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.

Chapter 8 of Book Love made sense to me

I admire Penny Kittle.  I think the passion she has for getting young people to enjoy reading is admirable.  With that said, reading Book Love has often left me saying to myself “Well, that idea would be great, but it can’t work in the real world . . .” or “Nice goal, too bad school administration won’t buy it . . .” or “That reading plan might work if a teacher never slept . . . ”  Especially in the early chapters, while I liked how she underscored the importance of reading, I found myself seeing potential roadblocks and problems to her methods.

Chapter 8 was different.  I could see how class-wide, year-to-year topic notebooks could be compelling and interesting.  Quarterly reading reflections reminded me of “turning point” essays I did for an experiential honors course as an undergrad, which worked extremely well.  The idea I found most intriguing of all was the creation of an “order map” where book titles and authors could be linked by topic, time, relationship, etc.  Putting that information on the back wall of classroom to show how ideas and books connect to each other is just good teaching . . . no high technology (or even batteries) required.

The chapter also made me realize that the biggest idea that runs through Kittle’s method is simply asking and asking and asking students about what they like, how they are reacting to what they are reading, and what ideas and questions they have.  It’s easy to forget or minimize, but an adult taking a young person seriously and talking with them about their thoughts is important.  The teachers that made the biggest impact on me did so by getting me to express myself, and those conversations were meaningful.

* * *

And happy Easter

Thought on Ch. 7 of Book Love, but on a Saturday . . . or re-reading is good for you

Chapter 7 of Book Love surprised me. What Kittle is describing in the section “Analyzing the Craft of Writing” is something I think of as “close reading.” And close reading a writer’s work is something I only truly learned in graduate school.

When I was writing a long paper in high school or as an undergrad, I’d come up with an idea and try and pull evidence together as best I could. Since I’ve always been a good reader, I could usually remember and find significant plot points and descriptions and cobble something together. Throw in that I could string sentences together fairly well, and I’d end up with acceptable (if unremarkable) papers.

I agree with Kittle that if you want to truly understand a written work, and get at the how and why of it’s creation, then spending the time to re-read a text is important. While I never have storyboarded a novel, I have gone through a book with a highlighter and sticky note method looking to collect recurring themes, ideas, word choices, contradiction, etc. Yes, the book tells an obvious story, but an author creates a text by making choices that (should) all aim for a goal or idea.

I also like that Kittle likes and encourages students to imitate the style of writers. Doing this as an exercise is a cool idea. Every writer, whether they know it or not, uses bits and pieces of the works of others the like. Trying out a style is kind of like putting on someone else’s clothes and walking around a bit. Things fit and don’t fit, and there’s learning in that.

I posted this video in an earlier blog, but I think it fits better here.  This American Life’s Ira Glass says in this video that creative people (writers, artists, etc.) need to create and create and create.  Getting that experience, learning your craft, pays off with expertise and originality.   I’d add on to this for purposes of our class — people (young adults included)  need to read and write in tandem.  Each informs the other.

 

 

Nirvana — The Man who Sold The World

I miss Kurt Cobain, too. Twenty years is a long time and it’s not.

Cutting Hatchet some slack . . . thinking about series books

So I read Hatchet, and while the book doesn’t make my list of personal favorites, I did end up liking it more and more as it rolled along.  After the midpoint of the novel, I found myself invested in how Brian, the thirteen-year-old hero of the story, would survive and be rescued.  Author Gary Paulsen, in my opinion, put together a simple, compelling narrative that I can see being appealing to a young teen audience.  Throw in a 1987 Newberry Honor, and Hatchet is a bit of a YA classic.

While I was gathering up information about the book, I was stunned to find out that Hatchet was the first in a five-book series.  That chunk of knowledge stopped me for a bit.  Four additional books all related to poor Brian suffering even more?  Isn’t 40+ days foraging in the Canadian woods enough?  Is this a case of an author trying to capitalize on success?

Going back to the same literary well again and again has its benefits.  An author doesn’t have to invent new characters and their worlds, there is a built-in audience for new books, exploring different characters is possible.  Series books that come to mind – The Hunger Games, Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Harry Potter (of course), even the Boxcar Children.  I’ve certainly enjoyed adult authors writing multi-volume works, too.  I’d buy Hillary Mantel’s third Wolf Hall book tomorrow if it was available (it’s not.)

So why do I feel a little annoyed with Paulsen for continuing to write about Brian, the accidental survivalist?  I haven’t picked up any of the other four books, and I don’t plan to.  Hatchet feels like a complete book that doesn’t need a sequel.  In contrast, The Hunger Games and the first Harry Potter book feel like steps in a sequence of books.  I like the forethought and planning that goes into letting the reader in on the idea these characters, even as a book concludes, have things to do and issues to face.  But still . . . I think I need to cut Mr. Paulsen a bit of slack.

When I was writing short one-acts for a local theater in Omaha, I wrote a successful small play that was set in a coffee bar.  It was nice, complete, simple and well received.  I was very happy with it.  When I sat down at my computer again, I set my next one-act in the same coffee bar . . . and then another . . . and another.  When I knocked out a full-length play, I had a scene in that same caffeine space, too.  Writing is fun and it’s hard and it’s satisfying.  Once you have characters and a place that works, well, it’s hard to give things like that up even as a plot concludes.  My coffee bar plays became a bit of a crutch . . . but words were put down on a page and ideas were explored.  There’s worth in that.

* * *

And here’s a stunning theme song and title sequence from when I was a kid.  Makes Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys look scary.

A Sunday post of this and that while reading the newspaper

I’m reading the book Wonder.  Published in 2012, its author is R.J. Palacio.  Even though I’m only halfway through it, I’m enjoying the heck out of it.  The book uses multiple character viewpoints and is carefully constructed.  The writing is as good

as any of the other books I’ve read this semester, and the plot points and connection in the text are just smart.  When I finish it up, I’ll write more about it.

And I thought I’d link to this — A NY Times review of the book.

And here’s another article from the Times connected to the book — it’s a short interview with the author and mentions how the newspaper split its former children’s chapter bestseller list into a YA list and a middle school list.

* * *

I think I’ve mentioned Sunday’s and my NY Times habit quite a bit this past semester.  I’m a believer in reading a publication that is part of the national conversation and culture.  It makes me feel informed and connected to the rest of the country.  The range of coverage (including books, education, youth, culture) is something I value.

Also from today’s Book Review section of the Times:

• a review/article about several children’s books that focus on New York
• A review of a children’s book about The Beatles
• And a YA book review of the novel Changers, a book in which the main male character “having just moved from New York to Tennessee, wakes up the first morning of freshman year to discover he’s been transformed into a blond girl named Drew.”

Over in the editorial section was a major feature on literature for kids. Walter Dean Myers wrote “Where Are the People of Color in Children’s Books?”  In addition to focusing on how few books for kids are focused on minorities, Myers writes about speaking with James Baldwin.  The piece is a good read.  And who is Myers?  Well, this is how he was tagged at the end of the article –Walter Dean Myers is an author of books for children and young adults including “Monster,” and the previous Library of Congress National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature.

And with James Baldwin in mind, this is sort of an interview highlight reel —

Unsure about The Arrival

The Library of Congress summary of The Arrival is in tiny type at the front of the book.  It reads “In this wordless graphic novel, a man leaves his homeland and sets off for a new country, where he must build a new life for himself and his family.”  That simple description is accurate, and it would be one way I could summarize this book if I had to.  If pressed for further description, I might give up and simply hand a copy of the book over.

My experience with this text has left me a little unsettled and has me asking questions one after the next. Usually, I’m better about organizing my thoughts, but I’ll bullet point them here.  Some thoughts and questions on The Arrival:

• I posed this question on Twitter, but I’ll repeat it here — if a book has no words do we call the experience of interacting with the book reading?  Is a better term “viewing?”
• Shaun Tan’s artwork is detailed, fanciful, interesting, and amazing.  I enjoyed his novel in that way.  Should this book be part of a Language Arts class or would it fit better in a Visual Arts class?  It might be interesting to see if faculty members  from both areas could team teach The Arrival.
• Is this book science fiction?  Fantasy?  An allegory about the immigrant experience where people feel as though they have entered another world?  Something else?
• I’ve enjoyed graphic novels like Maus, The Dark Knight Returns, and Watchmen.  Of course, those three all had words.  I had no doubts in my mind about story, plot, characters, etc. with them. The Arrival left me wanting to name everything — the characters, the old country, the new city.  Even simply calling something “new” and “old” is assigning a designation.  I’m not sure Shaun Tan would or would not want me giving a nickname to the pet-like lizard-dog-with gills creatures.
• How does a teacher approach a wordless “text” as far as teaching the book and creating assignments for students?
• At what age (reading level?) is appropriate for The Arrival?  It’s a book for high school students here in Omaha.  My wife borrowed a copy for me from her English Department.

And here’s a short video of Shaun Tan talking about how he works —

Some thoughts about Book Love and a bit of backstory

In an earlier blog, I gave a little bit of my background with books.  Here are a few additional facts.  Both of my parents taught secondary English, and my dad served as a high school department chair for more than 20 years.  I married a teacher.  Christine’s classes are divided between journalism and AP English.

I’ve talked with my wife about Penny Kittle’s Book Love.  She echoes what Kittle writes about in the first two chapters – she knows a significant percentage of her students aren’t doing the reading.  It’s a problem that she and her colleagues find both appalling and embarrassing.  The solution she and the other teachers have come up with isn’t ideal.  My wife assigns the reading and teaches the facts and particulars about the books.  Her students are quizzed and tested over that material.  The teachers don’t ask the students (at least not much) about whether they have read or not or how they prepared for the exams; the students, generally, understand that achieving a decent grade involves some level of preparation, and they prep in whatever way gets them to the goal of getting an acceptable grade.  My guess is Penny Kittle wouldn’t be surprised by any of this.

The school district my wife teaches in isn’t oblivious to this problem, though, and staff are trying.  A few years ago, the entire approach to ninth grade English was redone to try and create more interest in reading.  The goal was to get kids reading (like Kittle writes about, increasing both depth and stamina) to prepare them for the rest of high school.  They did away with the traditional lit. anthology in favor of a slew of contemporary, teen-oriented books.  The teachers refer to them as the S books – Speak (the book our class has on its reading list), Stargirl, Shift, and Shattering Glass.  Heart of a Champion is another book in the curriculum.  The change in books, at least anecdotally, hasn’t made much of a difference.  Students who read will read the assigned text.  Those who tend to be non-readers have remained so.

The thing to point out, of course, is that the ninth grade students are assigned these new books traditionally – as a group, with lectures and exams to follow.  It’s also worth pointing out that the teachers who are teaching ninth grade perceive the texts as relatively easy to read.  The perception is that the new books aren’t creating new readers and they aren’t improving reading skills.  The books may be new, the approach to teaching them . . . not so much.

I know Kittle starts to get into the nuts and bolts of how to track the reading progress of a classroom of students as they all pick and choose books they want to read in Chapter Three.  I’m looking forward to learning more about that.  I agree that generating an interest in reading in someone who doesn’t read is a matter of finding the kind of book that would spark something, make that person curious and intrigued.  Kittle writes about the tricky business of knocking down the barriers to reading and building up a love of ideas and subjects which, happily, are found in books.

I also hope Kittle goes into what I think could be especially difficult beyond the classroom.  I want to know how a teacher or an English Department can get buy-in for new or different reading curriculum approaches.  In this time of high-stakes test, accountability, Common Core, etc., I’m left wondering how teachers can successfully navigate creating change in their classrooms when administrators and the public are looking for bottom line results.  I’m reading Chapter Three and more this afternoon.

I’m watching this video today, too.  Penny Kittle answers questions from NYU students.  In watching the first few minutes, this is nuts and bolts stuff . . . and it’s interesting.

From C-SPAN in 2005 — Book Discussion on A Wreath for Emmett Till

This is an hour-long video. Marilyn Nelson reads and takes questions. Thoughtful stuff.

The link — http://www.c-span.org/video/?187039-1/AWre

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.