on his flank.

“Keep very still, Benny!” whispered Henry. “Don’t say a word. And we need to stay downwind.”

The children got behind the bushes as fast as they could, for they did not have much time to hide. It was good that the undead move slow, even when riding in a cart. The horse – neigh/moaning softly – came nearer and nearer and began to walk up the hill toward them. The children could hear a man talking. This was a new zombie. It was the baker! Or rather, the late baker!

“Children . . . gone. Hungry,” murmured the baker. “No far. Children no far . . . Seek them . . . find them . . . seek . . .”

“MMMmMmmm . . .,” answered his now zombified wife. “No like children . . . like brains. Seek . . . seek.”

The children watched until the horse and cart had gone down he road. Then they came out from behind the bushes and looked at each other.

“My, I am glad those people did not see us!” said Henry. “You were a good boy, Benny, to keep still.”

Violet thought silently that she could have saved them from becoming the undead if only she had slit the throats of the baker and his wife when she had the chance. Too late now, she thought. Now, she thought, I’ll need a shotgun.

“I wonder how far it is to the next town,” said Jessie. “I think that’s Silver City.”

The children were very happy as they walked along the road. They knew the zombie baker and his zombie wife were not going to find them. They walked until two o’clock in the morning, and then they came to some signs by the sides of the road.

The moon came out from behind the clouds, and Henry could read the signs.

“One says that Greenfield is this way,” he said. “The other signs points to Silver City. We don’t want to go to Greenfield. I think it’s been hit by the plague harder than most. Let’s take this other road to Silver City.”

They walked for a long time, but they did not see anyone.

“Not many people are left out here, I guess,” said Henry. “And once they’re gone, well, there’s nothing left to feed the zombies. But that is all the better.”

“Listen!” said Benny suddenly. “ I hear something.”

Violet dropped to the ground, felt it for vibrations and hissed “Listen!”

The children stood still and listened, and they could hear water running.

“I want a drink of water, Henry!” said Benny.

“Well, let’s go on,” said Henry, “and see where the water is. I’d like a drink, too.”

Soon the children saw a drinking fountain by the side of the road.

“Oh, what a fine fountain this is!” said Henry, running toward it. “See the place for people to drink up high, and a place in the middle for horses, and one for dogs down below.”

All the children drank some water. Jessie mentioned that this would not be a place where zombies come to. Zombies don’t need water.

“They don’t even need milk or multivitamins, either,” she added. “They’d be easy to get along with if they just didn’t eat people.”

“Now I want to go to bed,” said Benny.

Jessie laughed. “You can go to bed very soon.”

Henry was looking down a little side road, which had grass growing in the middle of it. It looked undisturbed.

“Come!” he cried. “This road goes into the wood. We can sleep in the woods as long as we keep on the lookout.”

“This is a good place,” said Jessie, as they walked along. “It is far away from anyone living or dead. You can tell that by the grass in the road.”

“And it will be near the drinking fountain,” said Violet, who was thinking strategically.

“That’s right!” cried Henry. “You think of everything, Violet.”

“It is almost morning,” remarked Jessie. “And how hot it is!”

“I’m glad it is hot,” said Henry, “for we must sleep on the ground. Let’s find some pine needles for beds.”

The children went into the woods and soon made four beds of pine needles.

“I hope it’s not going to rain,” said Jessie, as she lay down.

Then she looked up at the sky.

“It looks like rain, for the moon has gone behind the clouds.”

She shut her eyes and did not open them again for a long time. She was so, so tired of it all. So freaking tired of it all.

More clouds rolled across the sky, and the wind began to blow. There was lightning, also, and thunder, but the children did not hear it. They were all fast asleep.

The Boxcar Children and the Zombies, Ch. I—The Four Hungry Children . . . so hungry

One warm night four children stood in front of a bakery. No one knew them. No one, no thing, was yet pursuing them. No one knew where they had come from.

The baker’s wife saw them first, as they stood looking in at the window of her store. No one yet knew what was ahead. And all was quiet and unafraid. At least for now.

The little boy was looking at the cakes, the big boy was looking at the loaves of bread, and the two girls were looking at the cookies.

“Main Street #2” by Kevin Dooley is licensed under CC BY 2.0

Now the baker’s wife did not like the children. But at least she was among the living. She did not like the boys at all. So she came to the front of the bakery and listened, looking very cross.

“The cake is good, Jessie,” the little boy said. He was about five years old.

“Yes, Benny,” said the big girl, who was more than a little world weary. “But bread is better for you. It helps keep you fast. Isn’t that true, Henry?”

“Oh, yes,” said Henry. “Bread makes you strong and fast. We must have some bread, and cake is not good for Benny and Violet.”

“I like bread best, anyway,” said Violet. She was about ten years old, and she had pretty brown hair and brown eyes. She was stealthy.

“That is just like you, Violet,” said Henry, smiling at her. The smile was also tired, a little forced. So much was just a matter of moments before whatever would come next. Days seemed like weeks to Henry, but what was a living person to do . . . even at this age? “Let’s go into the bakery. Maybe they will let us stay here for the night.”

The baker’s wife looked at them as they came in. The children looked good and alive, even in the twilight.

“I want three loaves of bread, please,” said Jessie.

She smiled politely at the woman, but the woman did not smile. She looked at Henry as he put his hand in his pocket for the money. He had no pistol. She looked cross, but she sold him the bread. She had no firearm, either.

Jessie was looking around, too, and she saw a long red bench under each window of the bakery. The benches had flat red pillows on them.

“Will you let us stay here for the night?” Jessie asked. “We are not among the undead, and we could sleep on those benches, and tomorrow we would help you wash the dishes and do things for you.”

Now the woman liked this. She did not like to wash dishes almost as much as she disliked things that went bump in the night. She would like to have a big boy to help her with her work. And she could push one of them into the yard if necessary.

“Where are you father and mother?” she asked. She already knew the answer.

“They are dead . . . or undead,” said Henry.

“We have grandfather in Greenfield, but we don’t like him,” said Benny.

Jessie put her hand over the little boy’s mouth before he could say more.

“Oh, Benny, keep still!” she said.

“Why don’t you like your grandfather?” asked the woman.

“He is our father’s father, and he didn’t like out mother. And this was before the long plague,” said Henry. “So we don’t think he would like us. He doesn’t even know we are among the living. He may be among the undead, anyway. We are afraid, in any case that he would be mean to us.”

“Did you ever see him?” asked the woman. “He may still be among those that still breathe, the real.”

“No,” answered Henry. “And being alive doesn’t mean love. Or even liking someone.”

“You’re silly, child. Why do you think he would be mean to you?” asked the woman.

“Well, he never came to see us,” said Henry. “He doesn’t like us at all. And now . . . well, now . . . “

“Where did you live before you came here?” asked the woman.

But not one of the four children would tell her. And there was no sound in the distance. No shuffling, no moaning. Nothing.

“We’ll get along all right,” Jessie said. “We want to stay here for only one night.”

“You may stay here tonight,” said the woman at last. “And tomorrow we’ll see what we can do.”

Henry thanked her politely. He did not trust her. He trusted so very, very few.

“We are all pretty tired and hungry,” he said. “But hungry in the appropriate and living human way.”

The children sat down on the floor. Henry cut one of the loaves of bread into four pieces with his knife, and the children began to eat.

“Delicious!” said Henry.

“breakfast” by Ross Pollack is licensed under CC BY ShareAlike 2.0

“Well, I never!” said the woman.

She went into the next room and shut the door. The children heard her set one, two, three heavy locks.

“I’m glad she is gone,” remarked Benny, eating. “She doesn’t like us.”

“Sh, Benny!” said Jessie. “She is good to let us sleep here.”

After supper the children lay down on their red benches, and Violet and Benny soon went to sleep.

But Jessie and Henry, who always slept with an ear and eye open, could hear the woman talking to the baker.

She said, “I’ll keep the three older children. They can help me. But the little boy, that little piece of veal, he must go. He is too little I cannot take care of him.”

The baker answered, “Very well. Tomorrow I’ll take the little boy out into the woods. It won’t take long. We’ll keep the others for awhile, but we must make them tell us who their grandfather is.”

Jessie and Henry waited until the baker and his wife had gone to bed. Then the sat up in the dark.

“Oh, Henry!” whispered Jessie. “Let’s run away from here!”

“Yes, indeed,” said Henry. “We’ll never let Benny become a snack for the creatures in the woods. Never, never! We must be far away by morning, or these living people will find us. But we must not leave any of our things here.”

Jessie sat still, thinking. She contemplated the treachery of people. She would mark this, remember this. It would grow in her gut over time. Such rage in someone so young.

“Our clothes and a cake of soap and towels are in the big laundry bag,” she said. “Violet has her little workbag. And we have two loaves of bread left. Have you your knife and the money?”

“Yes,” said Henry. “I have almost four dollars.”

“You must carry Benny,” said Jessie. “He will cry if we wake him up. But I’ll wake Violet.”

“Sh, Violet! Come! We are going to run away again. If we don’t run away, the baker will take Benny out to . . . to . . .to . . . it’s too horrible to think about.”

The little girl woke at once, and she understood. She sat up and rolled off the bench. Like a ninja, she made no sound.

“What shall I do?” She whispered softly. “Is there someone, something that needs to be made silent?”

“Just carry this,” said Jessie. She gave her the workbag.

Jessie put the two loaves of bread into the laundry bad, and then she looked around the room.

“All right,” she said to Henry. “Take Benny now.”

Henry took Benny in his arms and carried him to the door of the bakery. Jessie took the laundry bag and opened the door very softly. She hoped nothing in the night could smell them. All the children went out quietly. They did not say a word. Jessie shut the door, and then they all listened. Everything was very quiet. So the four children went down the street.

Books that impacted me as a kid, as a teen . . . and look me up if you ever head out to Omaha

I’m writing this after finishing up an online final and my brain is . . . tired.  So, of course, I jump online and blog.  I know this is more classwork, but it’s also enjoyment for me.

To finish up the semester, I want to do a kind of personal laundry list of what books were important to me as a kid and as a teen.  If I think about it very long, I know the list will just keep growing.  With that in mind, I’m trying to not second-guess and not do too much editing.  The course has underscored that books can and should make a difference in the lives of kids.  So onto my three lists.

Kid lit (titles and authors)

Frog and Toad — To this day, Frog and Toad are hardwired in my head.  I like cookies, I make lists, I try and stay brave.

Frog and Toad

Richard Scary — My dad hated Richard Scary books.  As a kid I demanded that he read every word on a page.  And Richard Scary labelled everything.

Good Luck Arizona Man —

Good Luck Arizona Man

This is a little obscure.  It’s a western.  It was funny and suspenseful and smart . . . and published way back in 1972.  I trace a direct line to the literature I like today to this book.  (And I’m not sure if it’s in print.)

The Wind and the Willows — My copy had great illustrations and it was oversized.  It looked and felt like literature.

Middle school

The Hobbit — Never could plow through the Lord of the Rings, but I read The Hobbit.  And I spent a good chunk of junior high playing Dungeons and Dragons.  Trivia — I quit playing D&D largely because it just seemed too nerdy going into high school.  What girl would ever go out with a D&D kid who owns and rolls polyhedral dice?

The Great Brain series — This would be a late elementary school book series (there were seven books.)  The setting was 1890s rural Utah, and the original book was turned into a bad movie starring the youngest Osmond brother.  Very much the case of the book being better than the movie . . . by a lot.

Henry Sugar by Roald Dahl

Roald Dahl books — I loved all of Roald Dahl, but especially Danny, Champion of the World and a short story collection, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and six More.  Danny and Henry are just good storytelling.

YA Books/Things I read as a teen

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy — I saw the BBC TV show on public TV as a kid, then I read the book, then my local NPR affiliate ran the radio series.  They all were funny and clever.  And Douglas Adams should have lived longer.  Must use a quote from the book now — “In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.” Douglas Adams

Kurt

Slaughterhouse-Five — Kurt Vonnegut’s best-known book, and I’ve written about it on this blog.  He’s a literary hero of mine, and I hear him speak once at UNL.

Autobiography of Malcolm X (I think) — The reason I wrote “I think” is because I’ve read X multiple times and I have a couple of books of the speeches.  I’m almost dead-sure I read the autobiography the first time in early high school, and it’s a stunning work.  Why have I re-read it over the years?  Some people read Horatio Alger for inspiration or those Chicken Soup or Seven Habits stuff.  Me?  I read Malcolm when I’m aggravated and job searching.

* * *

Thanks for reading.  And if you’re ever in Omaha, classmates, I’d buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk books.

Love does not b…

Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.
— James A. Baldwin

I would think Tiny Cooper from Will Grayson, Will Grayson would know and appreciate the quote.

So I was thinking about a book by Roald Dahl

Danny the Champion of the World is a book I read and enjoyed as a kid.  Thinking back, it’s probably a middle school or young YA type of book.  I’m thinking about re-reading it to see if it holds up.  The author, Roald Dahl, was just a great writer.  His kid books (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, for example) are brilliant.  His short stories for adults were darn good, too.

I was completely surprised to find an entire audio book of Danny on YouTube.  I thought I’d share.

Not so much a reading plan but a list of reading wants

I’ve taken in a good chunk of the stack of assigned books for this course.  Based on that reading, and reading about YA literature, I’ve started to develop a list of other books that I’m interested in.  What follows are titles I want to pick up because I think the author is clever or it just piques my interest.  There’s no other sort of logic at work here.  With that in mind, here is what I have so far:

• The Port Chicago Fifty by Steve Sheinkin (the author Bomb, which is brilliant)
• Because I went to school at LIU-Brooklyn for a semester, Brooklyn Bridge by Karen Hesse (author of Out of the Dust, brilliant)
• Catching Fire, book two in the Hunger Games series (because it’s the literary equivalent of a popcorn movie)
• Danny Champion of the World by Roald Dahl (this is an old book that I read as a kid, and I wonder if it holds up)
• Sex & Violence by Carrie Mesrobian (her MPR interview sparked an interest)
• The Impossible Knife of Memory by Laurie Halse Anderson (the book tackles Post Traumatic Stress, and I’m left wondering if it can be as smart and funny and poignant as Speak)

If anyone has suggestions to add, please send them my way.  Thanks on a Sunday night as the temperature drops in Omaha.  The east coast of the state realizes again it’s winter.

I grew up across the street from a library . . .

I can’t remember a time in my life before being able to read.  I’m not trying to be brag, but I really can’t.  Both of my parents were English teachers.  As a small boy, I was read to on an almost daily basis, and, during my early elementary school years, my hometown built a new public library across the street from our house.  I plugged in the library’s location and my  childhood address into Mapquest — .1 mile distance, 15 seconds by car, two minutes walking.  I walked those two minutes back and forth a lot.

The biggest TV show influence on me back in the 1970s was Sesame Street, which made sounding out words a game.  My brother and I had subscriptions, in sequence, to Sesame Street, Electric Company, and 3-2-1 Contact magazines for years.  Of course, we also had stacks of picture books and books for young readers.  I still think the Frog and Toad books are brilliant.  Some video evidence —

As far as young adult literature, I remember plowing through several book series titles like Encyclopedia Brown, The Great Brain, and The Three Investigators.  There was a healthy mix of individual novels along the way, too, and I can remember a few – Good Luck Arizona Man, Daisy Summerfield’s Style, The Samurai and the Long Nosed Devils.  There were a couple of Judy Blume books along the way. Still, the biggest early literary influence for me was encountering something I was told I couldn’t read in junior high.

At some point in seventh or eighth grade, I came across a list of most-banned books.  It may have been something put out by the American Library Association, but I can’t be sure.  What I do remember is figuring that those books must be good stuff and looking up Slaughterhouse Five in the school library’s card catalog.  My school owned a copy, but the card listed it as “permission only.”  I went to the librarian and asked what “permission only” meant and was told my parents needed to sign a form if I wanted to read it.  The idea that a book was being kept from me—was fenced off from me–made me more than angry.

My dad’s basement bookshelves may not have been perfectly alphabetized, but I found his paperback copy of Kurt Vonnegut’s first major novel and read it in less than a week.   It was great—funny and sad, crude and smart, and perfectly understandable.  After that book, I read Vonnegut’s novels one after the next.  I also found out the public library would let me check anything out that I wanted to.

Vonnegut, for me, was the first “real” or “adult” author I read in my early teens.  Looking back, I think I was lucky because a “serious” author I stumbled across clicked for me and I felt empowered.  Other authors I would love later – Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and especially Willa Cather didn’t work for me when I was in my teens.  I was either bored or couldn’t appreciate them.  I still believe there can be a right time and age for authors and books.  At 16, I didn’t understand The Great Gatsby.  At 22, I considered it a perfect novel.  I still do.

Until signing up for this course, I hadn’t thought about the importance of young adult fiction and nonfiction in an organized way.  What I’ve discovered so far is that quality young adult novels can certainly be impactful.  I also believe that providing quality literature to kids will pay huge educational dividends.

I was lucky.  I practically tripped over books growing up.  Now, my daughters have ever-growing book collections too.  I think all kids should have that kind of experience, and I have a hard time imagining a home where books aren’t present and aren’t celebrated.

A very good After School Special of a novel

Angela Johnson’s The First Part Last is a slip of a book.  It’s literally a pocket paperback (it fit into the back pocket of my jeans like a wallet.)  The focus of the story brought me back to my childhood, watching message-heavy “After School Specials.”  And, no, this is not a bad thing.

The novel is told before and after the birth of Feather, the daughter of 16-year-old Bobby and Nia.  Chapters are actually titled “now” and “then” to underscore how life has literally shifted because of an unplanned pregnancy.

Especially towards the end of the book, I thought the message and plot became a little heavy and convenient.  The biggest examples — the town Bobby wants to leave New York City for is the simpler, smaller town of Heaven; the relationship and issues between Bobby and Nia and her family come to a crashing stop due to a sudden catastrophic health complication.

Even with that, Angela Johnson knows how to keep a book moving, has a gift for believable and interesting language, and makes the reader care about characters in a limited number of pages.  The characters don’t feel like stereotypes, either.  Bobby and his friends do silly teen things, but are far from stupid; Bobby’s mom is a tougher cookie than his father; the world Bobby and Nia inhabit is a mix of high and low culture.  It’s smart writing.

In doing just a touch of research, I found out Johnson is incredibly prolific.  This short novel doesn’t feel like she just knocked it out, though.  The First Part Last reads well, and I take that as a sign the Johnson spent time with it.  It seems like she was careful with every word.

My final thoughts — sure, this book underscores that teenage pregnancy is life-changing and should be taken seriously (not exactly a new message) but this novel is certainly worth reading in an afternoon.  Maybe even after school.

Reading The First Part Last, and it won’t take long

This is the kind of young adult book I remember when I was a kid. This book, Angela Johnson’s The First Part Last, is less than 150 pages, soft bound, kind of big type, and printed on pulp paper. None of this is a bad thing. The smell of the book even reminds me of my childhood.

I grew up across the street from my town’s library and, even as a kid, I could blow through a book like this in a day. So far, Johnson’s novel (novella?) isn’t a bad read. More soon.