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Posts Tagged ‘friendship’

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.

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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.

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The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making

by Catherynne M. Valente; ill. Ana Juan

Feiwel and Friends, 2011

247 pages

Women and girls are survivors.

Throughout history, across the world, we’ve been systematically oppressed, brutalized, and marginalized–yet here we are. We still make up the majority of the world’s population. In many nations, we also make up the majority of university students, the majority of lawyers- and doctors-to-be, the majority of entrepreneurs.

We  still labor under a number of disadvantages–some official, some not–even in nations where freedom and equality are founding principles. But more often than not, we find ways to make our own success. If opportunity so much as stands outside the door, we yank on the handle and pull it inside.

There are, of course, numerous inspirational stories of real women getting the better of adversity and oppression. Ghettoized American moms who won’t accept failing schools for their children. Afghan teenagers who stand up to the Taliban. Ethiopian women who form coffee-growing collectives to feed their families.

But sometimes a story of survival is just as powerful when told through fiction, and Catherynne M. Valente’s The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making is that kind of story.

It has the boldness and realization of His Dark Materials, the whirling action of Lord of the Rings, and the ethereal language and imagery of The Tale of Despereaux. It’s an odd, sometimes jarring, amalgam, but it’s also compelling and very, very effective.

The novel’s heroine is 12-year-old September, a WWII-era Nebraska girl who has been left to fend mostly for herself as her father and mother both devote themselves to the war effort. Dad is an intelligence officer in combat overseas; Mom is a Rosie the Riveter. September, meanwhile, washes teacups and yearns for an adventure of her own.

When the Green Wind comes to whisk her away on the Leopard of Little Breezes, she leaves literally without a backward glance. What she doesn’t realize is that her adventure in Fairyland is not going to be the stuff of fairy tales.

Or at least, not fairy tales of the Peter Pan or Cinderella variety. Think Hans Christian Andersen instead.

As she travels through Fairyland, September encounters a variety of creatures and people. Two, a wyvern/library named A-Through-L and a marid named Saturday, become her traveling companions and allies.

They start off attempting to reclaim a witch’s spoon from The Marquess, Fairyland’s tyrannical little-girl ruler, and end up on a mission both for and against The Marquess herself.

Over the course of the book, September both witnesses and suffers brutality, deception, mutilation, and violent oppression. She also encounters deep love, loyalty, selflessness, and kindness. She pushes herself beyond limits she didn’t realize she possessed, learns lessons she didn’t know could be read, and makes sacrifices she wasn’t aware were possible.

She doesn’t escape unscathed or even whole–at least, not whole as she would have defined it pre-Fairyland. Rather, she finds herself, in her own words, “well and whole” in new fashion: she’s lost something of herself but gained in new directions.

The narrator says, quite simply, that she has begun to grow a heart.

And that, really, is what makes survival inspiring. Those who have experienced trying or traumatic circumstances and escape “well and whole” often do so because the experience has grown their hearts. Through their own suffering, they’ve learned to have compassion on others. Or they’ve gained a passion to fight back against what hurt them–not just for their own sake, but for others’ too.

This is the kind of spirit that leads victims of acid attacks to show their faces to the international press, drives cancer survivors to launch massive fundraisers, or guides the loved ones of murder and rape victims to press for more action and more laws.

These people can’t undo their own trauma, but they are determined that it won’t destroy their lives and that fewer people will suffer.

I want my daughter to read that message: that, even if she encounters the most heinous suffering, she can survive. And not just to heal, but to help.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making is the first in a series whose length is yet to be determined. Valente released the second book, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There, in October 2012.

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