Author: beckylevine

I saw a reference to Rebecca Mead’s post, “The Percy  Jackson Problem,” a while ago, skimmed the article, thought oh, that’s ridiculous, and then moved on because how many times can we argue with these people. But then I started working on a post about just my reading habits and…yep, I started veering right off into a justification of reading for entertainment and escape, and I knew that it was in part because my brain has been simmering (possibly even steaming) about this post.

Plus, Kurtis Scaletta reminded me about it in this post on his blog.

Let’s just take a moment and try to get past sentences like this, “Riordan has come up with a clever conceit, which is amusingly sustained” and “That slangy, casual style is a hallmark of the Percy Jackson books, which often read like a faithful transcription of teen uptalk,” the condescending reductionism of which make me want to ask Mead if she even read the same books I did and to, perhaps a bit immaturely, double-dare her to try to achieve anything close to what Riordan has.

So let’s look at the main problem here. Mead talks about the debate between the any-reading-is-good-reading camp and the “those”-books-will-keep-our-kids-away-from-the-“better”-books camp. I haven’t read the Gaiman piece she quotes from, but as far as I can tell, Gaiman is truly saying that reading is about reading, different books for different kids, while she seems to hear him saying that it’s okay for kids to read anything because “those” books will ultimately lead kids to the “better” books. She worries that Gaiman is wrong to view any kind of book as a gateway to some kind of higher reading, while I don’t think Gaiman–from the bits in here–is actually worried about there being or not being any gateway.

Neither am I.

I was an English major in college, and I loved most of the books that my professors deemed worthy of teaching in their classes. I loved, until I hit grad school, hashing out the meanings of those books and writing essays about them. I see huge value in those books, although I would argue that that value lies primarily in the entertainment of their stories, the escape which their wonderful writing provides us, and their power to create and sustain the reader in all of us. I’d say Rick Riordan’s books pretty much hit the bullseye on all those targets.

I do not agree that those “better” books have some intrinsically greater value for whatever reason. The best and most important purpose of a book, any book is to be something someone wants to read. The most amazing power of a book for children is to not only be that book but to turn the child reading it into someone who wants to read more…and more…and more…and more. And the most evil thing for which a book can be used is to try to make that same child read “up.”

A small selection of our population need to be able to competently and comprehensively analyze literature. Those people will become teachers and professors. And, yes, much gratitude and appreciation to those who choose that path and share their selection of books with their students. But…I truly believe that the most important thing we can give all the other kids, to carry them through life, is a love of reading. And, yes, any reading. Kids who love books will experiment. They’ll try something new, even if only occasionally, because–hey, it’s a book. That new book doesn’t have to be something defined (by whoever) as a classic–it can be a comic book, it can be a mystery instead of a fantasy, it can be a book with a male versus female protagonist, it can be a diverse book, it can be poetry, it can be a joke book, it can be a movie review, it can be an article in the Smithsonian or in Mad Magazine. A kid who is forced into groove after groove carved out by someone else…um, yeah, that’s not going to work. If your goal is to turn kids off books, yeah, sure. But not if your goal is to keep kids reading.

This is getting a little long, as rants do, but one more thing. I keep thinking about the reader I looked like in high school and college, the reader my teachers probably thought I was. And I think about the person I am now, and how many people assume that I am up on all the latest literary fiction, or that I go back all the time to reread Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy (I had a real Russian-Lit binge going for a few years). And when I tell them what I do read–at least 90% kids’ fiction–they  just don’t get it. Like Mead.

So here’s the reader I really was, as a kid, the one that did take the path through classic novels for a while, and then through mystery novels, and always in and out through my childhood favorites, and ultimately–at least for now–to the kids’ books being published today.

I was the kid who:

• Read and loved classics like The Secret Garden, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables
• Brought 10 books home from the library and then often read/reread only the comfortable favorites and took back all the “unknowns” without even getting to page 1.
• Fell in love with Shakespeare because, yes, reading Polonius’ lines (NOT Ophelia’s) in Hamlet was so much fun, but also because–let’s face it–I had a total teen crush on actor Byron Jennings who played both Richard II and Richard III at PCPA.
• Was told by my father that he wasn’t going to pay for any more Harlequin Romances. (He did not, because he’s an awesome dad, tell me to stop reading them, and of course I didn’t, not for a while.)
• Went to college as an English major because, yes, I wanted to read Victorian Novels for four years.
• Got completely burnt out on reading those Victorian novels and others, because of the seemingly inseparable task of writing literary analysis that justified these novels as “better books.” For almost a year after I got out of grad school, I would go into a bookstore and not find a single book to read. Scariest. Time. Of. My. Life.
• Still has her collection of this series by Phyllis A. Whitney and will rank them right up there with her beloved Dickens, Austen, and Brontës any day of the week, for the brilliant genius of their rightness. As I do Rick Riordan.

What I read as a kid was a mix of “those” books and “better” books. The only time I ever risked becoming not a reader was when I lost the balance of that mix for too long, when I put myself in a position where choice was completely taken away from me for too many years. And, yes, giving kids insufficient time to read assigned books and other books is taking away their choice. These days I read kids’ books, I read memoirs, I read mysteries and fantasies, and–when the craving hits me–I dip into Austen or Dickens or one of the Brontës. And I am happy.

Let’s just let our kids read.

October is my Stay Away From The MG WIP month. November will be my Now Step Into Revision month (along with PiBoIdMo-yikes!) And so, of course, what’s twiddling along inside my brain is how best to get started.

I’m feeling like I need to do some notebook work–the low-tech kind. I have some biggish questions I want to, if not answer, spend some time with. And I think if I can stay away from the computer at first, I might be able to resist the temptation to just dig in and start changing words, instead of ideas.

This doesn’t sound easy to me. I love my computer. While I still have nostalgic affection for the notebooks of my childhood, I haven’t been successful with them for years. At the base level, I can barely read my own handwriting these days. And at the higher (?) level, any ideas I do manage to come up with seem to come with a pretty strong tug to get back to my keyboard and type as fast as I can to get it all down, put it into a scene, formulate and form it.

But I’m going to give it a shot. I’m going to see if I can get myself to a library or a coffeehouse a couple days of days a week after work, or take my notebook into my bedroom–away from distractions–and I’m going to ask myself some questions and see what I can do about stepping toward some possibilities.

Do you use a notebook? At what stage in the writing/revising process? What do you use it for? And how do you go back to whatever it is you’ve scribbled on the pages and make it useful?

All tips and suggestions welcome in the comments!

I’m responding to the Book Challenge sent to me by Stephanie Pingel DeAugustine. Here’s what you do: In your status, list 10 books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take more than a few minutes and don’t think too hard. They don’t have to be the “right” books or great works of literature, just ones that affected you in some way. Tag 10 friends, including me so I can see your list. I’m not going to tag anyone, but, hey, play for fun. And, (edited to add), four books in I’m apparently adding “whys” to my list–we’ll see how many fit. Oh, heck. I’m going to copy this into a blog post and link to it!

1. J.R.R.Tolkien’s The Hobbit. This is the first book I remember staying up reading after everyone else in the house had gone to bed and sitting and just SOBBING through a particular near-the-end scene, which I’m not going to mention because–although I can’t believe it–I know there are those of you out there who haven’t read the book and are waiting for the end of the third movie to find out how everything plays out. So no spoilers. Even though you should go get the book and read it.

2. One of the Agatha Christie mysteries, not sure which–maybe the one in which Rosemary died a long time ago and everybody is back and talking about it. All I know is that there was a horrible green-faced woman on the cover of my mom’s copy and, if that wasn’t bad enough, I opened the book to the page where the victim’s death by strangulation or poison or something is being vividly described. I think I was twelve. I shut that book and didn’t actually discover and fall in love with Ms. Christie until I had burned out on long Victorian novels in grad school and turned to mysteries for several years of reading recovery.

3. Every teen mystery written by Phyllis Whitney, but probably most of all Mystery on the Isle of Skye. Been to Scotland twice and haven’t made it up to Skye and have possibly never pushed myself all the way north because I won’t have all the little red packages Cathy has from her grandmother to open along the trip and solve a mystery about. I’m pretty sure that I was reading Whitney’s books when I decided I wanted to be an author.

4. Arthur Ransome’s We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea. Because, all of a sudden, the sailing adventure weren’t just make believe anymore, and this one got really, really scary, but the kids did it! Plus, seasickness.

5. Dodie Smith’s 101 Dalmations. Because the 101 Dalmations movie is the first one I remember seeing in the theater (I think it HAD to be a rerun–did they do that in theaters back then?), and Cruella scared me more than anything ever had (I hadn’t read Ransome yet or looked at Agatha Christie’s books!), and…puppies! And then I found the novel as a grown-up, and it’s just as delightful in its own way, and, OMG the most beautifully delivered sarcasm when the vet says how delighted he always is to come out on Christmas, or something like that. Maybe other people thought that line was serious, but as the child who almost always had her Xmas-present openings interrupted by a call to her parent veterinarians, I KNEW the sarcasm. (Addendum: My parents did always take the call, and they did always go with patience and care, and Xmas interruptions got much better when I was old enough to go and watch actual non-animated puppies and kittens being delivered!)

6. Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak. I was reviewing books for The Horn Book Guide, and somehow, magically, this arc ended up in my review pile. I think this book was probably my introduction to young-adult fiction and talk about being dropped head first into the fire. Pain and power and beauty like I’d never read before.

7. Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. Because the hero whines. And screams. And doesn’t have enough strength or breath to jump a skipping rope more than a few steps at a time. And recognizes a kindred spirit in Ben Weatherstaff. And Dickon. And, again for those of you who have only seen the movie, the Mary in the book does not, in any future beyond the pages, grow up and marry Colin. Team Dickon, all the way.

8. L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables. Because Anne was a child with overly strong emotions, a child with a too-fast temper. And she wasn’t ashamed of it, no matter how much people told her she should be. And…Gilbert and the slate on his head! And for you movie goers, THIS one you can see if it’s the PBS series with Megan Follows and Colleen Dewhurst and Richard Farnsworth. Because they are all genius.

9. Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. The kiss on the wall. Enough said.

10. J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Because reading about Diagon Alley to your, what–seven-year-old? when there has been no Harry Potter in his world yet, ever, or in yours for that matter? Hard to say who falls fastest and hardest in love. The sparkle in his eyes and your own raw sore throat tell you he’s caught. You’ve got him. He’ll be a reader.

Five Septembery things:

1. One more month until October, which is my FAVORITE month.
2. I am going to finish the MG Fast First Draft this month. Oh, yes, I am!
3. I may even start revising this month! I do absolutely love revision, but it’s another stage where I got stuck and tangled in the last WIP, so there are some nerves. Hopefully, I can find the balance between figuring out some major changes and combining those with the loose, fast, “more later” drive of the first draft. Because there will SO be “more later.”
4. The weather forecasts and the thermometer on my car say the same number of degrees that I kept seeing there in August. And, yet, it’s cooler. Why? See Item #1!
5. Alice always, to me, smells like summer–dusty and warm and with a hint of yellow California foothills. Will she keep smelling that way into winter? Wouldn’t that be nice?

What do you love about September?