Young Adult Lit: Book Thieves Listening for Voices in the Dark

When the Wall Street Journal published "Darkness too Visible," by Meghan Cox Gurden, writers and readers of young adult literature fired back with blog posts and a twitter hashtag #YAsaves.

Her article argues that young readers are being exposed to too much ugliness and darkness, but I don't see it that way. As a young adult, books like Go Ask Alice and Judy Blume's Forever  gave my girlfriends and I literature we actually wanted to discuss. While our teachers guided us through Diary of a Young Girl, we dog-eared pages in Tiger Eyes so we could read and re-read passages, discuss the decisions of young protagonists and help us navigate similar territories. YA lit provided my classmates and I our first book club experiences and opportunities for real literary analysis.

Last school year, for the first time as a middle school teacher, I wasn't sure if I wanted to put a book on my shelf. I wasn't sure Push by Sapphire, the book the movie Precious is based on, belonged in my classroom library. Should my students read about such brutal incest and abuse? I suppose I was thinking a little like Gurden is in her article, but I put it on my shelf, and talked about the book with students as they checked it out and lined up to read it. And then it disappeared. It went into circulation. It was passed from student to student and I never saw it again. It became a book club book.

I realized that Push is like so many YA books, like many of the titles Gurden is critical of. Markus Zusak's Liesel in The Book Thief (another dark young adult work) steals books and books eventually save her. My students aren't willing to let go of books that mean so much to them. Every year I buy additional copies of Laurie Halse Anderson's Speak and Judy Blume's Are You There God, It's Me Margaret. I pick up several of Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games and Stephanie Meyer's Twilight Series, because if you love a book, if a book saves you, you want to hold on to it. You want it to be yours. For so many middle schoolers, reading just isn't cool, so if my students steal these books and read them in the dark with the door closed tight, they do it because it's true: YA saves.

Best Burger Within a Five Mile Radius

Ever since 5 Guys opened up at Fox Hills, the best burger in LA debate has resumed. You have your classic In-N-Out v. Fatburger and Father's Office vs. The Counter. And fries? You can't forget about the fries.

Here is my take on the best burger & fries combo within a five mile radius from home.

5. Five Guys. Okay, I've only had their burgers once and the hype put my expectations pretty high. I like all the topping options but I hate how they list the calories. The roasted peanuts are a nice touch but 4.29 for a little cheeseburger seemed a bit much. I like the skin on fries and the cajun fries are tasty in a Hot-Cheetos kind of way.

4. Father's Office. If there is a burger Nazi in LA, this is it. No modifications. No substitutions. This is the burger they serve and if you don't like it, don't order it. No ketchup. Grilled onions, blue cheese and a big hunk of ground beef. I like it, but can never finish it. To me it's about the beer and the sweet potato fries at Father's Office but there is no ketchup and be prepared to pay. Father' Office is pricey (David and I rarely get out of there with less than a $50 bill). There's no table service and if you want water belly up to the bar and get it yourself.

3. Hole in the Wall Burger Joint. This hidden gem tucked behind Winchell's at Santa Monica and Sepulveda allows you to create your own burger (turkey, veggie, ground chicken, or beef). It's pretty pricey at 7.95 each, but it's big and I am able to make two meals out of my turkey burger. Toppings are generous and their sweet potato fries are tasty. Like Father's Office, this is an anti-ketchup establishment. *cash only

2. The Counter. When I want to build my own burger, this is where I go. My favorite is their Monday happy hour. You choose a three-slider tasting along with three beers. So tasty. And along with their half-and-half fries (sweet potato and regular), for me this is the best sit-down gourmet burger meal in town.

1. In-N-Out. Let's face it. If I'm craving a burger and I'm really hungry, I head to In-N-Out. So consistently fresh and delicious, I'm a cheeseburger and fries girl (and I occasionally add a neapolitan shake). It's simple and tasty and I always seem to be starving whenever I eat it. The fries aren't the best but the combo works and I'll take it for the price any day.

That's my list. I'm sure there are some Fatburger, The Habit and Apple Pan fans out there. Let the debate begin!

Oprah's New Favorite Memoir is...

Through Eyes Like Mine!

She just doesn't know it yet. And it is my job, as this book's author, to get my quiet little book into her hands so that she can fall in love with it.

Want to help out? Let Oprah know she should read this memoir. After the James Frey Million Little Pieces debacle, this is the memoir Oprah needs to restore her faith in the genre. Besides, I'm a teacher and she owes me after that Waiting for Superman episode.

Here's a section I think Oprah will like in particular so tweet her @Oprah, hit up her website message board, share this blog with your people who know people who might know her people. Oh, and if you are a sister who once appeared on Oprah (Sr. Maximillian Marie aka Loretta) get your people on it! 

Oprah, you will LOVE this book!

Movie Night

I

t's late, way past our bedtime, but we rented a VCR and the Butlers are over so Mom lets us stay up. Mom picked out some old movie for us to watch. 

"Are there kids in it?" I ask.

 

"The little girl tells the whole story, Nori." Mom says. "You'll like it."

I take the stairs two at a time to the family room but still don't believe the movie will be any good. It's in black and white.

 

The family room is still warm from the hot summer day. The door to the deck is open and a chorus of crickets filters in from the night. The grown-ups just finished watching a movie about some lawyer. Mr. Butler's a lawyer too with an office downtown by St. Francis. When he gives us a ride to school in the mornings, he gives us a word and we're supposed to look it up in the dictionary and tell him what it means the next day. One day I look up culpable which means deserving punishment.

 

I lay on the floor as Mom turns the lights out and presses play. The tape clicks and the music starts. There is a box with crayons and a pocketknife. A marble rolls; an old watch ticks. A girl draws a bird and laughs. The people in the room fade away and my world becomes black and white. A little girl named Scout counts and swings from a tire tied to a tree branch. I follow her adventures until I can feel the thin denim of her overalls and the summer heat on her back. I imagine what Scout thinks as she sits on Atticus's lap on the porch and he tells her you never really know a man until you walk a day in his shoes. I wonder if Jem, Scout and Dill will ever get Boo Radley to come out and if Atticus will help Tom Robinson. In the end, Atticus doesn't win, Boo Radley comes out, and I think I know why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.

The next day I pull on an old faded t-shirt and shorts fraying at the edges but I wish they were Scout's overalls. I climb up the crooked rungs on the willow tree and sit in our tree house. I look across the backyard at our neighborhood and wonder who in this town might be the Ewells or the Robinsons. I try to figure out how to get everyone to start calling me Scout but the name doesn't stick. No one calls me Scout, and the summer turns to fall.

School starts, fourth grade, and at our first recess I notice an old house on the border of the playground. I peer into its dirty windows, past the dusty green jars cluttering the sills. It's dark inside and I imagine Boo Radley in there, plotting to murder his family. I tell my classmates about it and they say I'm crazy. I think about beating them up. That's what Scout would've done, but Atticus wouldn't have liked that. Then I see Matt Rose looking in the window of the Boo Radley house and I know he's wondering.

Winter brings snow and during a close game of kickball, Richard Eigeren sends the ball flying over the fence into the Boo Radley yard. 

"Go get it, Richard," Matt Rose yells. 

"No way, that place is haunted." 

"Oh, don't listen to Nori. She just made that up from some old movie she saw." 

I look at my classmates and back to the dark house across the fence. "I'll go get it, you big babies." I sprint out the playground gate and up the sidewalk. The red rubber ball is far into the yard, resting on a pile of dirty snow. I look at the ball and remember the time Jem pushed Scout in the tire and she landed right on the Radley porch. I take a deep breath and push open the gate. One, two, three, four, five, six, I count my steps and heartbeats like Scout did when she was waiting for Jem to get his overalls from the Radley yard. I snatch the ball and huck it over the fence where the boys dodge it, not wanting to touch the rubber contaminated by the haunted yard. A dog barks and I nearly slip on the icy walk as I slam the gate and sprint back to the safety of the schoolyard, far from Maycomb, Scout and Boo Radley.

Sneak Preview of Overdue Apologies

When #teenagememories trends on twitter, it's the twitterverse asking for a preview of Overdue Apologies, the middle school memoir that is my daily grind these days. Remember that middle school dance? The crush you had as a seventh grader on the cutest eighth grader? Yeah, this might take you back.

Getting Ready

            Daylight savings time ends so the sun is up when Robin, Bianca and I walk to school. Spring is close and as soon as the afternoon highs reach into the 50s we wear shorts to school and tank tops that reveal pale skin hidden all winter long behind knit sweaters and jeans.

            The Friday of the spring dance Kim and Jamie come over to get ready. We watch one another closely and check out what we've chosen to wear: surf company t-shirts, shorts and sandals. We thread together leis from the crabapple tree blossoms in the front yard. We brush our hair, curl, and spray. We apply deodorant, lotion and perfume and by the time we're ready to go we are three variations on the same look and smell: shoulder length hair, curled and sprayed, pink lip gloss, shorts, t-shirts, sandals and flower leis = perfect for Spring Dance.

Pilot Butte, Bend, Oregon.

            Mom drops us off at school and we can't wait to dance to Prince's "U Got the Look" or Billy Idol's "Mony Mony." Our leis fall to pieces, white petals drifting to the floor, but we don't care. The eighth graders dance in their circle and we dance with the other seventh graders, but I keep an eye on Shawn. He and Caren finally broke up and maybe if I'm around on a slow song he'll ask me to dance. But when they play "Take My Breath Away" Shawn leaves so I head to the bathroom, hoping we might bump into one another. Yes. I time it perfectly and we almost collide at the door.

            "Cool sunglasses," I say as I pull them from his face. "Oooh. Varnets. Can I borrow?"

            "Uh," before he can answer I walk off with his glasses and I wear them for the rest of the night.

            It's almost 9:00 and the dance is almost over. U2's "With or Without You" comes on and Shawn comes up to me.

            Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

            He looks uncomfortable and won't look me in the eye.

            "Uh, hey Nori," he says, turning to look over his shoulder.

            I can't believe he's right there, standing right there in front of me. He reaches out a hand and I smile and look down at my feet.

            "Can I get my sunglasses back?"

The Dukes of Hazzard

When #childhoodmemories trends on twitter, it's the twitterverse asking for a new blog post. So here's a memory of my brother, Mitch, and them Duke boys.

Dukes of Hazzard

M

om doesn't like us watching the Dukes of Hazzard. She says it's unrealistic to have all of those car crashes and then show people walking away without a scratch. She also doesn't like how the cops are stupid and those "good ol' boys" always get away. She doesn't like the Duke boys' car either because it has the Confederate flag on the top. Somehow that means they are racist. 

But Mitch and I like watching that show and I like Luke Duke. He has dark hair and grey eyes. Most of the girls in my class like Bo Duke because he looks like a Ken doll. I also like how Daisy Duke has brown hair instead of blonde. I get the feeling Mom doesn't like Daisy Duke though because she hates it when I tie up my t-shirts like Daisy does. 

Mitch and I play hide and seek in the backyard. He counts from the willow tree, which is home base, while I run to hide behind the woodpile by the back porch. I can barely hear him counting. He gets to twenty and peeks out from the side of the tree. I try to keep an eye on him but can't see him when I hear a strange crash and Mitch starts yelling. He shouts so loudly I know we aren't playing hide and seek anymore. Mitch still has a strong accent but I can tell he's saying something about the Dukes of Hazzard. I run to the willow tree and there is a car right there in our backyard. Mitch shows me with his hands and crashing sound effects how the car jumped from the road, crashed through the fence, and landed between two apple trees. We run to the house to tell Mom. I try to explain but Mitch just keeps saying, "Dukes of Hazzard, Dukes of Hazzard!" Mom doesn't believe us until we pull her to the backyard and she sees the car sitting there.

Mom herds us inside and calls the police. She keeps hugging and kissing us both repeating, "My god, he could have killed you." 

With Mom's arms tight around me, I remember Greg Bob lying in his casket, and for just a second, I imagine Mitch or myself lying lifeless beneath the branches of the willow tree. Sirens blare from outside and Mom lets us go.

Mitch and I run upstairs to Chet's room to watch the police and ambulance from the window. They pull a man from the car and he looks like he's okay as he stumbles toward the ambulance. Mom talks to the police by the front door but I can't hear what they say. 

Mitch keeps saying, "Yee haw!" just like those Duke boys do when they go flying down the dirt roads of Hazzard County.

Through Eyes Like Mine is available at Amazon, Powell's, or for order from your local book seller. 

Today's Poem: BethenNoriko inspired by Terrance Hayes's "Shafro"

Terrance and me: Antioch MFA Graduation 2005.

Poet Terrance Hayes was the speaker at my MFA graduation and I've had a little writer's crush on him ever since. I used this poem with my classes and wrote this pop-culture bit. And there are only a few days left in April: National Poetry Month. Even David Gantt wrote a poem. Come on people. The comments section is for poems!

Shafro
By Terrance Hayes

Now that my afro's as big as Shaft's
I feel a little better about myself.
How it warms my bullet-head in Winter,

black halo, frizzy hat of hair.
Shaft knew what a crown his was,
an orb compared to the bush

on the woman sleeping next to him.
(There was always a woman
sleeping next to him. I keep thinking,

If I'd only talk to strangers. . .
grow a more perfect head of hair.)
His afro was a crown.

Bullet after barreling bullet,
fist-fights & car chases,
three movies & a brief TV series,

never one muffled strand,
never dampened by sweat--
I sweat in even the least heroic of situations.

I'm sure you won't believe this,
but if a policeman walks behind me, I tremble:
What would Shaft do? What would Shaft do?

Bits of my courage flake away like dandruff.
I'm sweating even as I tell you this,
I'm not cool,

I keep the real me tucked beneath a wig,
I'm a small American frog.
I grow beautiful as the theatre dims.

BethenNoriko

By Noriko Nakada

Inspired by Terrance Hayes’ “Shafro”

I see you on TV

So thin,

So skinny.

And I think I hate you.

But Bethenny, you actually crack me up.

I want to hate you

With your book deal

And reality TV show

And perfect little baby.

But I want to drink Skinny Girl margaritas too.

I want to lounge by a pool in Malibu

And do yoga

And ice skate with stars

And visit food trucks.

But I don’t get how you’re so skinny.

When TV adds ten pounds

And you like your drinks (even if they are skinny)

And you’re a foodie

All at the same time.

April is National Poetry Month!

I penned a couple with my students for National Poetry Month. We used the Pablo Neruda poem "You Will Remember" as a spring board. Of course, I went back to my childhood haunts... I invite you to pen a poem for April as well!

You Will Remember
By Pablo Neruda

You will remember that leaping stream
where sweet aromas rose and trembled,
and sometimes a bird, wearing water
and slowness, its winter feathers.

You will remember those gifts from the earth:
indelible scents, gold clay,
weeds in the thicket and crazy roots,
magical thorns like swords.

You'll remember the bouquet you picked,
shadows and silent water,
bouquet like a foam-covered stone.

That time was like never, and like always.
So we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there.

House on Jones Road

By Noriko Nakada
Inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “You Will Remember”

The house stands tall casting dark shadows.

The willow grows still, a tether of weeping branches.

Stiff roots press solid clay,

And water falls past those same shadows.

Breezes blow past carrying the same scents

In thin mountain air around a tall gray house.

The Deschutes
Inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “You Will Remember”

In town
Your water
Flows like glass
Slowness and mirrors
River as pond
And stones stand still.

Where you narrow
Water comes to life
The smooth click of rock
Striking rock
A rush of sound
And you tumble on.

An Easter Excerpt from Through Eyes Like Mine

 

Surviving Easter Mass

E

aster is the longest mass of the year because I have to wear a dress and my feet hurt because my shoes are so stiff. The church is crowded, and hot and smelly from the incense the altar boys pour all over. Palm Sunday mass is actually longer, but Easter feels longer because chocolate eggs wait in baskets at home. There will be an Easter egg hunt, and then ham and scalloped potatoes for dinner. 

I watch the families come in and count the number of girls wearing Easter bonnets. Mom never lets me get one but this year I really wanted one to go with my First Communion dress. After the procession I gaze up at the Stations of the Cross: Jesus is condemned to death, Jesus falls the first time, Jesus falls the second and third times, until eventually Jesus dies on the cross. I stand, sing, sit, kneel and half-listen as the priest talks about spring and life and death. Spring is supposed to be about life, but ever since Greg Bob died over spring break this time of year always reminds me of death. I try to stay awake and remember this is a joyful occasion even though I don't understand how Jesus rose from the dead. Why would it take three days and what was Jesus doing in that cave all that time? 

Everyone takes Communion or gets a blessing, and I recount the Easter bonnets to make sure I didn't miss any. After Communion, I think about chocolate, Easter eggs and ham. Just a few more prayers, "Peace be with you" and finally it's the recessional. The altar boys, the priest, the first and second rows file out and I follow them into a cool spring morning of chocolate bunnies and marshmallow Peeps.

Through Eyes Like Mine is available at Amazon, Powell's, or for order from your local book seller. 

A Central Oregon Spring Day in LA

We're having an unusually cool start to spring here in Los Angeles with highs in the 50s for the past couple of days. Clear, smog-less skies scattered with cumulus clouds and crisp dry air reminded me of spring in Bend. There have been no snow flurries, no frost on car windows to scrape but when I got home from a long day at the softball field my face felt raw from the relentless wind. I've sneezed at least twenty times today and can't stop my eyes from watering. I love the usual LA spring: cool mornings, afternoons in the seventies, but this week took me back to the tennis matches and baseball games during the clear spring days of my youth. The only thing missing is juniper pollen.

GOT Teachers?

I attended one of the most disheartening of meetings today. My employer unveiled a new process for which I will not be evaluated. It's called, wait for it, G.O.T. or Growth Over Time. It's a way my value as a teacher will be not be judged based on how well my students bubble in answers on a flawed assessment. Well, I won't be evaluated or judged by it yet.

Awesome.

Now, I could go on, and on, and on... about how much this sucks but I thought instead I would write about something I love about teaching. And hey, it's NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month so I figured I would write a little something about my second job. It's a haiku. It's all I could muster.

When students mistook
Sasquatch for a vegetable
It made me chuckle

I dare you. It's April. Write a haiku comment. All the cool kids are doing it.

If you want to read more about GOT, here's a link to Emerson's PD Blog.