Posts Tagged ‘kids book club’

#WeNeedDiverseBooksIt’s been a while since I’ve done a Friday round-up, but I’m eager to restart, and this week has been one of plentiful material on the various topics I tend to follow. And I like to share.

Books:
All lists are subjective and incomplete, and often omit entries one feels should be included, but here’s a list of books to add to your To Be Read pile, from the Washington Post’s list of “top 50 books for 2014.”

The cyber-waves were all a flutter over the past couple of days, for good reason, about Daniel Handler’s (a.k.a Lemony Snicket) racist gaffe in his speech at the National Book Award ceremony, wherein he made a crack about Jaqueline Woodson, author of Brown Girl Dreaming, being allergic to watermelons. (Yoinks! Who says such things? I guess we know who.) To his credit, Handler apologized for his comment (which of course he says he meant as a joke) in a very real way: not just words, but a pledge to contribute $10,000 to the We Need Diverse Books campaign, and to match donations for 24 hours up to $100,000. That, folks, is a meaningful apology, although of course it does not erase or excuse the shameful behavior. I hurried over to make a donation.

On the topic of racism, Toni Morrison (swoon) says it like it is, with her trademark perceptiveness and gentle tone, on the Stephen Colbert show. If you don’t already love the woman and her writing, this will convert you. Makes me want to read Beloved all over again. (Thanks to Anjali Enjeti for calling this to my attention. The world should have more Anjalis, methinks.)

And in other Fabulous Author news, Ursula K. Le Guin makes a moving tribute to “writers of the imagination” and to books as art. Do take a look/listen.

Meantime, I just finished Nayomi Munaweera’s Island of a Thousand Mirrors, a very powerful book set during the decades long war between Tamils and Sinhalese in Sri Lanka. Raw and devastating, it is also sweet and loving. A slim volume, an engrossing read.

Kids’ book club:

The fact that I run a children’s book club has garnered more attention than I ever anticipated. Attention was never what I was seeking. However, I’m glad to have been featured a few months ago in the Boston Globe, to have a piece on Parenting.com on the dos and don’ts of kids’ book clubs, and just today I had fun being interviewed by Barbara Dooley of the Barbara Dooley Show based out of Athens, GA. She wanted to know all about my motivation to start the club, and any advice I have for those wanting to do the same. This month, we are reading Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor, which is proving to be a somewhat wacky, incredibly creative and altogether enjoyable read set in Nigeria. How can this urban planner not love a young adult book that mentions, on the first page, the Lagos electricity company?

Urban planning:

Take a peek at Le Corbusier’s legacy in India via this series of photos by Paris-based photographer Manuel Bougot in Chandigarh. A different side of India.

Indian dance:

Here is a heart-warming and powerful story about a young woman with Down Syndrome who put in years of focused study to achieve what is a rite of passage for may Indian girls: the bharatanatyam “arangetram,” a solo performance. “Her father tells the crowd that [Hema] Ramaswamy’s arangetram was more than a dance graduation; it was the day she became, in the eyes of the world, a full individual.” This young woman’s strength and determination are inspiring. Additional photography by Preston Merchant.

Parenting:

This article needs very little description. It’s a spot on, non-blaming, humorously written description of what it means to be the “default” parent—the one who knows the kids’ shoe sizes, the dates of friends’ birthday parties, the location of the favorite barrette (on the floor of the living room behind the arm chair, mental note made at some point in anticipation a getting-ready-for-school meltdown). If you are the default parent, every single line will resonate with you. If you are not, you’ll gain new appreciation for the one who is.

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BookClubCardRosemaryA couple of weeks ago, Boston Globe reporter Beth Teitell wrote a feature on the book club that I run for my oldest daughter and eight of her friends. I’ve written about this book club before, about the impetus for it, and how impressed I am with the level of thought and discourse among this group of nine year olds, and how gratifying the whole experience is. (See here and below for the most heart-melting cards I received from them.) So it was with delight that we all welcomed the reporter to one of our meetings. Please do check out the feature, and photos, here.

Several people have contacted me for the full list of books we have tackled. We began in February 2013 when the girls were mid-way through third grade, and read all these:

The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, by Judy Blume
From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E. L. konigsburg
One Crazy Summer, by Rita García-Williams
The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles, by Julie Andrews Edwards
Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, by Robert O’Brien
Walk Two Moons, by Sharon Creech
Rules, by Cynthia Lord
Out of My Mind, by Sharon Draper
Bridge to Terabithia, by Katherine Paterson
Island’s End, by Padma Venkatraman
The Candy Shop War, by Brandon Mull
Esperanza Rising, by Pam Muñoz Ryan
The Alchemyst, by Michael Scott

Once we resume in September at the start of fifth grade, we’ll be integrating more non-fiction and, I hope, poetry.

BookClubCardOli  BookClubCardSasha

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BookClub

Yesterday afternoon, as I prepped my home to host and run the first meeting of K’s book club, I felt an odd nervousness. What if the girls—the gaggle of eight year olds arriving straight from a birthday party—were just not interested? The book was The Secret Garden, which I knew for a fact some of them did not enjoy, and did not finish. K was among those. For the first couple of weeks of the month, I had reminded her repeatedly to read the book, until it became clear she just was not nearly as absorbed by it as she was by the Goosebumps series with which she’s recently become obsessed. I worried that the other girls would come grudgingly, that their lack of interest would be indicative of a failure on my part or, worse of society in general.

I used the precious time that the toddler was asleep and K was at the birthday party to make afternoon tea sandwiches (cuke and butter, cuke and cream cheese, salmon and cream cheese) and set out a bone china tea set, to dash out to buy a bouquet of roses (the main flower of the garden in the book) and set up a table of pencils and markers for the girls to draw their own secret garden. I created personalized binders, and book review sheets, and all the while I thought: I could be using this time to read, to write, to exercise, to do any number of things for myself which are always the first to fall by the wayside. I grumbled at myself for, once again, putting too much of myself into something that could yield disappointment, for caring too much.

At exactly five o’clock, they arrived, carpooling from the birthday party. I opened the door and let in a gush of cold air and a tumble of jabbering kids, one of whom immediately showed me the copy of the book she read and told me how “cool” it was that she was reading the selfsame copy her mother read 30 years ago. They flung their jackets on the newel post and disgorged their birthday loot (panda-themed bracelets, goodies, stuffed pandas) on the couch and chairs and floor. They set upon their binders, looking at the book review sheets, and coloring the stars to rate the book. Are there snacks? they asked. I told them there was tea, finger sandwiches and scones, and they squealed in delight and asked if they could have tea right away. (I spared them treacle and porridge and beef-tea, which would have been more true to the book. What is beef-tea anyway?) My worries dissolved.

What followed was the most enjoyable and satisfying 90 minutes I have ever spent with a bunch of 8 year olds. We fell into an animated, engaging, literary discussion of the language, plot and characters of The Secret Garden. We talked about the use of “broad Yorkshire” and how the choice of language, although at times difficult to decipher, added immeasurably to the sense of place. We discussed the ways in which the book is different from what the girls usually read, and they made astute observations about “the Harry Potter era” of books. We talked about attitude, how it can change, what made Mary a “sour” child, whether she helped Colin for himself or for her or for some other reason. The girls told me about which parts they “connected” with the most. We discussed the “magic” of the garden. We talked about what constitutes a “classic.” The girls were raising their hands, jumping up and down for a chance to express themselves. We could have gone on for much longer, but we had not budgeted enough time.

They all had tea, and downed the scones and sandwiches and berries. They drew elaborate secret gardens of their own, with tree houses and swimming pools. They discussed and negotiated the choice of the book for May (From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler), and clamored for their copies of the April book (Judy Blume’s Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing), announcing they were going to start reading it right away. And then they all left in a whoosh like flock of twittering birds, gathering up their birthday goodies, riffling through the pile of clothes for their pink and purple and blue jackets, and clattering down the stairs to the cars of the three parents who were going to redistribute them to their respectful homes in the neighborhood.

They left behind scone crumbs on the rug, a coffee table strewn with teacups and plates, a water bottle, a plastic bag from a party favor, and a very pleased hostess. Among all the things I have volunteered to do, this one so far has yielded the highest satisfaction-to-effort ratio.

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