Working is like Exercise for Me

I came to this conclusion yesterday, at the end of the long weekend, after an unexpected holiday on Friday for the hurricane that went away east. Because for 3 weeks I've been pretty well into the swing of things, managing to get the course prep done, grading a reasonable number of things, and enjoying the classroom dynamic. Admittedly, I'm getting worn down a bit from always being on the go. I have classes to teach 5 days a week, just like in the summer, except that in the summer I gave them Fridays off, and it was only 1 class, not 2. Having 2 classes makes it easy in a way--I don't have to come up with material for one class to fill 5 days' worth of discussion/lectures/activities. On the other hand, when I'm finished with teaching one course, it's time to turn around and work on the next one for the next day. This would be more of a pain if I was less familiar with the material. Although I am teaching from a new syllabus for composition, I have taught composition a hundred times. So I have activities ready-made that I can slip in as necessary. Also, there is a set of ready-made lesson plans to go along with the standard syllabus, though I have problems with some of the examples used, which introduce bias into the discussion in a way that has potential to be used well or poorly. Teaching children's lit similarly requires less prep than it did over the summer, though the classroom dynamic--35 students instead of 10--is vastly different and does not lend itself to the same kinds of activities. Many of my students come from education, and have a very different way of thinking about children's literature, so I have to steer them almost constantly away from the, "This is a good book because it can work well in a classroom in this way. . ." and try to induce them to think about it as literature, not as a prop for teaching. Also, spending the same number of class periods on a topic, but having those class periods spread over 2-3 weeks instead of concentrated in a single week gives everyone the feeling of going nowhere fast. And it's getting depressing. So I'm looking forward to moving on to poetry. But I'm feeling a little discouraged all the same.

So how is working like exercise? Well, when I'm in the middle of it, in the "swing of things," so to speak, I feel pretty excited & good about what I'm doing. It energizes me. After a good class, I'm on a kind of "high." I talk about the class for hours. My husband gets sick of hearing about it! ;) But when I'm away from it, even for a long weekend, especially if I have unexpectedly "gotten out of" teaching for one day, it feels impossible to get back into it. The same thing happens to me with exercise. The same thing happens to me with research and writing. It's why the dissertation seemed to drag--I spent more time dreading the work than actually working on it. Even blogging is like this for me--if I've missed checking on blogs for a number of days, it feels like a huge task to get back into them, even though I know I enjoy it!!

I know this is not the case with exercise, though it can be time consuming, but one of the things that research, teaching, and blogging share is a huge commitment of mental energy. Answering emails is the same. I know, quite often, that if I let myself get started with a blog or an email, I will keep going until it's done, expending a great deal of mental energy and becoming engrossed for hours at a time sometimes. So sometimes, I prefer not to start. Research and writing are similar--the mental effort is considerable, the time commitment is significant, and there doesn't ever seem to be an ideal time to start. Truthfully, sewing is the same for me. When I start a project, I want to know that I can finish the project in a reasonable amount of time--a few days, usually. And that means from cutting out the fabric to pressing the finished item. If I leave something just slightly unfinished, I hate to go back to it. Doodle has a jumper without loops to hold the loose ends of the shoulder straps, and a dress that needs a hook-and-eye above the zipper to look "finished"--minor details, and not very time consuming, but if I haven't gotten the details finished with the rest of the garment, I don't want to go back. I would rather start something new. And if I put a project aside earlier--watch out!! I have to force myself, trick myself, reward myself with the prospect of starting the thing I really want to work on--or it never gets done.

Looking over this, it seems like I have a strange combination of procrastination, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and perfectionism--the kind of crippling perfectionism that leads one to avoid starting the project for fear of being engrossed in details. I never completed an incomplete because I couldn't find the "perfect" topic to write about. I had set pretty high standards with another paper for the same professor, and didn't want to fall short. So I couldn't do it. The mental block was huge. I think I stopped writing poetry because I stopped thinking that my ideas were poem-worthy--I rather got out of that way of seeing the world.

I got over this to a degree with the dissertation. Remember Dori from Finding Nemo? She sang, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. . ." Eventually, I just had to force myself to keep writing, reminding myself that my mediocre writing was usually sufficient for the job I was trying to get done. Teaching has its built-in motivation, thank goodness. The students will keep coming, the semester continues to progress. I can't just stop and dread what needs to be done. Then there will be good days, and I will think, "How is it that I dreaded this so much?" I will go the library to do my archival research and return home excited by all of the ideas that I have had while reading and try to hold on to that enthusiasm until the next week. It's about rhythm, really. It's about routine. Like exercise. But I never can stick with it, somehow. . .

Teaching The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, and other things. . .

If you haven't read the original, you can read it here. I assigned an essay on "The Moral Simplification of Disney's 'The Little Mermaid,'" and had them read the original text. I don't think any of them had read it before.

My first surprise was when it was argued that the Disney version was better by virtue of its simplicity because without the immortality of the soul as a subtext, it would be more accessible to those who were atheist or agnostic, and so did not wish for their children to be exposed to difficult questions that would then require explanation. Also, the replay value of a text with such an unhappy ending--one that instructed rather than amusing--was called into question. This rather put a damper on the prospect of discussing Andersen's text on its own terms, but then, with such a popular version as a comparison, I guess the original was at a disadvantage. The essay argued that the happy ending does rather a disservice to the reader, creating expectations that wishes will always be fulfilled, and attributing misfortune to the will of a single malevolent force. We wound up discussing the issue of representation of parental authority, and why parents feel threatened when fictional characters disobey (and get away with it)--not an issue in the original. Another point was that it contains more relevant topics--like not to talk to strangers--than the immortality of the soul. I tried to compare the complexity of the two issues. Even if you're not interested in the immortality of the soul, you can still concede that the question is more complex, no? The issue of why the mermaid could not achieve both a soul and true love was raised--the dichotomy was seen as a false one.

I admit that I felt a bit at a disadvantage because the Andersen text was being charged with not being politically or socially relevant. Maybe that's why it was excluded from the anthology!! But then, I think it's a problem when the expectation is that the world should be fair, and fiction is expected either to create a safehaven where the world looks fair, or becomes more fair (just), or acknowledges its unfairness in a way that places blame or suggests a remedy. I never had a problem with the notion that toils and suffering could be fruitless, even as a child--except that her toils were not fruitless, as she was granted the opportunity to gain for herself an immortal soul. But if that consideration is alien to your worldview, it's rather difficult to entertain that as a concrete gain. So how to discuss texts with a Christian subtext in a secular university context?

I was particularly interested in the nature of love and the representation of marriage. Observe this passage:

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman, “unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome.”

In this characterization of marriage, we approximate the Catholic concept of a Sacramental Marriage, I think. At least, that would be a productive way to discuss a marriage that is so bound in the Judeo-Christian notion of the soul. The Biblical imagery--or analogy--is obvious: as Adam leant his rib to make Eve, so the husband of the mermaid (who is not human, and so is not the same as a human wife would be) lends part of his soul so that she might partake with him of Eternity. Pretty profound, actually. I managed to tease out the Adam & Eve reference, but had to quickly abandon the topic (which I did not introduce in the terms described above, though I would have liked to be teaching in a context that would have allowed for that kind of discussion). Now, even wanting to talk about the story in this way is new for me, much less having the context to do so, so I did not embark on an attempt to have the students define Sacramental Marriage through the story or evoke Catholic teaching. No waaaaay I'm THAT naïve! But still, I couldn't help wondering where that kind of discussion would lead. I planted the Adam & Eve seed, though. I didn't ask why there were all of those priests & incense & ritual in this Protestant, Danish text, but I wondered to myself. . .

In order to have something to discuss, I did ask what a feminist perspective might be, but that was too easy, really. She is dehumanized--being non-human in the first place doesn't really matter, or rather, it does because the female protagonist is alienated from the patriarchal world from the very nature of her being (or non-being)--and depends on finding a husband for her very soul. Her identity depends on him. Now, the Disney version does not really vary from this--rather, it validates that Ariel's existence depends on the prince. We learn that that's O.K. I'm not happy with seeing the Andersen version as negative in this way, and I don't think Disney's rebellion theme redeems their dependence on the handsome prince to justify Ariel's transformation. I presented this poem by Judith Viorst as an alternate "take" on the story; I liked this one in high school, but (point being taken--don't change who you are, yadda yadda), it doesn't exactly satisfy me in its interpretation of the story:

A Mermaid's Tail (Tale)

I left the castle of my mer-king father,
Where seaweed gardens sway in pearly sand.
I left behind sweet sisters and kind waters
To seek a prince's love upon the land.

My tongue was payment for the witch's potion,
And never would I sing sea songs again;
My tail became two human legs to dance on,
But I would always dance with shards of pain.

I risked more than my life to make him love me.
The prince preferred another for his bride.
I always hate the ending to this story:
They lived together happily; I cried.

But I have some advice for modern mermaids
Who wish to save great sorrow and travail:
Don't give up who you are for love of princes.
He might have liked me better with my tail.

For all the validating of identity for girls, it is an oversimplification--likely by design. So how to avoid that kind of oversimplification in classroom discussion? We discussed (briefly) ecofeminism, which is so over the top that it's really about use of language rather than perceived oppression, and so is fun for me. Briefly, briefly we discussed Matthew Arnold's "The Forsaken Merman." I think that comparison could have been fruitful on the religious front, with the contrast between nature/paganism and humanity/religion, and all of the various associations. But we wasted too much time talking about Disney. :P

My previous post about politics, perspectives, worldviews in the classroom was kind of poking (admittedly smug) fun at myself, though it did culminate in a very real frustration with what I see as the limitations and expectations of my teaching in my discipline. I worry about including texts that I don't like or with which I don't feel familiar enough to teach simply in order to represent a diversity of voices. I worry that when I include multi-ethnic selections or female authors as an afterthought, that I'm being a phony--or that I will come across that way. And that's a lot of baggage to add to the already considerable pressures of teaching.

And what about Catholicism? If to teach is my vocation (or part of my vocation), and I'm supposed to live my Faith, how do those things work together? As far as I can tell, it doesn't mean that I have to be nicey-nicey in the classroom (or on the blog, for that matter). I certainly DO have to engage with these questions, and this is a good format for me to do so. But what about subject matter of research and teaching? Surely I shouldn't shy away from the Christianity, though I can't really pursue the themes in more than superficial terms in my current position. And I have a problem with texts being taught simply for their Christian elements (usually in a simplified form)--like is done with the Chronicles of Narnia, which are typically embraced or rejected by scholars or teachers for their Christian elements. That is a bit simplistic on both sides.

With research, it is easier than teaching, I think. If we are selective in our research, well, that's part of being specialized. And I'm not sure how we can live the Faith through academic publishing, unless it means not publishing that thing I wrote about S & M in the films of a certain Spanish director. Yeah, that topic has been shelved permanently for a few years now.

The Worst Thing about this Potter Controversy. . .

. . . Is that, unlike most of the people involved in the "debate" (which for me is only a debate over whether the author's comments in the media have authority surpassing that of the text itself), is that I'm just starting to read the book, which my son has checked out from his school library. So as I'm reading, I'm either completely mocking the idea (uh oh, Dumbledore's brother "fiddled around with goats"!) or anticipating how one phrase or another might--scratch that, WILL--be used to argue for the truth of Rowling's "revelation." Suffice it to say, I am reading with the eye of a critic rather than an eye to leisure. Which kind of defeats the purpose of reading the books for me. If I didn't suspend my inner critic to a large degree, I wouldn't be able to read them at all. 'Cause frankly, I don't think they're all that good. They're sloppy, and this latest stunt is a continuation of that sloppiness--Rowling's attempt to include in the "next installment" an idea or aspect of the fantasy world that did not occur to her in the previous installments. This time, she couldn't write another book, though, because she promised she wouldn't.** And writing in homosexuality for a future edition would just be a tacky and paltry admission that she hadn't done it in the first place. The inconsistency has bugged me all along. So I read them in the way others read romance novels--as an entertainment and an escape. But this time, my unwillingness to pay for a hardback has backfired.

I have, however, been enjoying the debates from the perspective of literary criticism and what people think about it. Considering that I teach it (in a sense) and have definite ideas about it, I find a lot of this pretty stimulating. Either that, or the hormones are doing something really weird. . .

Anyway, if any of this floats your boat, take a look at Darwin, Mrs. Darwin, and the illuminating comments of Zippy, here and here.

**Although if you look at the comments to Darwin's post (the first I link to, above), he suggests a title for her next book. . . ;) If that particular book surfaces, I will break my resolution not to pay hardcover price!!

Books!! & other ways of passing the time. . .

On Saturday we took a small road trip to one of our favorite places to spend a lot of money: Borders!!! Now, not all Borders were created equal. In fact, when Borders came to New Orleans, there was disappointment all around, I think. And we have seen Borders ranging from the awesome (Ann Arbor) to pathetic (Houston) and everything (but not everywhere) in between. This particular Borders is about 1 1/2 hours away, and worth the trip. I was the one who wanted to go. This has been fairly rare, I must admit--part of my overall "crisis of literacy" (and not the one that I'm writing about in the dissertation). You see, for someone who wholeheartedly believes in the importance and value of reading to the human person, I have done painfully little of it for the past few years. I have had little motivation to pick up a book, especially a book I had never read before. Especially fiction. I did find time for some religious works, and have particularly enjoyed reading conversion stories. I would quip, "Graduate school will do that," and I believe that's true to a degree. I couldn't even really browse in a bookstore--I had no idea what to look for!! And on a level, it pained me. On another level, I was consumed by deep frustration and even a little apathy.

The good news is, this is passing, or has passed. I have read more books this year than in many recent years. Some have been children's books--okay, MANY have been children's books!! Most have been fantasy. It is possible that all have been fantasy (except the dissertation books, and I'm not sure how rereading Sons and Lovers for a chapter counts. . .) But at any rate, I have been reading, and I went to a bookstore, and with real enjoyment, picked out books that I actually want to read--some for me and some for my son. And as an extra bonus, I got a 25% educator discount!!!

So these were our purchases:

• for the toddler: Learn Shapes with Frog (shaped like a frog, and she recently learned to say "frog" even though daddy & mommy insist on saying "froggy") and The Crayola Rainbow Colors Book. (She also got a "duck"--as she says instead of "ducky"--which is actually a TY goose from the Charlotte's Web movie. Cute!)

• for the 10-year-old: Time Cat by Lloyd Alexander, Bed-Knob and Broomstick by Mary Norton (of Borrowers fame), and Here Be Monsters! by Alan Snow, which seems to be written in the Roald Dahl tradition. Two we put back are Stowaway by Karen Hesse and Robert Andrew Parker (because we couldn't get everything) and The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick, which I've been looking at for months because it looks so compelling and postmodern (in a good way).

• for the husband: (and for the Tolkien collection) The Return of the Shadow by J. R. R. Tolkien, because we (though not me so much) are actively building up our collection of the back histories. I find them interesting in a scholarly way, but difficult to read cover-to-cover. I'm all for collecting them, though!

• for me: A Penguin Deluxe edition of Lady Chatterly's Lover, which really wouldn't be anything interesting, except that it has very amusing (and kind of pathetic) cartoons about D. H. Lawrence's life all over the cover. So really, I bought it more for the cover than for the text, but it really was worth it!! And I also bought a fantasy novel called City of Saints and Madmen by Jeff Vandermeer. I've never heard of Vandermeer, but the back blurb claims that he "has reinvented the literature of the fantastic." What was really interesting to me, though, was not the novelty, though that's what initially caught my attention; rather, the book has a "feel" of Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities. It definitely seems postmodern, perhaps less well-organized than Calvino's (Calvino was, after all, a genius), and involves intertwining stories. It is a city of "elegance and squalor. Of religious fervor and wanton lusts. And everywhere, on the walls of courtyards and churches, and incandescent fungus of mysterious and ominous origins." And that's not even mentioning characters! I hope it lives up to its blurb without being confusing and pointless (a definite danger with postmodernism!).

All in all, a happy book-buying excursion! ;) Now I have to find time to read! I'm supposed to be polishing off chapter 4 of the dissertation this week, after I prep for my class for the next few weeks. I have a doctor's appointment Monday (and here begin the weekly visits), and I will see if my doctor thinks I can safely go to the Renaissance Festival next Saturday!! I hadn't been thinking of going, but then it occurred to me--if I can go on a shopping trip this weekend, why not a festival next? I only feel pregnant when I'm trying to sleep and have to sit up to change positions, and when I have periodic fits of exhaustion during the day. Other than that, I just feel like. . . me! ;)

Thinking About "Sexy," Breastfeeding (again), Purgatory, and A Strange Immortality

As I get less and less time for extended posts, I will likely have more and more of these "in brief" thoughts. I hope it doesn't get too monotonous! But there are a few things bopping around my head that I need to get onto the blog before they go away and before I can stop thinking about them and finish preparing for class!!

1) Is "sexy" a performance? - Jen of Et Tu, Jen? has picked up my "sexy breastfeeding breasts" post in order to completely turn it around. How cool is that? She asks whether "sexiness" is a valuable goal in itself, and I know where she's coming from in a way, though I see it differently. I've never really aspired to look sexy or act sexy--I guess I was trying to be intelligent and look attractive instead. An interesting discussion has ensued, mostly about the appropriateness of trying to be sexy, especially in a Catholic context, and in the context of a Catholic sacramental marriage. What strikes me is that sexiness is being represented almost exclusively as a look or an act that one puts on for other people or, in the case of "good, moral" sexiness (which is up for grabs on the other discussion), for one other person. It is never a feeling that comes from within, which is really what I was trying to evoke in my post. I have suggested "sensual"as an alternative to "sexy," both because it's not quite as loaded and because it seems to suggest a feeling--something internal--rather than a look or an action--something external. What I originally said was, "breastfeeding moms can still have sexy thoughts about their breasts." I'm not really talking about society's concept of what is sexy, but responding to the original comment that breastfeeding moms "cheapen what [their] breasts are" by breastfeeding in public, perhaps indiscreetly, or whatever. But what are your breasts anyway, when they're not a food source? Something to flaunt or somethin you appreciate the way you appreciate any part of your body that makes you feel sensual or beautiful? Anyway, they're not buying it on Jen's blog. Oh well!

2) Facebook's no breastfeeding policy - I came across something recently (I think through sitemeter) about Facebook shutting down the site of a breastfeeding mom for posting a picture of herself nursing her little one. Now hopefully most if not all of us can agree that that's not obscene, and not what they had in mind with their "no nudity" policy. However, I'm going to play devil's advocate and say that it might become more difficult for them to police the content of pages if they start differentiating the "type" or "intent" of pictures of bare anatomical features. How do we separate the nude baby in the bath family page from the child porn site? Yes, it should be clear, but it does complicate matters if we start having to address it. Also during a sitemeter browse, I noticed that someone in France did, indeed, find my "sexy breastfeeding breasts" post while searching for erotic lactation porn. Eeeeeeeew! So would the same mother who is outraged because her post was taken down feel all warm & fuzzy if some pervert was masturbating to a picture of her breastfeeding? I don't think I would, but then, I'm not going to post ANY pictures of myself or my children, so I guess it's more a matter of privacy than aesthetics. Still, tough call for Facebook. Or maybe not.

3) Purgatory - Entropy has a thought-provoking post about Purgatory, a favorite Catholic concept of mine, and how her daughter is struggling with the concept. I've already written a fair amount about it over there, so I'll cheat & repost my comment in the interest of time:

The concept of Purgatory is one I always found rather attractive--that is, after I passed my "just say no to all things Catholic" phase. Dante helped my understanding of it, predictably perhaps. (I took a course on Dante very shortly after getting my undergrad degree, and it was instrumental in my eventual conversion.) One vivid scene in Purgatorio involves one of the souls remembering his death and an angel and devil fighting over his soul. It seems his was a definite "death bed repentance" in the form of a single tear, and the devil was saying, basically, "oh, come on--that's not really genuine!" The argument worked with someone in the Inferno, but evidently this conversion of heart was real. So while he did indeed repent, there was no chance for it to be borne out in life, and even had he been able to "repay the $10," he didn't have the chance to try. So off he goes to Purgatory. I find it comforting because it means that we don't have to be impeccable, even after a conversion of heart, after repentance and penance (of course, Purgatory is also an extended opportunity for penance, and so is related to the Sacrament of Reconciliation). It takes into account our real, human failings in the face of God's mercy & forgiveness--and perfection.

And now I get hokey... It always bothered me at the end of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi that Darth Vadar could participate in and commit the number and type of sheer evil acts that he did during his life, and then, because Luke says, "No, you're really good," voila! he's good! And he joins the "good Jedi": Yoda and Obi Wan. It simply didn't seem fair. I mean, what about all the bad stuff? In Protestant theology, this wouldn't be a problem. He said sorry (sort of), was forgiven, end of story. But to imagine that the soul (yes, I'm still talking about Darth Vadar) doesn't carry a mark of all that evil is naive at best. Certainly, he has not reached the point where he should be able to participate in the joys of... well... company with the good Jedis (and here the analogy breaks down a bit). Anyway, I always thought that it was patently unfair that Darth should be judged as their equals without any reparation. I would have had him in Purgatory for a long, long time!!

Well, at the very least, I hope you find that amusing! ;)

And I wish you the best in dealing with this issue with your daughter!! My son has pretty much accepted everything seamlessly. I don't know how much he had learned at this point about Purgatory, but at any rate, I'm keeping Star Wars handy! ;)

-and-

I wonder, too, looking at Ma Beck's comment again, if certain types of sins retain a kind of hold on us--that on a level, even if we're forgiven and have really, truly repented, we are inclined (whether from shame or whatever) to replay them in our minds, to dwell on them, to keep them with us. I know I've done this. Anyway, this kind of lingering thought about sin is not appropriate for the joys of heaven, and must be burned away...

I rather like the idea of Purgatory, as you can tell, though it is tempting to feel like it takes the pressure off of me!

4) Immortality? - My daughter, who likes to peruse the VHS/DVD collection for things that have interesting pictures on the cases, has been interested in Toy Story 1 & 2 lately, which prompted some brief musings on what it means for one's immortality to depend on the existence--indeed, the youth and whim--of someone else!! This is a motif that repeats itself throughout children's books and media: consider The Velveteen Rabbit, "Puff the Magic Dragon," Jim Henson's The Christmas Toy, and then Toy Story. And children are shown to be fairly fickle in several of these examples. The Velveteen Rabbit is a bit different, since it's not immortality, but rather mortality--a "real" existence--that he achieves through being loved. Still, the dependency on the love of another--selfish love, really--and the necessity for the individual to build his/her existence around that other with no guarantee of reciprocal love--it's rather dark and existential on a level. As indeed, children's literature can often be. The odd thing is that stories that promote love and self-sacrifice are seen as positive, even mirroring Christian virtues. But I don't see that as the whole story. Unless the toy represents the perpetual "dark night of the soul," but I just don't think the creators were being that deep.

So really, would Buzz Lightyear have been better off or worse thinking that he was, indeed, The Real Buzz Lightyear? At least he would have entertained the notion that his life had its own purpose. On the other hand, he would not have been self-aware. These tease the edges of Christian notions, but fall short in disturbing ways. Consider, for example, the notion that we are called to do God's will and that when we imagine ourselves acting independently from God, Church teaching tells us that we are not seeing the whole picture and not living to the fullest extent possible. The Buzz analogy has a similar ring about it, except that the alternatives are utter dependency and self-sacrifice for uncertain love--or delusion. The Christian vision tells us what we seek to gain or lose from including God in our lives--or not.

Okay, clearly I need to turn off the TV. ;) And get some class prep done. William Morris, here I come!

Things I've Been Thinking About (September Edition)

I realize my posts have been rather slim lately. That's because I've primarily been focused on the dissertation (I'm almost finished the D. H. Lawrence chapter, which will leave only 2 chapters to go--yay!!), the class I'm teaching (we have been discussing Rossetti's "Goblin Market," which is a fun one--they truly enjoy it, which is rare), anything I might want to finish sewing before the new baby comes, and generally staying on top of cooking and cleaning (things I rarely do, but I've been cooking in a renewed effort to economize and by "cleaning" I mean keeping up with tidiness on a day-to-day basis--or almost). You might call it extended nesting. I've been very domestic. :P I'm also a little concerned about the fact that my son wants a Wii for Christmas and there's very little chance that "Santa" will be able to find one. :( At least by itself rather than in a "bundle" for $540. (Lest you think I routinely buy my son $250 Christmas presents, I don't. It would be a "family" present--for ALL of us!--and never the first year out! Generally I wait for prices to go down on game systems, so maybe in 2009. . .)

So what other lofty thoughts have been going through this mind? Well, I'll tell you. . .

1) Harry Potter -- I recently read The Half-Blood Prince when my son checked it out from the school library. I feel slightly guilty about that. I have an ongoing problem with Rowling, and since I have not really seen this one articulated, I will mention it in brief. Basically, it's the goodness or evilness (?) of a given character, and how this personality trait is determined. While Rowling ostensibly resists determinism by giving lip service to how one character could have easily substituted for Harry as the "chosen one," it's not believable. Characters do not really seem to be counted good or evil according to their actions. Whether Harry does good or evil (let's call it "bad," since he is never quite allowed to do evil, just cheating, dark arts spells and the like, which nevertheless go beyond the antics of Fred & George), he is untouchably good. Whether Snape does good or evil, Dumbledore trusts him implicitly, yet the reader is constantly encouraged to judge him as evil (a fact that has bugged me since book 2--I know, I'll read the last book, but the inconsistency is the point). No matter what a Malfoy might do, he's evil (and a little snot, to boot). And yet we are kind of expected to see people as defined by their actions--well, unless you count the bad things that James and Sirius did. Hmmm. . . Well, this Good or Evil predestination or determinism rather comes to a head in Voldemort, who not only does bad things, he is genetically determined to be evil, being last of Slytherin's line and the product of serious inbreeding, a half-blood at that (and resents it) and is raised in an orphanage so he doesn't know nurturing (which means his Slytherin traits really are inbred and not the product of upbringing). Basically, there was never an opportunity for Tom Riddle to say, "You know, I don't think I'll be evil today." And you know what? I find that disturbing.

2) My family is outgrowing our vehicle and our bed. How to fit 2 carseats and a 10-year old in the backseat of a Hyundai Tuscon? Not a clue. And what exactly will we do when a newborn wants to nurse in bed with Momma while a toddler wants to climb in bed for an hour or so? (The bed is a queen and Momma and Daddy aren't really small people.) No, the correct answer isn't turn the toddler out of bed. My husband has speculated that he will be sleeping on the futon in the living room. I don't see that happening. After all, he & I squeezed in a twin with our son when he was a month or so old (long story)! We were arguably a lot smaller then--I know I was, at least!! The toddler bed is making things a lot better, but she still has nights when she isn't comfortable for one reason or another--sometimes gas, sometimes hunger, sometimes overtired or not enough exercise. Who knows? She might go back in her bed more often if I had the inclination to lug 30 lbs. of sleeping toddler across the room, but really, the belly's getting to be enough to carry around! I did read an interesting Mothering article about having a toddler sleep with you--you can find it here. I don't personally like to force young children to sleep in their own beds--or their own rooms. As I see it, they still need us for a while. And if the Von Trapp children hadn't run into Maria's room when they were scared of the storm, we wouldn't have "A Few of Our Favorite Things"!

3) Braxton-Hicks. Lots of them. I don't remember them making it hard to walk. Is this O.K. at this stage?? I realize they get more noticeable each pregnancy, but geez!!

4) Applying for jobs. One in particular. At a Catholic college in Indiana in the middle of nowhere (as far as I can tell). High course load, but it sounds pretty flexible. I could probably end up teaching all over the board--not getting pigeonholed and not teaching theory instead of lit. I can teach theory, but I don't want it to be the focus of my teaching, which means I should go somewhere where I won't have to teach grad students--not really something I feel the need to do anyway. I'm not sure I see the appeal. I mean, really--I wouldn't want to teach someone like me!! ;) But I'm not going to worry about job apps much. I'd love to have a job next year, but I need to do what I'm doing right now without any more distraction than absolutely necessary, and I won't be able to go to major national conference meat market this year anyway (no great loss to my mind).

5) Something morbid (and potentially judgmental) about motherhood in Texas, but I don't really want to write about it or speculate on it. I did once comment to someone--many years ago--that crimes seemed weirder in Texas, or more extreme, or something, and the sheer list of occurrences cited here seems to substantiate that. But the scope of crimes has gotten so weird anyway that I don't know if I would have made that observation today.

6) I love Crocs!!!-- And I'm not terribly worried about them making news recently. We have reached a point recently where each member of the family has a pair of genuine Crocs (imitations can't come close!) and I boast 3 pair. I barely wear anything else. Especially pregnant, and especially since they have relatively "feminine" styles--I don't have the "garden variety" clog (ha ha). But consider this:

According to reports appearing across the United States and as far away as Singapore and Japan, entrapments occur because of two of the biggest selling points of shoes like Crocs: their flexibility and grip. Some report the shoes get caught in the "teeth" at the bottom or top of the escalator, or in the crack between the steps and the side of the escalator.

The reports of serious injuries have all involved young children. Crocs are commonly worn by children as young as 2.

Yup, my baby has a cute little pair of Mary Jane Crocs. But I ask you--which is more unnatural? Having a baby (or even a young child) walk on an escalator (people have gotten stuck in those things before Crocs!), or having her feet wrapped in flexible material that molds to her feet and doesn't restrict her movement? She has yet to have a pair of "traditional" shoes. Because you know what? Bare foot is natural, and soft shoes are the next best thing!!

7) Frequently, I'm thinking about sleep or caffeine. . . Or the fact that my baby will be the first of 3 to be born caffeine-addicted (only by comparison to the other 2). This probably explains why I seem to be unable to come up with anything else I've been thinking about. Bed time!! But anyway, apart from the tired, I've been feeling really well, and I've been better able to keep up with everything that's going on lately than during the entire pregnancy. I'm feeling a bit unwieldy (I'm carrying this baby a bit oddly), but feeling good about where I am right now!

5th Grade Library Blues

Just to give all of you homeschoolers a taste of what you're missing! ;) The school year started on Monday (I started teaching last night), and while it's too early to gauge, I have great hopes that this year will be better for my son (and, hence, for me) than the last. There will, of course, be little glitches along the way. Try to imagine what prompted this email:

Dear Ms. Librarian,

My name is Literacy-chic, and we visited on "meet the teacher" night. You might remember that I was accompanied by my son, my husband, and my very mobile toddler, and we talked specifically about fantasy and about the difficulty of finding appropriate books at my son's reading level.

I wanted to email you today to see if I could clarify your policies on checking out books--specifically, what guidelines govern their selection of books. My son returned from library (from Ms. Language Arts Teacher's class) without a library book today because, while he was interested in several books, they were all part of different series, and he was told that he had to start from the beginning of the series, or read the series in publication order. When he looked for the appropriate books, they had apparently been checked out by other students.

You must realize, first of all, that this is the consequence of having library on a Wednesday. The students who have library earlier in the week--or even earlier in the day--have a much better selection of books than those who have library later in the week (or day). So if the students are limited by the fact that their chosen books are part of a series, they are then further limited by the library's holdings and other children's selections. In order for every child to read every series in its proper order, the library should ideally have enough copies of each volume for every child who wants to read it at a given time. Of course, this is not possible. When I was in 6th grade, I was introduced to the Chronicles of Narnia by a school librarian. The books were not available in their publication order (which has since been changed by MacMillan), but I was able to read them when they were returned (in more or less . In addition, the library was missing a volume--The Magician's Nephew, but I was able to continue reading the series in spite of that, and read that book at a later date, after buying a copy for myself. I don't feel that this circumstance lessened my enjoyment or my understanding of the series. In fact, I wrote my M.A. thesis on the Chronicles of Narnia.

The Chronicles of Narnia are an excellent example of how children's books published serially can function. As I mentioned, the original publication order of the books has, within the past 10 or 15 years, been altered from the original publication order as it was at the time of the author's death, with little more than the whim of a publisher and Lewis's letter to a 6-year-old child to substantiate this decision. However, while I personally prefer the original order of publication for reasons of authorial development and the structure of the series as a whole, I must admit that it does not lessen children's enjoyment of the books to have the order changed. Their experience of reading the books is different, but not necessarily inferior.

The test of a good children's book, even if it is a part of a series, is its ability to stand on its own. I read the first two Harry Potter books, became disillusioned with the writing, and then resumed after I saw The Order of the Phoenix because that story seemed so compelling to me. I might have never finished the series (and I'm still working on it) had I felt the need to read the books in their publication order. This same experience might be true for my son, or for any other child--that the desire to read some books in the series is stronger than others, and by starting in the middle, he or she might have the desire to read the entire series from the beginning. On the other hand, if reading the early books seems like it is forced upon the child, or a chore, or if the books are simply not available when he is ready and willing to read them, the child might not read the series at all, which would certainly not be the desirable outcome.

My ideal is for my son to be inspired to read, and to choose library books, with your help and advice at times, that he will really enjoy. If the availability of books becomes a problem, leading to frustration or to his inability to find a book in the specified time, then this goal is not being accomplished. Do you have any suggestions for how we might be able to work through this problem? Might he be able to check out the next book in line, even if the first (or whichever is next in queue) is unavailable?

I am cc-ing Mrs. Language Arts Teacher, so she will know why my son is reading a book from home (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix) rather than a book from the library. He had not checked out a book, was afraid of a detention for being tardy, and was probably a bit discouraged when she came to tell the class it was time to return to class.

Thank you for considering my perspective on this. Children's literature happens to be a passion that we share!

Sincerely,

Literacy-chic

Things I've Been Thinking About. . .

If anyone can find a way to make that title grammatically correct and casual at the same time, let me know. . .
1) A while back, Jen referred me to another blog post of hers in response to a comment I made on this post. On my most recent post, I seemed once again to be asking the same questions, so I decided to write a response to Jen. It went something like this:

One of the reasons that I object to those who advise married couples to re-prioritize with God's will in mind is that it implies a serious judgment on the couple--that by pursuing careers, they are not considering their vocation as a married couple and God's will for their family the way they should be, and that the couple needs to re-prioritize with these things in mind, making sacrifices, yada yada. But I think that even if the couple was not yet consciously considering God's will, they might have been acting in accord with it simply from having been directed that way. So the acknowledgment that the family is or should be guided by God does not necessarily mean that everything that has happened up to that point was fruitless or misdirected. I know that in my life and my marriage and my family, I have certainly seen what I now take to be evidence that we were heading in the right direction. In many ways, my conversion was a culmination of where God had been leading me through motherhood, marriage (in that order) and my pursuit of higher education. There are certainly some things that I should have done differently to be more perfectly in accord with God's plan for my life--like the marriage and motherhood being somewhat out-of-order--but as I read somewhere, on "The Anchoress" blog, I believe, the Holy Spirit works with such materials as he has, and I'm not sure God could have gotten through to me in any other way. Had I not become pregnant, my husband & I would have probably lived together without being married, and may have lost each other by doing so. So if you look back on your life and feel like you can see that yes, God has been leading you into certain choices simply by making the right options available at the right time, how can you possibly interpret that as a cause to re-evaluate? I know situations are different, and something like the materialism you describe may be a cause to reevaluate priorities, but that may involve a shift in thinking and not always an entire lifestyle change.

The other problem I have is that the implications are usually the most dire for women--especially ambitious women, who must give up everything that they have pursued to the point of marriage and/or motherhood. Had I believed this when I became pregnant with my son, I either would have been pushed toward abortion, or I would have left school before reaching my B.A., which would have had serious consequences for our financial well-being as a family as well as my ability to cope with the challenges of motherhood. But again, I don't think that commitment to a marriage necessarily involves the degree of self-sacrifice that is generally attributed to it. I do believe that it involves compromise, some self-sacrifice on the part of both spouses, devotion to the marriage, the spouse, and to family, but I'm not sure that it involves an abandonment of personal and professional goals outside of the house, especially if those goals were family-friendly or were made with the possibility of a family in mind. Now, if the plans were made with an overly idealistic view of how things would work with a family, that is something different, and reevaluation would certainly be in order. But these things tend to be discussed in such abstracts and absolutes that it is difficult to find oneself in what is being proposed.

2) Harry Potter. Before my mom left, we went to see Order of the Phoenix. It was compelling--more so than the other films, I thought. And it raised enough questions that I wanted to read the book. Now, I hadn't gotten past the first chapter of Azkaban previously. There were some things that really bugged me--and some that still do. One is the matter of internal consistency. But I have revisited Azkaban. They're great when you need an escape--and I do.

3) An article mentioned, I believe, by The Curt Jester, titled "The New Victorians." I do take issue with the title, but we won't go into the Victorian thing. The idea is that there is a movement among women to embrace traditional conceptions of family and reject the trappings of the Sexual Revolution, including scanty clothing and promiscuity.

4) An article mentioned last Friday in Jen's Friday Favorites about a professional couple who decided to keep a baby at a professionally inconvenient time, rather than abort the baby to allow them to continue with their plan to investigate restrictive abortion laws in Mexico. There's a lot that's troubling here, although the overall message that life can continue with a baby is one that I'd like to see promoted more often, as I've mentioned before. I'm frankly surprised that this appeared in the New York Times. It just doesn't seem like their kind of topic.

5) The Latin Mass. Specifically, what the recent Motu Proprio issues by Pope Benedict XVI really means, apart from the hype of those who want to say that it's a step backward, that the Latin Mass is anti-semitic, and all of the other charges that have been leveled in recent weeks. My question: Does this really affect most parishes in this country? Should we really expect to see Latin Masses popping up in our local parishes? Unfortunately, the answer is likely 'no'. It is great that in parishes where a lot of crotchety Catholics have been clamoring for a long time for the Mass in Latin, the priest no longer has to rely on the permission of the bishop (who, in a perfect world, would have seen the value of permitting the Latin Mass) to serve his parishoners' liturgical needs. And similarly a good thing that those who attend schismatic masses simply because they like the Latin can be reincorporated into the Body of Christ. But in places where there's not a huge agitation, just a handful who would really like to seethe Mass done in Latin on a regular basis (weekly or at least monthly), there is little real hope that the pastors will see the need to comply. Here is one post that suggests some of the obstacles--popular opinion being one, and one that attempts to explain the implications of the Motu Proprio. I've been told by a deacon friend that, while "the motu propio has made provisions for the faithful to initiate the request and a mechanism for bypassing balky priests
and bishops," several obstacles exist, including that "most American seminaries stopped teaching Latin in the 1970s or have greatly lowered the Latin that they teach their seminarians," resulting in a loss of comfort level with the Latin among priests. There also seems to be a scarcity of the 1962 Missal. I also wonder if the sheer hassle of trying to fit another Mass--in another language--in the weekend and determining who will officiate is part of the deterrent. Any way, I feel rather let down, like the Motu Proprio--so long anticipated--has been much ado about. . . you know.

6) A half-post started a while back, in response to a comment from Melanie B on this post. She links to an article by Christopher West, of Theology of the Body fame, whose work I have never before read, but who has some interesting things to say in this brief article about Catholic moms and breastfeeding. This comment came at an interesting time for me (although I read it a few days late), as my husband and I had just been talking about something related. I was remembering having read that the Catholic Church encourages mothers to breastfeed for nutritional/nurturing purposes--though I can't remember now where I read this. A quick Google search revealed that most of the mention of breastfeeding in a Catholic context has to do with NFP and Natural Child Spacing, with occasional references to John Paul II or a rather recent book called Breastfeeding and Catholic Motherhood that talks about breastfeeding in the context of the "vocation as a Catholic mother." None of these are quite what I had in mind. (I hate lost references!)

An aside: In the process of searching, I found a film review by the USCCB that listed potentially objectionable elements in a particular film as "Murder (not shown), several disturbing images of a female cadaver with upper nudity, realistic fistfight with blood, a dead pet, rough and crude language and profanity, sexual language and groping, breast-feeding, discussion of abortion, discreetly depicted urination, alcohol use and domestic discord." Hmph!! As far as I'm concerned, the term "breast-feeding" (however spelled) should never be included with the rest of that sentence! It should never even be considered potentially offensive. But the anti-breastfeeding bias exists, even in contexts where it should not. Well, at least we know that this doesn't represent the Church's official position on the subject!

Christopher West's article takes as its point of departure some of the recent controversies surrounding breastfeeding, particularly images of breastfeeding in popular culture (interestingly, I almost showed a breastfeeding picture from a magazine cover alongside a book cover for a book about implants in my class for visual rhetoric and had them analyze the implications of each, but that was the last slide and we ran out of time). He discusses some cultural differences in terms of how breastfeeding is regarded, and concludes more or less that it is our skewed (sinful) way of viewing things that results in breastfeeding being seen as somehow improper, inappropriate, scandalous.

Though taken out of context, I found this quote interesting:

John Paul II observed in his theology of the body that the “whole exterior constitution of woman’s body, its particular look [is] in strict union with motherhood.” Since the body reveals the person, John Paul believes that this speaks volumes, not only about feminine biology, but about the dignity and nature of woman as a person.

My initial reaction was to take exception to the first observation, that the “whole exterior constitution of woman’s body, its particular look [is] in strict union with motherhood.” That is, until I remembered seeing on several documentaries about sex the same assertions made from a scientific and evolutionary rather than theological perspective. The body, from an evolutionary perspective, is designed to facilitate procreation--that is, survival of the species--beginning with sexual attraction of the mate, which, evolutionary biologists maintain, has to do with the potential mate's suitability for mating and the production of healthy offspring. Anyway, the compatibility of these notions struck me as interesting. The second part of the passage above is a little more complex. I'm not sure what is meant by "the body reveals the person." Again, it is taken out of context, but I wonder how less desirable physical characteristics would be regarded according to this sentiment, or how cultural and racial differences might enter that discussion. . .

And well, that's all for now! (Okay, it was a cheap ploy to get 6 posts in at once!)

Family Values and Other Meditations on Children's Literature

Recently, I ordered the set of Little House books from the Scholastic Book Club. I decided that having a daughter and finding them at a reasonable price were sufficient reasons to buy the series I read as a young child, then as an older child, and as a teen--the only set I read nearly as often as The Chronicles of Narnia, though the two series are worlds apart (no pun intended) in genre. Looking desperately for something to read yesterday that was relaxing and not too challenging, and rejecting, for the moment, A Canticle for Leibowitz, which I recently bought from the Second Chance Book Adoption (thanks, Chris!), as being too post-apocalyptic, and therefore potentially too thought-provoking, I remembered the Little House books, unwrapped, but still untouched. So last night, I selected These Happy Golden Years, the book in which Laura is courted by and marries Almanzo, and in which she teaches school for the first time.

Predictably, the novel was thought provoking. After all of these years, I had forgotten few events, but some of the descriptions of the events stood out for me anew. After spending her first full week at home after a dismal experience boarding with the head of the school board and his wife during her first teaching job, Laura reflects on the contrast between her own home and the Brewsters':

But best of all were the mornings and the evenings at home. Laura realized that she had never appreciated them until now. There were no sullen silences, no smoldering quarrels, no ugly outbursts of anger.

It was with a shock that I realized that this was precisely the difference between the home my husband and I have made, and the one in which I grew up. These sentences may mean nothing to my children when they read them, or else they will sympathize with Laura without knowing exactly what she has experienced. To me, they summarized a contrast I have felt within my own life, and for which I am grateful. My mother has not yet escaped that past, and I fear that there is little I can do to help her. Similarly, in Little Town on the Prairie, the "ordinary" (stereotypically Irish, perhaps) quarreling of the Clancys, by whom Laura is employed as a seamstress, disturbs her because the behavior is so foreign to her: Laura was so upset that she could not eat, she wanted only to get away.

A meditation followed:

So much of children's literature these days is intended as self-help, of the pop-psychology variety, intended to make children recognize, and perhaps wallow in, the short-comings of the world around them. Rather than displaying personal strength and the ability to meet challenges, they portray children who "need help" in order that the "actual" child reader will know what it means to "need help." I welcome an assessment of this by someone with experience helping troubled children professionally; I venture to assert that having similar experiences in which to wallow would compound rather than alleviate one's own problems, and that stories that show magical solutions to real world problems are still more damaging. I did not need a story to tell me that my family was dysfunctional, and I did not need a story to validate that being dysfunctional was O.K.--it was not O.K., and acknowledging that may have given me the ability to change my own life accordingly. Though I never thought of the stories in this way, the Little House Books, by holding up an ideal, may have allowed me an escape from our family situation, and shown me what could be possible through mutual respect between husband and wife, parent and child.

A further context for this meditation is my son's recent experience of reading the award-winning, but to my mind wholly unsuitable Each Little Bird That Sings, which centers on the life of a family of undertakers, children who are confronted with the death of strangers and who must, in the course of the book, confront the deaths of two elderly relatives and a beloved dog. The baby, probably not much older than my daughter, sings about people being dead to the tune of nursery rhymes. I'm sure this is all very "helpful" to children's psyches. However, my 10-year-old was soberly meditating on the fear of death after reading this wonderful piece of children's literature. At his Catholic school, he should be taught more about the meaning of death in the context of eternity than in the context of worldly fears. In the Little House Books, he would be learning about the challenges of life, and how they contribute to its wonder and joy. I may be naïve in preferring the latter to the former; nevertheless, I feel that it holds more value to the human person.

The Little House Books also offer useful lessons in generosity, albeit towards one's family only. I have a difficult time understanding where taking care of one's own (extended) family fits with Catholic ideals of generosity and charitable giving. Is giving to one's family being charitable? Some would say not. If caring for one's family precludes one's ability to give generously to strangers, does it fulfill one's obligations for charity? I am not well acquainted with Catholic social teaching, so I do not have the answers.

My brother has expressed his resentment--in words and actions--that he has had to share in the financial responsibility of the household. Admittedly, he is 18, the 5th of 6 children, but his venom is great, and does not fit with how we lived when I was part of the household and he was young--he was only 7 when I married. Without elaborating on the situation, my mother's unstable financial state has been further weakened by health concerns. In this college town, my brother has been exposed to a world in which undergraduates drive Lexus and BMW and Mercedes; more moderate incomes drive Mustangs. To not have a car to oneself at 18 is the exception rather than the rule. Talk is cheap, and money is cheaper. He has been well poisoned, who used to be generous.

In the Little House Books, Laura willingly and gratefully takes on jobs that she hates--that intimidate her, expose her to danger and unpleasantness, jobs that keep her in town from dawn until dusk, though only for short periods of weeks at a time--in order to contribute to her family's efforts to send her sister to the college for the blind in Iowa. She feels a deep sense of contentment, upon leaving to be married, at having contributed to her family, and feels able to leave and feel satisfied at having material things of her own because she has been able to give of herself to her family. In contemporary children's (or young adult) literature, would generosity or selfishness prevail? Which do we need more in today's world?

What do we want from children's literature?

Recently, courtesy of my search for suitable and stimulating reading material for my son and a great blog/conversation on Little House on the Prairie by DarwinCatholic, I have been considering and reconsidering the topic of children's literature. I say "reconsidering" because children's lit has long been an interest of mine. It is the one and only subject on which I am published--well, that and ecocriticism, but it's the same article.

It is inevitable that children's literature should try to teach. After all, it is difficult to find work of literature in which the author (who after all, does not exist in poststructuralist literary criticism) does not seem to have something that she or he is communicating to the audience. Even if the work seems to be "just a story" (whatever that means), there is some "exigence" (rhetorical term I taught to my students this past week meaning some reason that the writer wrote that story and not something else).

Having said this, in spite of my lifelong love of the Chronicles of Narnia that began when I was 10 and culminated in my M.A. thesis (and the above-mentioned article), I, like Neil Gaiman, who expressed the sentiment at the Mythcon 35 conference, which I attended in 2004, felt utterly betrayed in high school when I realized the religious subtext. Yes, I am one of the three or so readers who did not catch on to this on the first, second, third or fourth read. I can't say when I caught on, but I think it was the fuzzy white lamb who turns to Aslan at the end of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader that did it for me. In my defense, I did not read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (the most Christological) as often as the others because I found the story to be less interesting than many of the other books, and did not acquire a copy of The Magician's Nephew, with the Creation story, until after I had read the rest twice, as the (Baptist school!) library where I first encountered the Chronicles had lost their copy. When I did read MN, I was taken by the symmetry of the series--the discovery of who "the Professor" of LWW really was--rather than by the Creationism.

I lost interest in Harry Potter when it became clear that book 3 was, in the first three chapters, more concerned with establishing its anti-capital- and corporal-punishment slant (not to mention the house-elf slavery sub-plot) than its main storyline, at least initially.

Yet, I find myself concerned, while reading The City of Ember, that the author's only mention of religion is mockery--brief mockery, and mockery of a kind of extreme Evangelicalism, but mockery nonetheless. I find myself thinking that there is enough of this kind of mockery to be found in everyday life, and asking whether in need intrude upon the most compelling early adolescent book I have encountered in many a year.

I have not made it a habit of studying new releases in children's literature. I have been busy studying--or avoiding studying--early 20th century Brit Lit (the whole "life's work" thing). But since my son is going to a school with a library this year and a screwy reading program that awards "points" for reading, and since he is in the "tweens" as far as book-level and book-content, I have been paying more attention. I have no interest in the more or less "realistic" pre-teen fiction. I didn't even read it when my friends were busy with The Babysitter's Club series. Since HarryPottermania, the standard formula for children's fantasy goes something like this:

1. Young person has difficult family/school situation.
2. Young person discovers something extroardinary about him or herself, some extroardinary creature, or an otherworldly realm.
3. Young person is faced with a crisis that pertains directly to the ethereal plot device mentioned in #2.
4. Having discovered the fantasy element, young person puts it to good use, growing and learning about him- or herself in the process, resolving the issue satisfactorily, usually heroically.
5. Young person's life returns to normal, and s/he is able to resolve difficult real-life issues due to the intervention of the deus ex machina.

It's amazing how many variations there are on this now. The formula is effective, if done well (though Tolkien thought the fantasy lessened by the entering-the-secondary-world-through-our-world motif). But to do it well in the wake of the acknowledged masters is difficult. And I hate to say it, but dragons are getting old.

School stories are trite. Fantasies are becoming poorly- and overly done. I don't approve of books that preach, unless one knows what is being preached to one. And yet cheap jabs at religion are objectionable, too. The classics are a bit above his reading level, though Treasure Island is on the agenda. I will be working on getting him to read the Little House Books, because they have a rare quality about them--honesty. And perhaps that is what I am seeking, really. Even C. S. Lewis, I came to realize, is not quite genuine in his fiction. He comes close, but he doesn't quite believe in his characters or his world. He does have fun with it, though, and there's something to be said for that! If Little House on the Prairie is teaching anything, it is doing so because the ideas communicated were so well-ingrained in the author as to be second nature--they couldn't not be there. Religion is not self-conscious; it is not intrusive; it is just a way of life. And isn't that how it should be, really?

I haven't yet decided what makes The City of Ember so compelling, but it is. I'm not entirely sure what it's trying to communicate. There is self-reliance, with the realization that one does need help sometimes. The children are mature, but still act like children. The fantasy world is fantastic, but has an air of reality. Society is dark and has dystopic elements, but it is not a dystopia. It's even got that healthy fatalism that is so entirely missing from entertainment media these days. (The same healthy fatalism inherent in Return of the King or the poems of W. H. Auden, though non-Christian existentialist fatalism--a fatalism makes it unsuitable for my son, unfortunately.) It would be perfect (so far) if not for the "Believers."