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Little House in the Big Woods and others

by Laura Ingalls Wilder; ill. by Helen Sewell (first editions) and Garth Williams

HarperCollins, orig. pub. 1932

I was trying to decide what to post today–something I’ve stockpiled? or a freshly written review? what age group or genre?–when I realized that I would be posting right before my birthday. And that immediately pulled my mind to memories of inspiring books I’ve been given, some for my birthday, some for other occasions (and some just because).

So instead of posting a review today, I decided to write about one of those gifts, the one that is probably most closely connected to my passion for stories, reading, and writing.

When I was about a year old, my mom took me to visit my great-grandmother in Texas. I was already in love with words by that point: I had talked early and was now babbling away in long, complete sentences. Mom says my favorite thing to do was talk. And so talk I did, keeping up a steady stream of questions, stories, and observations as I followed Great-Grandma from room to room in her tiny house.

I don’t remember Great-Grandma at all, but Mom often describes her as a heavy-hearted person. She had lived through two world wars as the sister and mother of soldiers, buried an infant daughter, and been left a widow with three children just as the Depression began. I’ve never seen a photo of her smiling.

My flood of words, however, made her laugh.

And so before we left Texas, she handed my mom a boxed set of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books. “These are for Kathryn,” she said. “That girl is going to be a reader someday.”

When we got home, Mom set the books aside for a few years. I don’t remember exactly when she brought them out, but I do remember reading them with my dad when I was just six. Every night before bed, my younger sister and I would climb into his lap, and he would read us a chapter. We went through the entire series, and Dad says that I would sometimes read short passages aloud.

Later, I read the books on my own. In fact, by the time I reached junior high, I had read them so many times that I was afraid they would fall apart; I covered them in clear contact paper to hold them together. They had pride of place in my bookcase until just last year, when I took them to my parents’ house so all the grandchildren could enjoy them.

Obviously, I loved those books. I identified with Laura from the start. Like her, I sometimes got into trouble for expressing my mind (there was, for instance, the time I blew a raspberry and gave a thumbs-down to my first-grade teacher because I didn’t want to go to P.E.). I was stubborn and curious like Laura, bookish, and pretty uninterested in domesticity. Young as I was, something resonated in me when she refused to include obedience in her marriage vows. And the fact that these amazing books were written by a woman planted a seed in my mind: maybe I could be a writer, too, one day.

But I didn’t just love the Little House books for what was in them. I also loved them for what they represented in my life.

In handing my mom those books, my great-grandmother performed a very important act of validation. She left me with a constant reminder that she had loved me because, not in spite, of my thirst for stories. That my intelligence had made her proud. It was a good reminder to have, especially on the many days when I felt like a misfit because I liked to learn and read. That thick blue box said to me, “It’s not just OK to be yourself–it’s good.”

So the next time you’re trying to decide what to give a young girl for her birthday or some other occasion (or just because), give her a book. Not just any book–a good one. Because you never know where it will lead her.

Miss Dorothy and Her Bookmobile

by Gloria Houston; ill. by Susan Condie Lamb

HarperCollins, 2011

32 pages

I love books about books. Or, perhaps more accurately, I love books about people who love books.

Partly, I’m just a book geek. Books have been my prime object of fascination since I was a preschooler. It’s not just about the reading–it’s about the experience of holding a book and turning the pages, the craft of book design and bookmaking, the process writers and illustrators go through to create their books.

I’m also always on the lookout for fellow bibliophiles. I like to discuss plot lines and themes and story conflicts the way sports fans discuss spectacular Super Bowl or World Series plays. My upper-division college lit classes were my personal idea of utopia. But bibliophiles, always a rare species, seem to be getting even rarer, so I appreciate the fictional ones almost as much as I do the real thing.

I also love books about readers because they help to validate reading as a worthwhile pursuit. When I was a kid, often picked on for being a “bookworm,” books about readers helped me feel less alone. They reinforced my reading instinct, showed me that I wasn’t crazy to find reading fun or rewarding.

Miss Dorothy and Her Bookmobile, based on the real-life story of librarian Dorothy Thomas, is the perfect book for a lonely bookworm–or any other girl who loves books and reading.

The title character, Dorothy Thomas, is a book lover of the highest order. From childhood, she dreams of being a librarian. She earns the requisite degrees, but then finds herself living in a rural North Carolina town with no library. What’s a smart, ambitious bibliogirl to do?

Enter Miss Dorothy’s book-loving neighbors. Over her objections–she insists that a library must be a brick-and-mortar building–they raise money for a bookmobile and appoint her to run it. For years, she drives the bookmobile around the Blue Ridge Mountains where she lives.

Then, finally, an appreciative reader donates a small house to serve as a permanent library. The townspeople renovate it and donate books to fill it, and Miss Dorothy settles in. She wins awards; reporters come to interview her; and readers who have grown up and moved away send back letters expressing their love for her and the books she shared with them.

I love this book for many reasons. There’s Miss Dorothy’s trailblazing spirit–the vast majority of women of her generation didn’t even attend college, let alone earn graduate degrees–and her toughness (she drives her bookmobile through blizzards and floods). There are Gloria Houston’s spare, lyrical text and Susan Condie Lamb’s gentle but lively watercolors. Houston beautifully captures the everyday drama and humor of Miss Dorothy’s life; Lamb offers a window on Miss Dorothy’s ebullient personality and the townspeople’s helpful and exuberant spirits.

But the greatest inspiration in this picture book is in yet another place. I’ve written before about the importance of teaching girls how to triumph through failure. Miss Dorothy’s story teaches a related lesson: how to bloom where you’re planted.

The reality is that our girls’ lives won’t necessarily turn out the way they expect. Marriage, children, illness, tragedy, an inspiring encounter, recognition of a need–these are just some of the reasons our girls may end up in unexpected places or among unexpected people.

And what does a strong, creative girl or woman do in those circumstances? She does a Miss Dorothy. She’s honest with herself about any sadness or loss, but then she seizes the opportunity to fulfill her dream in a new way–or even finds an entirely new dream.

In other words, she lives life as it really is: ever-changing, sometimes full of twists of turns, but always with the potential for fulfillment if you know where to look. And, as Miss Dorothy’s story shows, in doing so she’s likely to inspire the next generation to do the same.

Inside Out and Back Again

by Thanhha Lai

HarperCollins, 2011

272 pages

The Vietnam War is kind of a nebulous area in my historical understanding. I know something about it–but only from an American perspective (how and why the U.S. got involved, our casualties, protests on the homefront). I know virtually nothing about the war from the perspective of the Vietnamese men, women, and children whose homeland was torn apart.

I had that ignorance in mind when I picked up Thanhha Lai’s Inside Out and Back Again, an autobiographical novel-in-verse based on the author’s experiences as a war refugee. I was also interested in what I had heard was the main focus of the book: Lai’s experience adjusting to life in the U.S., specifically Alabama (I’ve written before about the culture shock I experienced when my family moved from Southern California to the South).

Lai changes some details of her story for the novel–for instance, Lai had eight siblings, whereas main character Ha has only three–but the essentials are the same. Ha, a 10-year-old girl whose father has gone missing in the war, flees South Vietnam with her mother and brothers when her home city of Saigon falls to the North Vietnamese army. After a harrowing few weeks on a defecting Vietnamese Navy ship, Ha’s family ends up in a Miami refugee camp. There, the only immigration sponsor who will take them all is an Alabama man Ha calls “Cowboy.”

But the family finds that their trip to Alabama is only the beginning of their struggle to find a home. Their new neighbors, including Cowboy’s wife, are mostly hateful and afraid: people egg their house, and Ha’s new classmates shout racial slurs and threaten violence. With the help of Cowboy and a couple of other friends, however, Ha and her family slowly win over their neighbors and begin to build a satisfying new life for themselves.

Since Ha is the main character, her personal acclimation is at center stage. After Cowboy connects her with an open-minded neighbor and asks her teacher to counter the bullying, Ha discovers that not all her Southern neighbors want her to go away. Those little rays of light, combined with Cowboy’s ongoing kindness and her mother’s monumental strength, give Ha the courage she needs to make a place for herself in her new country.

There’s a reason Lai won both the National Book Award and a Newbery Honor for Inside Out and Back Again. This is an incredible story, incredibly told. Lai’s poems are mostly short, always spare, but packed to the hilt with emotion.

So many authors who write about war fall into the trap of trying to create an epic. They lean on the imposing drama of big, sweeping vistas and the agony of thousands. But Lai zeroes in on the details: Ha tapping her toe to the floor at midnight to foil a boys-only New Year tradition, her frustration at being unable to solve an American math problem, the family’s first Christmas dinner.

The result is a reality and immediacy that brings home the weight of Ha’s transition from Vietnam to the U.S., the significance of what she accomplishes over the course of the book. On the surface, it’s not a lot: basically, she makes a couple of friends and learns enough English to get by in school. But the intimacy of Lai’s poems reveals the mammoth struggle behind these simple steps.

That’s what’s inspiring about Inside Out and Back Again: the fact that Ha, at just 10 years old, takes on a fight most adults would shrink from. Thrown into a disorienting situation through no choice of her own, she doesn’t just go down fighting–she refuses to go down, period. She gets her bearings, realizes she can still be her confident, somewhat defiant self, and deliberately chooses to survive.

When I got to the end of the book, I wanted a sequel. I wanted to know how this true-grit girl would handle the rest of what life had to offer her. And, for me, that’s the telltale sign of an inspiring story: one I don’t want to end.

Material World

Material World: A Global Family Portrait

by Peter Menzel, Charles C. Mann, and Paul Kennedy

Sierra Club Books, 1995

256 pages

When I was in college, I often treated myself to a Friday or Saturday night prowl around the campus library (yes, I know, I’m a nerd). Those were the most relaxing hours I had all week–the quiet was heavenly, I got a mind-clearing break from classwork, and (best of all) I let myself read whatever struck my fancy.

It was on one of these prowls that I spotted Peter Menzel’s Material World: A Global Family Portrait, a UN-sponsored collection of portraits of families from around the world. Each family was carefully selected as typical for its nation, and each nation was selected as typical of its region or representative of key global trends.

To create the book, either Menzel or a colleague spent a week photographing and filming each family’s daily life. The photographer also produced one Big Picture: a portrait of the family outside their home, with all (or most of) their material goods displayed around them.

The photographers interviewed the families extensively and, in many cases (even those of extreme poverty), lived with them for the full week of the visit. The photographers’ writeups of their experiences appear in the book alongside the photos, country “bios,” and statistics about the nations and families.

As you might imagine, the result is a study in contrasts, by turns mesmerizing and unsettling. When I first read it, I was utterly fascinated by the differences in wealth and living patterns, and the book was a definite boost to my budding environmentalist and feminist sensibilities.

Which brings me to why I’m reviewing Material World on this blog. It’s not the type of book I normally write about–there’s no story to follow, fictional or otherwise, and it’s not primarily about women.*

But Menzel and his colleagues are persistent in their attention to the plight of women and girls, particularly those living in developing nations. They point out the wide educational gaps that often exist between boys and girls in these countries, the ceaseless drudgery many impoverished women and girls endure, and the death-by-inches daily oppression they suffer.

Remembering all this, I decided a couple of months ago to check the book out of my local library and read it with my daughter. But she seemed only mildly interested. She didn’t pay much attention to the writeups or stats, and she looked at each photo for only a few seconds. I tried to point out particular images and facts, but she just seemed to breeze past them. All in all, it was a disappointing experience. I wondered whether any of it had actually registered.

Then, a couple of weeks later, my daughter suddenly brought up the book in conversation. She remembered some of the images and facts I’d pointed out, and she wanted to know more. The same thing happened again a few days after that. I had, it seems, forgotten the efficiency of her young, uncluttered brain.

We’ve since had some really productive talks about education and why she’s so privileged, especially as a girl, to have access to it. We’ve discussed how families in other parts of the world get by with much less than we have, and how children from many of those families (especially girls) have to labor for long hours in addition to–or instead of–attending school. And we’ve talked about how poverty perpetuates itself, how hard it would be to learn in school if she went to bed hungry every night, what it would be like to spend all of every day minding livestock or fetching water.

In other words, the book struck a chord and got her thinking. It broadened her understanding of what being human means to people whose lives are very unlike her own. It grew her compassion and her appreciation for her own blessings. And when she’s older, hopefully it will be one of many books she’s read that will inspire her to action.

*Faith D’Alouisio, Peter Menzel, and Naomi Wolf later published Women in the Material World, a women-focused companion volume to Material World. It has a heavier focus on personal interviews and so is probably more accessible to tweens and teens than to elementary-age children. Menzel and D’Alouisio have also published Hungry Planet and What I Eat, similarly formatted books about global eating habits.

Today is International Women’s Day, an opportunity to recognize the accomplishments of women and to speak out for gender equality. Given the focus of this blog, I thought it would be appropriate to celebrate the day by suggesting a few ways you can help women and girls at home and around the world.

Support Literacy and Education

Throughout much of the East and Africa, the literacy gap between men and women is significant–and almost always to the detriment of women. In Afghanistan, one of the most extreme examples, literacy is at 43% for men and 12% for women. Yes, you read that correctly: 12%. Other countries with significant disparities include Sudan (72% for men, 51% for women), Pakistan (69% for men, 30% for women), and Laos (83% for men, 63% for women). (Source: CIA World Factbook)

Why does it matter? Because education and literacy go hand in hand–and literate, educated girls are better equipped to live independently, to earn a good living, and to stand up for themselves and against oppression. Moreover, studies show that women are far more likely than men to use the rewards of education (money, status, etc.) to help their families and communities. In other words, helping girls and women helps everyone. (LearnVest, a women’s finance group, has a great article on this.)

So what can you do? Donate to organizations that improve women’s and girl’s literacy. Volunteer with a local program that helps refugee women and girls learn English, learn to read, or succeed in school. If you want to get extreme, head overseas as a volunteer or staff member for an organization that improves girls’ educational opportunities.

Vote

Those who govern us make a huge impact on girls and women both in the United States and overseas. At the state and local level, our leaders and officials make a myriad of decisions that affect the daily lives of women and girls. They can set incentives for women-owned businesses, get serious about domestic violence and sex crimes, make our communities welcoming (or not) for refugee families, and uphold educational equality.

At the federal level, our President and Congress make decisions about issues like equal pay for equal work, women’s healthcare, and family leave time. They also decide whether to allocate foreign aid to gender-focused initiatives, and they appoint our nation’s representatives abroad, the diplomats who can put U.S. clout behind efforts to aid women and girls overseas.

There are so many issues that dramatically affect women and girls–you don’t have to be aware of them all. My suggestion is that you choose the one or few that most resonate with you and find the the candidates who feel the same. Vote for them, and then hold them accountable if they win.

Mentor a Girl

If you’re a woman who’s at least of college age, this is a great way to have a significant, positive impact on the next generation of women. It’s a particularly helpful option if you want to make a meaningful connection with girls but don’t have children of your own or don’t work in a child-centered field. And our nation is so large and diverse that there are mentoring opportunities to suit pretty much any personality type and schedule.

If you want to go through an organization, try volunteering with Girl Scouts or Big Sisters. Or think of interests or skills you have and how you can translate those into mentoring opportunities; if you love the arts, for instance, you may be able to find a mentee through a local children’s theatre group or children’s symphony. Are you a woman working in a male-dominated field? Contact local schools and offer to host a question-and-answer session or even sponsor a club for girls who are interested in the same profession. And don’t forget your existing connections; if you attend church or synagogue, for instance, the congregation’s youth group may need volunteers.

However you choose to do it, the idea is to do something. Find your own personal way to encourage and uplift women and girls, especially those in difficult circumstances. In short, get out there and do some inspiring!

Temple Grandin

Temple Grandin: How the Girl Who Loved Cows Embraced Autism and Changed the World

by Sy Montgomery

Houghton Mifflin, 2012

148 pages

Children with autism are (often very obviously) outside the norm in our society, and girls with autism are doubly so. While the CDC estimates that about one percent of children overall have an autism spectrum disorder, only 0.3 percent of girls do.

But statistical rarity isn’t the only thing isolating about autism. The disorder’s hallmark trait is social and emotional disconnection. People with autism have a reduced (or sometimes entirely nonexistent) ability to read others’ social and emotional cues and to express their own thoughts and emotions.

While autism awareness is becoming widespread, particularly among parents and other caregivers of young children, few people have an intimate understanding of the disorder. Many people’s conception of autism consists of stereotypes that often show the disorder at its most extreme. Few–perhaps apart from researchers–know what really goes on inside the mind of someone with autism.

Temple Grandin wants to change all that, and Sy Montgomery’s biography Temple Grandin: How the Girl Who Loved Cows Embraced Autism and Changed the World shows how.

Temple attained household recognition in 2010, when she was the subject of an award-winning biopic. At the time, she was already well known in academia and the livestock industry, where she has a decades-long career as a respected professor and a pioneer in the humane treatment of meat animals.

Diagnosed with autism at the age of three, Temple discovered early on that she had an instinctive affinity for animals–and they for her. Because autism causes her to think in pictures, much like animals do, Temple can intuit how animals are thinking and feeling.

When Temple was a child, her father insisted that she was “retarded” or “crazy” and should be institutionalized; Temple’s mother, however, thought just the reverse. She was convinced that Temple was gifted, just in an unusual way, and would thrive if given the right education and training.

She accordingly enrolled the teenage Temple in a special boarding school for children with autism, and Temple went on to earn a Ph.D. in animal science. Inspired by visits to ranches and slaughterhouses, she decided to focus on designing machines and other equipment that would increase humane treatment of animals raised for food.

It was not an easy road. Temple was working in a male-dominated field, and autism traits (such as her speech patterns and her inability to read body language) made the job even harder. But she persisted in her work, and she spent hours practicing social niceties and teaching herself how to read conversational and body-language cues. She also began to speak out about her autism, helping people to understand the workings of the autistic mind and even the benefits of certain autistic traits.

Temple is now one of the world’s most respected animal science professors. Machinery and structures designed by her are used to process half the nation’s meat animals. And her openness about her autism brings daily inspiration to autistic children and their parents.

Temple’s story is inspirational in and of itself, but Montgomery’s book maximizes the impact. She doesn’t mince words when describing the challenges Temple faced: the turmoil in her young brain, the bullying she endured in traditional school, the resistance from ranchers and professors and industrial designers who didn’t think a woman could contribute anything worthwhile to “their” field. It’s easier to appreciate what a person like Temple has accomplished, what a trailblazer she is, when you know where she started and what she’s faced along the road.

Montgomery is also very straightforward about autism, not just its characteristics and challenges but also its benefits. Temple always says that she’s thankful to be autistic, that she wouldn’t shed her autism if she had the opportunity. And Montgomery’s book helps readers understand why.

For instance, Montgomery draws a clear connection between autism traits like thinking in pictures and Temple’s dramatic impact on the welfare of animals. With Temple’s help, Montgomery also offers very practical suggestions for activities that bring out the best in autistic children, activities that will put their brains’ unique behavior to good use.

For anyone seeking to understand autism, for autistic children wondering if there’s a place for them in the world, or for any child who just feels “different” and needs more hope for the future, this is indeed an inspiring book.

Queen of the Falls

Queen of the Falls

by Chris Van Allsburg

Houghton Mifflin, 2010

40 pages

Did you ever wonder who first had the crazy idea to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel? That honor belongs to a 62 (yes, 62)-year-old woman named Annie Edson Taylor, who dreamed up the stunt as a get-rick-quick scheme in 1901. Chris Van Allsburg’s Queen of the Falls tells her story.

Taylor was a widow and charm-school teacher who found herself retiring earlier than expected (and on very limited savings) due to a lack of students. Desperate to avoid the poorhouse, Annie remembered a girlhood trip to Niagara Falls and figured that going over the falls in a barrel would be a sure ticket to fame and fortune.

And the stunt seemed to be a success, at least at first. Annie suffered only minor injuries and  garnered tremendous publicity. She was sure that lucrative lecture and fair tours would follow.

Unfortunately, however, people who came to her appearances weren’t expecting a 62-year-old grandma. Underwhelmed, her audiences sat mutely, applauded weakly, even walked out on her. Two managers in succession tried to steal Annie’s famous barrel; the second one also tried to pass off a younger, prettier woman as “Queen of the Falls.”

Her tours a failure, Annie ended up supporting herself by selling postcards and pamphlets commemorating her stunt. She managed to avoid the poorhouse, but barely.

So you might be asking yourself: How in the world is this book inspiring? Sure, Annie was spunky and brave, but her grand plans fell flat. Ultimately, people pretty much forgot about her.

True–but about 10 years after Annie’s trip over the falls, when a reporter asked how she felt about the outcome of her project, she proudly pointed out that no one had ever had the courage to get closer to the falls than she had.*  People would agree, she told him, that going over the falls in a barrel was a great feat.

And she added, “I am content when I say, ‘I am the one who did it.’ “

That is why this book is inspiring. Not because Annie succeeded–at least, not in the conventional sense–but because she found a way to be at peace.

Life is not full of successes. Your daughter or granddaughter, student or niece or friend, will encounter failure. She’ll offer friendship to another child, only to be rejected. She’ll stay up until the wee hours, doing her best work on a term paper, only to get a C. She’ll log hours upon hours in the batting cage, only to strike out. She’ll pour her heart and soul into her dream job, only to get laid off.

Your task is to equip her to process those failures without giving up on life (or friendships, school, sports, or career). Inspired girls don’t just go out into the world and make successes; they also face failure head-on and find a way to work around or through it.

Male managers and the lecture circuit were flop for Annie. So she decided to look after herself and sell postcards. She didn’t get rich as she had hoped, but she didn’t let that make her bitter and unhappy. Instead, she chose to be satisfied with her accomplishment and content with her life.

Van Allsburg’s story beautifully communicates that state of mind, and his trademark black-and-white drawings capture all the adventure, humor, and determination of Annie’s story. Sit down and read Queen of the Falls with a little girl you know. You’ll be equipping her for later in life so that, when failure comes her way, she won’t feel defeated. She’ll feel inspired.

*Other people have since successfully surfed Niagara Falls, but Annie remains the only woman to have done it alone.

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