"Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury

Summary: Guy Montag is a fireman: he burns books and the houses of people who illegally possess books.  But when Montag's wife attempts suicide and he meets a young woman next door who takes time to think, Montag finds himself questioning the state of the world for the first time.  Risking his own safety, Montag begins to read and consider changing his life.

Musings: Fahrenheit 451 is, of course, a classic, and I first read it in high school.  I must have read it since then as well, since the plot was very familiar, but I had forgotten how short is was (a brief 165 pages!).  Looking at it now, it seems a bit dogmatic, and the science fiction feels well-trod.  Of course, when it was published in 1953 that would not have been the case, but it's eerie how "done" this type of story felt to me.  That's certainly testament to the novel's influence over the past fifty-plus years.

At the end of the book, Montag joins a group of "vagabonds" storing up fragments of books in their minds, hoping one day the world will be ready to write down and distribute the books again.  Although the memorization is intended only as a storage tool, it can't help but operate as a social tool as well, for if Montag wants to "read" a book, he must listen to it recited by another person.  It brought to mind the nature of reading today, which is such a solitary pursuit.  Thinking of the long oral tradition in many cultures (i.e. the Odyssey) or even in some novels (i.e. the Singers in the Libyrinth), it's interesting to consider what has been gained and lost in books' paper backings.

I liked that the novel acknowledges that although there is much greatness to be had in books, books, by themselves, are not some kind of magic.  They are a tool for expression of ideas, emotions, and experiences, but they are not the only tool.  Faber tells Montag, "It's not books you need, it's some of the things that once were in books... Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget... The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us" (82-83).  This reminded me of a fabulous post by Justine Larbalestier, in which she argues, "I don’t think reading a novel is morally superior to baking a cake, swimming, dancing, or gardening, or any other fun activity a teen or anyone else could do with their time. Best of all is to do all those activities."  So I suppose it's funny for me, as an English teacher and avid reader, to say this, but I believe what's important is engaging with the world, with others, with thought, and with life, rather than the medium by which that happens.  I find I get a lot of praise for my reading habit, but I sometimes feel it's given unjustly.  Perhaps I'm using reading as a way to avoid doing life.  This isn't meant as a slam on myself or on anyone else, but rather my attempt to grapple with the ways we live and the ways others value how we live.

Bradbury has an interesting coda where he criticizes what I suppose he would term as "hyper-political correctness."  He complains, for example, about a school that balked at performing one of his plays because it had no female characters.  Bradbury suggests the people in charge of the play didn't object, per se, but rather that they feared performing the play because "the ERA ladies on campus would descend with ball-bats if the drama department even tried [to perform it]" (178).  I completely support free speech and am adamantly against the sanitization and censorship Bradbury describes (happening most often to his works when placed in texts intended for use in schools--kids aren't going to drop dead if they see "damn" printed.  Or even "f***").  And I would never argue an author shouldn't include/omit whatever characters, issues, locations, ideas he/she wishes.  However, I do think a consuming audience also has a right to say, "We don't want to read pieces that aren't representative of our society," or, "We don't want to read pieces that propagate racism, sexism, or homophobia."  You can write/speak what you wish, and I have that same right as a reader/audience member.  Of course, it's never that easy, and there's clearly a level of push and pull; the activist blogs I read will frequently suggest writing to and protesting an offensive person while I think Bradbury would suggest that if you are offended, then write your own.  Because of the unequal nature of society, I don't know that the "write your own" is always feasible, but I'm not sure spending time protesting the crap of obvious and devoted bigots is a good choice either.  (Note: I'm not saying Bradbury is a bigot; just thinking about the concept broadly here.)

So I've said very little about Fahrenheit 451 itself, but I think because the book was already so familiar, my mind wandered into offshoots more frequently than it does with books that are new to me.  I think it's an important classic that should still be read, particularly by students who often are unaware of the issue of censorship.  I also have to give some love to Bradbury's devotion to libraries; probably 95% of the books I read are from the library, and I truly believe in their importance.

***This book qualifies for the Books of the Century Challenge.

"I Am the Cheese" by Robert Cormier

Summary: Adam is riding his bike from his home in Monument, Massachusetts to Rutterburg, Vermont where he will deliver a package to his father.  In alternating chapters, he is also being interviewed by a man named Brint, gradually remembering and revealing his and his family's mysterious past.  Slowly Adam and the reader piece together the truth of Adam's history--and his present.

Musings: I have vague floating memories of this book from my past, which is only appropriate, given the content of the novel.  I believe my friends read it for middle school, but somehow I never did.  I remember them chanting "The cheese stands alone" and talking about how Cormier uses a real person's phone number (just looked it up and apparently it was Cormier's real phone number; crazy!) and feeling left out.  So I've now rectified that, a dozen or so years later.

I Am the Cheese is an "old" YA novel (published in 1977--older than me!), but it doesn't feel at all dated.  What I like most about the book is that it's part psychological study and part good old-fashioned mystery/spy caper.  The reader's kept guessing about the "truth" of Adam throughout the novel, but in an exciting--not exasperating--way.  The ending packs a nice punch while also wrapping up loose ends.  I'm left wondering if some aspects of the novel were meaningful or just red herrings, and I think that's a good thing.

I loved the structure of the book and the juxtaposition between Adam's single-minded conviction of his bike ride and the muddy uncertainty in his interviews.  The novel changes from first person point of view during Adam's bike ride to third person during his interviews, which helps jumble the reader's mindset and keep the reader uncertain. 

I Am the Cheese was a fun read that I'd highly recommend, especially to people who loved the ambiguity and questioning of the narrator found in the more recent Liar.

"Unaccustomed Earth" by Jhumpa Lahiri

Summary: A collection of short stories about American-raised children of Indian parents, taking place largely in the United States.

Musings: I am a big fan of Lahiri's first two works, Interpreter of Maladies and The Namesake.  Unaccustomed Earth clearly follows in those two works' footsteps, exploring similar themes, particularly the strained relationships between parents and children, culture and assimilation, old and new.  Lahiri's skill, for me, lies in her ability to recognize and make apparent the complexities of human relationships and the ways in which relationships are challenged and broken by things unsaid.  That same skill is found in Unaccustomed Earth, but Unaccustomed also doesn't cover any new ground or explore anything different from her earlier works.  For this reason, I think I enjoyed the book less than I did her previous ones, as it seemed simply an addition to Interpreter rather than a separate work.

This book's focus is slightly different, as all the stories concern first generation Indian-Americans and none of the stories take place in India.  The stories also often explore the relationships between these children and their white partners or spouses.

Lahiri's stories all seem bound by sadness as people are unable to have the kind of relationships they want with their family, friends, or partners.  Lahiri does recognize some small moments of human connection, but they are often fleeting.  It made me wish that she was also able to recognize human moments of joy, which although rare, are part of the human experience as well.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"The Speed of Dark" by Elizabeth Moon

Summary: Lou, a high-functioning autistic adult, works in a special lab of a pharmaceutical company.  When a new boss, Mr. Crenshaw, arrives, Lou and his autistic coworkers learn they will be expected to participate in a new research trial that will "cure" autism.  As Lou confronts fear, hatred, and dishonesty from others, he must decide what he would gain or lose from the treatment.

Musings: I think I would have enjoyed this book more had it not had such strong similarities to other books I've read recently--Flowers for Algernon (about a mentally retarded man being "cured") and especially The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time and Marcelo in the Real World, both of which are also told in first person narration from the perspective of an autistic person (or, in Marcelo's case, a person with some autistic qualities).  The Speed of Dark, Curious, and Marcelo are all interesting in the way they give the reader insight into the thought processes of the narrator.  Lou's way of thinking seemed quite similar to Marcelo's, in fact.

My knowledge of autism is relatively limited, so I don't know how effectively Moon has crafted a realistic portrayal of autistic life.  However, one of the things Speed does address that I found interesting was the way in which persons with mental disabilities are taught and reminded to act "normal" in ways that "normal" people themselves are not required.  People with disabilities are, in effect, being told to live up to a hyper-normative ideal that doesn't exist in reality.  For instance, I tend to jiggle my leg when sitting, but no one sees that as a sign of illness, whereas in an autistic person the behavior might be condemned as indicating the illness.

The book is set in the future, but it felt very old fashioned to me (the Internet is called the 'net).  The advances in medical technology didn't quite fit together to give me a clear idea of the world Moon has created.

I also need to get one annoyance off my chest.  In the book, Lou "fences."  Throughout the book, he and his club refer to what they do as fencing.  They do not fence.  They dress in period costumes and pretend to be from the Renaissance (most likely they belong to something along the lines of the Society for Creative Anachronisms, although it's never named).  Call it what you want except fencing, which is a modern competitive sport that doesn't involve playing make believe.  I was a competitive fencer for several years, and there are enough misconceptions about our sport without calling Renaissance play-acting fencing.  (My husband was also a fencer, and when I mentioned this to him, he didn't seem to think it was a big deal.  So perhaps it's just me that's feeling protective of my sport.)

People who aren't overly-protective fencers and haven't already read books done from an autistic viewpoint (or are simply interested in reading others) would probably enjoy this book more than I did.

"The Freedom Writers Diary" by The Freedom Writers and Erin Gruwell

Summary: Erin Gruwell, a new teacher in a high school in dangerous Long Beach, California, is shocked when her students aren't familiar with the Holocaust.  In response, she begins an ambitious curriculum based around the theme of tolerance where students are encouraged to make connections between--and write about--history, literature, and the violence and injustice of their own lives.  Freedom Writers is a collection of the students' writings and details the students' realizations and transformations through their time with Gruwell.

Musings: I can't help but approach this book as an educator (and, sadly, a natural cynic), so I think I had some difficulty finding this book as inspirational as others have (I imagine vets would feel the same way about All Creatures Great and Small, which I quite enjoyed).  But, first, the good.  Students are rarely given voices, and clearly Gruwell was successful in helping "at-risk" kids, who have been failed by the school system, gain agency, self-confidence, and strength.  She also gave students a caring and supportive environment, something all teenagers desperately need.  Through her efforts, the students felt important, recognized, and empowered to make positive change in their own lives and their community.  The book also acknowledges the awareness young people in bad environments have of what's wrong in their world, and instead of condemning them for it, the book (and the Freedom Writers program) gives them a positive outlet.

Each "diary" entry is not attributed to a specific student.  Gruwell says early on this is to protect the students and acknowledge the role all the students played in editing, revising, and supporting.  Yet the style of the entries simply rang false to me.  I've read a lot of 9th grade writing--both in a wealthy suburb and in the inner city--and very few students write with such strong narrative style.  The entries were structured similarly and sounded similar, making them seem inauthentic.  While I don't doubt the truth of the students' stories, the book felt overly edited and standardized.

Nearly all the entries concern tragedy in a student's life: child abuse, domestic abuse, rape, beatings, drug and alcohol abuse, teenager pregnancy, illness, homelessness.  Most entries end with general statements about the student's new-found desire to overcome the challenges or prejudices and save the world.  It's great for the students to feel inspired to change, but it's much more difficult to actually make those changes, and that aspect of the students' lives was missing.  In the end, I felt like the book defined the students by tragedy.  That's the only lens the reader sees them through, rather than hearing about what they actually did to change.  In reducing the students to heart breaking stories, the students become more stories and less people.

Gruwell also discusses some of the problems she had with her department.  I can totally understand; I'm sure I'd hate her too.  She does amazing things for her students personally and gets computers donated, meets celebrities, and brings the students on various trips around the country.  I couldn't help but imagine the other high school students not in her class had to feel abandoned and left out, and other teachers--even excellent ones--had to feel inadequate.  That's not to say Gruwell shouldn't have done what she did, but rather it's sad that only one group got so much attention and support.

I was much more interested in how Gruwell achieved such community and involvement in her classroom, but the book does not address her teaching methods.  She has written other books about curriculum that probably would have been more appealing to me.

Freedom Writers illustrates the struggle of students in rough districts and is able to show the positive effects of creating a safe community for young people to share and move beyond tragedy.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge and the TwentyTen Reading Challenge ("Win! Win!" category).

"The Last Town on Earth" by Thomas Mullen

Summary: Commonwealth is a lumber mill town built on principles of community and fair treatment.  When the Spanish influenza ravages through the U.S. during World War I, the already isolated town decides to quarantine itself in hopes of avoiding the flu.  No one is allowed to enter or leave, and guards are posted to ensure the town's safety.  But shortly into the quarantine, a lone soldier begs to be admitted.  Graham, a young husband and father, shoots and kills the soldier rather than let him enter.  Also standing guard is Philip, the teenage adopted son of the mill owner, and he can't seem to recover from the shooting.  Soon Commonwealth is in more danger than they had imagined, and everyone is left wondering what is "right" in a time of disaster.

Musings: I received this book free at the NCTE conference and was drawn to its post-apocalyptic sounding title.  Although I enjoyed the book, I think the title is misleading, as there's no indication or fear of Commonwealth's permanent isolation.

Last Town effectively weaves together various historical events: the 1918 flu pandemic, World War I, and labor strikes.  It was interesting to see how the politics of each intersected within the characters to create conflict.  And, of course, many of these same conflicts are still in play today, from the hysteria over H1N1 to the debates over the purpose and righteousness of the war in Iraq.

Philip is the protagonist of the novel, and he has a lot of backstory.  I felt, at times, that there were too many pieces of his character that needed weaving together.  Nonetheless, he's someone to cheer for as he grapples with everything from decisions of morality to decisions of romance.

Graham, Philip's foil, has a similarly weighty history, but he's also less likeable and relateable.  Because of this, although each man represents different sides of difficult issues--family versus community, morality versus practicality--it's significantly easier to empathize with Philip.

Things go from bad to worse quickly in the novel, and I found the pervasive sadness difficult.  Even small moments of joy are quickly destroyed.  I kept holding out for an ending that would restore hope, but Mullen seemed insistent on ensuring that would be impossible.

I read little historical fiction and probably wouldn't have tried this except for the misleading title, but I think the issues it raises are so contemporary and the characters so fully fleshed that it's worth the read.

***This book qualifies for the TwentyTen Reading Challenge (T.B.R. category).

"All Creatures Great and Small" by James Herriot

Summary: Herriot's memoir of his first two years as a veterinary surgeon for the rural farms of the Yorkshire Dales in England during the 1930s.

Musings: I picture vets much like I picture doctors: in sterile offices with crisp lab coats and helpful technicians.  Herriot's world is nothing like this.  Taking place in rural farms nearly eighty years ago, Herriot's practice involves being on call twenty-four hours a day, arriving at farms in all forms of weather, stripping off his shirt, scrubbing down with water and soap, and getting down and dirty.  It's hard work, but it's clearly work Herriot loves, and his enthusiasm for his customers, patients, and town is infectious.

All Creatures is less a narrative than a large collection of short anecdotes about his practice.  Many of the stories evidence Herriot's admiration for the hardworking farmers.  I teared up at a touching account of a young farmer with just a few animals who stayed up for twenty-four hours rubbing down an ailing cow or a wealthy aging farmer with many animals who nonetheless had been daily attending to two retired horses for twelve years.  Even the difficult farmers--those who don't pay, those who don't trust vets--are detailed with good humor.  Herriot is also happy to describe his own shortcomings and small humiliations.

What sets the book apart is its overall warmth and optimism.  I find myself dragged down by daily annoyances (people, rules, responsibilities), but Herriot's book finds the good in every situation.  In fact, I find the best adjectives to describe the book are those words which normally make me groan and wince: heart-warming, touching, sweet.  The devout cynic within me struggled against the basic goodness of the stories Herriot tells, but in the end, I gave in.

Herriot is a simple storyteller, and each small chapter ended with me smiling.  In an age of modern conveniences and in which the family farm is largely nonexistent, it was also rewarding to read about a different time. 

Herriot's book is not a straight autobiography, as the stories are a combination of real experience and creative license, but I don't think that diminishes the pleasure of reading any.  It's a warm story that doesn't resort to melodrama.