Finished but not forgotten

It took me approximately one uninterrupted hour to read Guy Delisle's Pyongyang: A Journey in North Korea this evening. I would love to record my thoughts but I don't have time to sort through them this evening since Joe Sacco's Palestine is already due back at the library.

Then there's the matter of having finished Meera Syal's Anita and Me last week or so and looking for my notes jotted here and there . . .

But, before I go to bed, I have to note a conversation had over the weekend with Molly about a book:

"And big kids don't need pacifiers," I say as we reach the end of the book.

"Yes," she says matter-of-factly as she removes it from my hands. "They do."

Notes / Reading with Devyn

Devyn and I spent every spare moment reading a chapter book together yesterday: The Red Ghost. It marked a change. I've always wanted to introduce her to the ghost genre of children's books and this was the best time.

I worried that she'd be frightened, even though the target audience of The Red Ghost is six to eight or nine years. I worried that she might not be able to follow along with the plot or the subplot.

The reference to a significant period in history could have been an obstacle.

I was wrong on all counts. Instead, she surprised me. In response to my, "What did ya think?" She said, "I'm disappointed."

"Why? What didn't you like?"

"Well, why did it have to come at the end?"

"What at the end?"

"The ghost."

"Good question! Do you think it should it have appeared at the beginning?"

"No, it should have come in somewhere in the middle."

I was proud of her, of this independence of thought, of this opinion of hers that wasn't at all groundless.

The suspense just hadn't worked for her; it had annoyed her.

But, anyway, as August rolls in, I'm reminded that my time with Devyn is about to change dramatically: We won't be together everyday or every weekday that she's not in school because she'll be in school full time. From this point on, it's about Devyn gradually letting go of our time together in order to embrace new and more complex social environments.

We'll have to work harder to get in those chapter books. I already know the next title to introduce to her; the earlier title, The Blue Ghost, followed by The Secret of the Painted House. Where we'll go from there, I don't yet know.

The Red Ghost
(a Stepping Stones book)
Marion Dane Bauer
Illustrated by Peter Ferguson
Random House
April 2008
Trade Paperback

The curse of Scooby Doo

This morning, Devyn asked me to read her a story. She produced a school library book and we sat on the sofa to read Shiny Spooky Knights (Scooby-Doo! Readers, Level 2) by Gail Herman (Author), Duendes Del Sur (Illustrator).

Just a few pages in:

"What's a Mummy?"

"It's the effect of a process that some ancient cultures used to preserve a person's body after death. Mummies don't come back to life."

"What's a vampire?"

"In folklore, the vampire is a person who drinks blood, has to stay out of the sun in order to survive and who doesn't die. Most people don't believe that vampires exist."

"What's a witch?"

"A witch is often depicted as an old, green woman who wears black and who stands over a pot making magic potions and who can cast spells on people using magic. But, really, a witch is someone who practices a religion called Wicca. Wiccans love the earth and nature and it's a very peaceful religion."

"What's a zombie?"

"A zombie is a dead person whose body is brought back to life under mysterious circumstances. But they don't live as people; they're scary looking. Most people don't believe they exist." (Ed. I left out the David Wade books, thinking that perhaps she has enough to think about at this point in her life.)

"Why are they chasing Shaggy and Scooby?"

"Well, because we've read this book before, we know that they are really people dressed up in costumes who want to invite Scooby and his friends to a party."

"Why do they want to invite them to a party?"

"Uh, I don't know."

New York

My first thought: Somebody, please tell me why this graphic novel -- New York Four -- has not been made into a series?

This is pretty much the only complaint that I have about this work that features Riley Wilder, twenty-something rich kid let loose on the streets of Manhattan to attend NYU.

I read it quickly, enjoying the portrayal of a young woman's anxieties that author Brian Wood has created. Riley's first taste of freedom is tainted by conflicting family loyalties, awkwardness, but the excitement she feels is heightened by intrigue and the unknown.

We visit Japanese restaurants, comfortable apartments, and dance clubs.

Manhattan is gritty but there's not even a glimpse of the more traditional depiction of New York City streets: crime, homelessness, etc. New York is not as bad as the media would have us believe.

The setting stands in stark contrast to the book I read before this: Overheard in New York (Updated), by Morgan S. Friedman and Michael Malice, founders of the well-known blog of the same name.

Racism, toilet humour, sexual positions and preferences. Nothing is off limits. Cruelty, indifference, ignorance and thoughtlessness. Nothing is unthinkable.

Though the latter is handpicked from reality, it actually seems less believable than the fictitious angst and naivete of a young woman on her own in the big city. Hang on. Here comes the cringe-worthy cliche: Truth is stranger than fiction.

Or is it that I'm in denial, that I don't want to believe the worst of people is possible? I doubt it. Or do I want to hang on to the image that I have cultivated of a city in my dreams? More likely.

But, it's all possible. Maybe that's partly the message -- good or ill -- of both books: Anything is possible.

But the books exist in a state of tension. To believe the worst of New York in reality in Overheard, I have to believe the best of New York in fiction in New York Four.

Overheard In New York
Brian Wood

The drama of bedtime

Last night, I exceeded all of my past performances of Phoebe Gilman's Jillian Jiggs in the girls' room.

I was as animated as Jillian Jiggs herself being an impolite pirate or the pampered royalty or some loud monsters. My diction was as enviable as that of Fancy Nancy, even. I especially loved my portrayal of the hardworking and tired mother. (I think I brought something personal to that role.)

I became each role as fervently as I could because I knew something hinged upon the varying intonation of my voice, upon my ability to stay in each character: I needed the rapt attention of a nearly-two-year-old.

It's a long-ish picture book, 40 pages, intended for children between the ages of five and eight. But she sat there, on my lap, and took it all in and I like to think that it's because, right up to the end, I had captured the almost-inimitable personality of Jillian. But it might have been because she was drinking a bottle.

Anyway, the book's web introduction says that no one can keep up with Jillian Jiggs. "With boundless energy and imagination, Jillian rushes from game to game," after all. "One minute she's a robot, the next minute she's a tree." This is what I had expected of myself. This is what I thought I had given.

I closed the book with a sense of satisfaction.

"Well, how did you like my rendition?"

"It wasn't even the book I wanted," moaned Devyn.

"I think your Rachel and Peter need some work. They're like the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of Jillian Jiggs . . ." Keith began.

Imagine my hair standing straight up on my head, each curly strand morphing into one of Medusa's snakes.

"I'm not really in the mood to critique Jillian Jiggs," I huffed.

"Goodnight, girls. I love you."

I exited stage right.

___

Jillian Jiggs.

Phoebe Gilman.