It happened to us this summer

Some nightmares can become reality...

The ethical treatment of books

I actually try to keep track of the conversations between Molly and me that I find funny or cute or surprising.

While watching one of her favourite documentary-style shows about art and architecture tonight, I sensed her agitation and then I heard it:

Molly:      That's not right, Mum! That's NOT right.

Me:         What's not right?

Molly:      They're turning unwanted books into works of art... People should respect books!

I know that I was a reader at her age (7), but I don't recall having such a strong sense of justice regarding the treatment of books.

Oh, yeah, and if you get a chance...

It's Monday morning, Molly's return to school after a two-week break, and the four of us are getting ready for the day.

She doesn't respond as I announce that it is time for her to leave for school, but Molly often doesn't hear people when she's pursuing an interest. So, I am not surprised when I find her leaning against the princess sofa (our antique chaise longue) as she leafs through a book.

When I see its title, I cautiously ask if she intends to take the book to school.

-- Yes, I think so. For Victoria.

Victoria is a classmate who, it appears, is somewhat fickle in designating BFF status. Something tells me that I lack some critical information about Molly's plans for the day, but she really must leave now.

-- Okay, darling. Let's pack it up, then.

-- I'm going to give it to her at recess and have her read it. Then, she'll know how to behave.

I freeze. My mind races this way and that, searching frantically for a way to dissuade her from the sweet-but-misguided plan while nevertheless lauding this bold attempt to connect with a friend.

-- Well, what if you were to ask Victoria to read the book with you? Then, Victoria could learn about her mistakes without ever being aware of your [intended act of] kindness.

She folds the book under her little arm, furrows her brows, and sets about the task of going to school -- without disclosing her intentions.

I am encouraged by the fact that Molly reaches for books (just as Devyn does) in matters of conflict.

--

How To Be A Friend: A Guide to Making Friends and Keeping Them (Laurie Krasny Brown/Marc Brown)

Molly on Minecraft

All around the Magic Tree House

While Keith and Devyn continue their nightly Harry Potter club meetings, Molly and I are at an impasse.

It isn't that I don't want to read or that we've run out of material -- we don't agree about which book it is that we should be reading.

It all started at the beginning of September when the girls and I visited a bookstore while waiting for Devyn's evening ballet class. Molly discovered The Magic Tree House: Midnight on the Moon (Mary Pope Osborne), brandished the book before me, and declared it The.Next.Book. that we just had to read.

Well, we started it that week but, by Friday, Molly had discovered a book about ninjas from the selfsame series -- and didn't look back.

(You need to know that she did not know what a ninja is (probably because I didn't know) yet she had decided that it would be far more interesting than the book that I REALLY WANT to read.)

"But," I protested, "we're on the fourth chapter! We can't just leave the story where we left it."

"Yes, we can," she giggled. "We just won't pick it up."

I was frustrated and bemused. (And, hey, did she just engage me in wordplay?) Here we were at the end of the month and we weren't moving forward. Each night since we'd read the third chapter, Molly had chosen a different book -- really, any other book -- to make her point that we would not be reading Midnight on the Moon.

"I thought you love the Magic Tree House?"

"I do love it and we can read it . . .If it's about ninjas."

I had to think about it for a while: what kind of reader was she? I reminded myself that I was dealing with the kid who -- I'm not joking -- used to refer to her alphabet books as nonfiction. Then, it occurred to me and I knew why she had lost interest in the book about the moon (a subject close to her) and I've mentioned it before: Molly loves nonfiction and she loves fiction but she's not terribly keen on the mostly fiction-some fact hybrid. The facts (obviously positioned) in the titles that I've read so far in the Magic Tree House lack sufficient detail to quench her thirst. Put another way, the books contain either too much or too little of the factual to keep her reading.

But, why ninjas? Like any four-year-old, the kid loved and still loves mystery and learning. The world of the ninja had yet to be explored at that point, but I sense that, just as she dismissed both Dinosaurs Before Dark and Midnight on the Moon, she will grow bored and we won't finish the book about ninjas.

After weighing the options, I don't think I should interrupt this emerging pattern because she gets something from her approach-retreat relationship with the series even if I don't know just what that would be. (It may be that she has yet to figure out that each book in the series will be similar in style; maybe she is optimistic).

On the other hand, I recently picked up one of the companion research guides that is available in the series which, I'm confident, would provide the missing facts that Molly wants. Then, the next time that she dismisses a Magic Tree House book, I could reach for a guide and see if that sustains her interest.

Who knows? I just want to avoid the mother-child morass of guidance vs. intrusion because I've learned my lesson with Devyn. Please note that I am patting myself on the back because I haven't pushed the issue of reading these books in sequence (though I really, really want to) because that's my thing, not theirs.

The Perils of a Good Book - 1

Distraction

(Or, Why I may have to walk Molly to university when the time comes . . . )

I bit my tongue so that she could see, in a safe way, just how dangerous such a budding skill can be. At this point, it is best reserved for the park with your mummy. 

Being and wellness

We visited the library, Molly and I, last week. I was able to see marked changes in her social development. Whereas she used to tell everyone that she was "unavailable" to play with them—even issuing directives through me in advance of social activities—she now plays easily, comfortably, with others.

She does insist that she doesn't often like other children very much but concedes that playing with some of them can be fun. She refuses to designate someone a friend unless she, among other things, clearly knows and likes the person, but she will not necessarily turn someone away from play now in the absence of her strict criteria. She may not make eye contact but we know that she can and will do so. She is also quite, er, given to leadership and has the strength of her convictions, too.

In conversation, for example, with a clerk in the children's section, this was amply demonstrated as he was just about to get rid of an empty tissue box.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked, as she walked over to him.

"This? I was just going to recycle it."

"You shouldn't do that. You don't need to do that. You should reuse it first."

"Uh, really?" He cast a glance at me. "What should I do with it?"

"Well, you could put it on your desk right here on the corner or there," she pointed, "and put things in it."

"Yes," he conceded. "That's a good idea."

"You could also hang it on the wall for decoration."

"That's true. Wow, you have a good imagination."

"That's not imagination," she asserted, her brows furrowing to create an expression that, I swear, I first observed in the hospital nursery almost four years ago.

"I mean that you have a good imagination to come up with those ideas."

"That's not imagination," she persisted. "Those are facts."

He raised his eyebrows, looked at me, and I shrugged my shoulders. What could I say?

But as happy as I am that Molly is developing socially—at least, she isn't holding up her hand as she has for the past two years and stating, "I'm not available" as often—there is a discerning guardedness about her, a fearlessness as well as an enviable certitude that remains, and which makes her the little girl that I know.

While being able to watch her interact with others is always enjoyable and interesting to me and the library seems to be one of the best ways in which to do this, there is always a worry that I have when I'm there and as I'm leaving: germs. For no matter how many times I wipe hands and toys, my children usually end up with a cold within a week.

Predictably, then, Molly became ill last week with what I think is the 'flu—not gastroenteritis, but actual, flat-on-your-back influenza. I've suffered from a true, diagnosed case maybe once in my adult life and the aches, lethargy, difficulty breathing, etc. are not easily described (my new grasp of medical terminology notwithstanding). I watched Molly as she lay listlessly, eyes sunken, with a high fever and a cough that caused scream-like cries of distress each time it occurred.

Gone was the "say this! say that!" kind of, er, leadership. Gone, too, were the thirst for knowledge and firm resolutions; no furrowed brows, no "reporting".  This absence of "Mollyness" disturbed me as much as the physical symptoms and signs of the 'flu.

So, last night, after almost a week of worry and sleeplessness, I had an inkling that things were finally changing for the better: her fever was disappearing; there had been only one wakeful period during which she irrationally insisted that I fetch her a juice box (and not that of the ordinary, plastic-container-bound variety), set it on the bedside table, and then she steadfastly refused to drink it. Were her leadership tendencies returning? I wondered.

Today, however, I absolutely knew that she was on the mend when (1) she insisted on "the perfect outfit" of her choosing; (2) she decided on asked me for her favourite snack of boiled eggs and apple; (3) she requested 15 books be read to her before 10:00 a.m., and (4) I walked into the living room and found her curled up beside the library bin like this:

She's coughing, doesn't look like her old self yet, but, at least, she's starting to behave as she usually does. I have to wonder, as the world of medicine becomes less mysterious to me, to what degree is the absence of what we recognize in our children, and in our loved ones in general, part of the actual fear and ordeal of illness? But, as I close this very paragraph, a book lands on my keyboard and Molly says, "Read that!" and I realize that I'll have to muse about this later.

The Pearls of a Good Book - 1

Your kids will comfort you.

Molly's going to help me feel better today . . .

She's going to read Corduroy Goes To the Library and it will make me feel better.

An Experiment

I've been trying to decide how to keep track of the girls' reading. This blog is not simply about their reading but I think it ought to be included:

(1) Devyn, 6, in French Immersion, needs to read in French; but, I also wish to make sure that she can read in English as well, long before it's introduced as a subject in school. Posts about her will include both French and English titles.

(2) Throughout an average day, while Devyn's at school, I often guess at how many books Molly, 2, has requested that I read; keeping track gives me that, and other, information.

In both cases, I will be able to track developing interests and gain a deeper understanding of their personalities.  I want to see exactly how much I've learnt and how much they have changed by the end of December 2010.

So, there will be posts that contain nothing but lists of books which may bore the reader to tears; but, hopefully, other posts will compensate. I won't publish the list-of-books posts to the feeds.

Are we there yet?

In the wee hours this morning, I realized that my interests in Middle Eastern and South Asian literature were taking me somewhere, to some place I couldn't yet see.

I don't mean this in the sense that literature is transporting me via imagination. No, that would be too easy (and, possibly, trite). My reading does take me, if you will, to India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Lebanon, Israel / Palestine, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria . . . But this, again, is not what I mean.

It seems as if I'm in the backseat of a car with a map but I can't see the driver and the windshield is fogged up. I just know that the car is moving and that the map is, so far, useless.

I only know that I'm no longer reading just because I enjoy the shadowy forms that come to life when everything else around me seems to disappear. I'm not merely escaping. I'm not only being entertained. These facets of the experience remain but there's more. I just don't know what else there is. Yet.

And I want to know. I also want there to be some shape, some place on a map that I can circle and say, "I'm finally here!" I just don't know where that is. Yet.

Relationships

of myself to books

I find that I can only read if it's an ebook and if it's on my Palm Treo 700w because there is so little prior commitment involved. Anyway, my appetite has been voracious lately: five in the past month which, for me, is a good record since the start of my pregnancy in 2007.

Unfortunately, reading this much this quickly with two children on hand (full time) means that my notes are sporadic at times and I might not always remember where I put them (the notes, not the children). The good news is that, of necessity, reading speed has increased. I used to have time only to read to the children -- hence, the blog title -- but now with faster reading, since giving up the small amount of television that I used to watch, and reading during some tasks, I've carved out some small space to which I may escape.

I've been working through my thoughts about the last four books but especially about Bloodletting & Miraculous Cures by Vincent Lam. This will probably be the topic of my next post. This book actually represents a deviation from my projected path -- the Path This Year -- of South Asian, Middle Eastern, Caribbean, and African fiction and memoirs.

I've almost finished another deviation from The Path: The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night-Time (Mark Haddon) and I'm trying to decide which book will follow.

of the kids to books

Being Devyn's first year in school (JK), I actually had a 'Scholastic Club' monthly budget. It seems doubly justifiable now that I have another daughter. I'm rounding out their collection of nonfiction and picking up some classics at lower-than-usual prices.

I am reluctantly storing away all titles -- meaning chapter books, middle and young adult --intended for children over the age of seven. (I've taken photographs of each book before it enters a bin in order to achieve some organization). Culling the shelves is necessary because they have many hundreds and poor Devyn's room is cluttered.

Devyn achieved her final "Snuggle Up and Read" certificate this past Wednesday for having read over 500 books with us since October.

Little Molly (13 months) loves books, especially small ones with vivid colour. She has been able to turn pages one-by-one for a long time and it always amazes me when she arrives at a page but then, as an afterthought, returns to the previous one in order to revisit something. She always asks, "Whaz dat?" when doing so, when doing anything. She sometimes falls asleep looking at a book but, unfortunately, not very often. (This technique might work more often if I were to turn on a light for her).

Devyn loves to 'read' to her as she sits in Molly's rocking chair and Molly listens from her crib. Of course, there is often a child's CD blaring in the background so the narrative in itself could hardly be considered a soothing experience for the baby.

Reading: A pill for intellectual development?

An article in the Telegraph.co.uk by Michael Morpurgo today about instilling the love of reading in children is followed by the Telegraph's guide to the 100 books that every child should read (per three age groups).

Mr. Morpurgo says that Britain (though it sounds pretty widespread to me) is in a muddle about literacy. Treating the ability to read as a tool for success rather than focussing on the appreciation of storytelling and the story have created the commodification of reading. He partly blames education:

Ironically, it may be responsible both for the great blossoming of our literature, and at the same time for leaving so many with the impression that literature is not for them, but the preserve of a certain educated elite. As a consequence, much of our society has become separated from its own stories.

When I reflect on my early reading experiences, those that come immediately to mind involve teachers/librarians/authors reading to the class. I guess that I already had a love of story.

At any rate, there are some surprising choices for the Top 100s (because I haven't seen them very often on other lists of the sort) and I'm glad that I have copies of many of the titles. I've not read all of what I own.

There's a story by Jacqueline Wilson -- one of my favourites -- that I haven't read and now intend to do so: The Story of Tracy Beaker.

Some of my childhood favourites, read over and over again, made the lists: Pippi Longstocking, Winnie The Pooh, Tom's Midnight Garden, The Outsiders.

Books I've avoided appear: Watership Down. (I've avoided it because I've heard that it's powerful emotionally and it has taken me years to grow comfortable with The Velveteen Rabbit. I don't want to go through that again.) Charlotte's Web. As a child, the story saddened me.

Book(s) I didn't like appeared, as well: The Story of Babar. Anything Babar, really, I just don't like.

Some books that I've even recently considered reading: I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith and Coraline by Neil Gaiman (both started years back but remain unfinished).

Some books that I'd like to buy made the lists: The Worst Witch Collection, by Jill Murphy.

A longer version of the article in the Royal Society of Literature Review: http://www.rslit.org/

Here are the lists:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/arts/main.jhtml?xml=/arts/2008/01/19/bokidsbooks219.xml

Note to self: Er, stop avoiding the books that require intense, emotional engagement. This is a comfort-zone alert!

Visual Bookshelf I + II (notes on Facebook) - Updated

I think this (Visual Bookshop app) is a great idea, except for the fact that people get updated in the News Feed on Facebook to the degree that it could be annoying. Sorry folks!

I started adding books I've already read until I realized (1) I doubt I could remember every book I've ever read and (2) it would take a long time to do this. So, I've decided to list only the books I've read in past month or so.

I thought it would be a good idea to keep track of the books that I read to Devyn for a year: starting September 11.

Of course, now my bookspace reads more like a this-is-what-I-want-to-read-vs.-this-is-what-I-get-to-read.

But, I love children's books. Well, except for the Berenstain Bears, Dora, Thomas The Tank Engine and Blue's Clues. I'm sick of Madeline now because Devyn's jag is unrelenting. I also hate Clifford the Dog and anything to do with Caillou.

To keep her from requesting Madeline cartoons and movies repeatedly, I read to her. I just prop Molly up in her Bumbo seat and Devyn sits beside her in front of me and I read before snack time, lunch time, naptime, etc. Then, there's also practicing her tracing, letters, numbers and so forth. Mix in the changing/feeding/comforting baby and a host of other responsibilities and it's a busy day... But we must read.

Next week, Devyn will be in school five days a week (JK and the JK programme at daycare) and I'll miss reading to her.

The Perils of a Good Book - 2

Discomfort
(or, why reading didn't catch on as a spectator sport)


As I sat in the doctor's office yesterday -- a very small space that seats about seven people -- I seized the opportunity to read since my husband had taken our restless preschooler, Devyn, for a drive.

The older man beside me forgot the social rule about curiosity. As I swept my hair back in a bun, he turned his head and ended up being so close that I could actually feel him breathing on me.

Ignoring him, I opened The Cutting Room by Louise Welsh and found a section--whose contents were unknown to me--that I'd been waiting to read. I slowly read and I was aware that Mr. Breath was reading over my shoulder as imagery of sexual violence suddenly unfolded in sharp detail!

While I could have guessed that this imagery would crop up again in the book, I hadn't a clue about what I was about to read at that particular moment.

Um, that's a new one for me. How do you handle book-interlopers while you're reading material that would make you uncomfortable even if you were by yourself?

There's the toothless smile that you give just after turning your head in the direction of the interloper followed by an uncomfortable shift of shoulder position and clearing of the throat. That's the only remedy that comes to mind.

I didn't do anything. I just sat there, continuing to read.

I Stole A Book

I honestly don't know how I became a reader. In Grade One, teachers told my mother that I read many grades above my expected reading level, that I should advance a grade, etc., but she wasn't interested. I didn't own a book until I was twelve years old!

After I'd outgrown Little Golden Books--which she occasionally could be convinced to buy me at the local grocery store--my mother seemed to have lost interest in supplying me with reading material (or toys, come to think of it). So, when I read, it was possible because of the school library.

At any rate, at the age of twelve, my family and I were living in a high-rise apartment building on the bad side of town. I didn't have much supervision when my mother was working and I often visited my maternal grandmother who lived many floors above us. Stepping into her home really seemed like stepping into another world. Sometimes, I simply escaped to her apartment without permission.

She was an academic: she had received a few undergraduate degrees and a Master's before marrying my grandfather. Considering my mother's lack of education and disinclination towards reading, it was hard to believe that these two women were even related much less mother and daughter.

She had books: mostly hardcover, mostly vintage or antique. Often, I would kneel on the floor while browsing her bookshelves. She was not a woman of excess by any means but she owned many works of nonfiction and poetry.

I'll probably never know why I did it. I can only guess that, when I held a small, leather-bound collection of Wordsworth poetry, I felt as if my world was smaller than it had to be. I think I felt cheated. I think that this little book, in my hands, reminded me that life with my mother wasn't going to last forever, that there was something to which I might look forward.

I still have the book. That day, as I, surreptitiously, closed my grandmother's door behind me, two aspects of my life changed: there would be distance now between my grandmother and myself because she would detect my thievery and because I would deny it; importantly, I now owned a book.

I read it often, allowing my mind to wander around odes and verse about nature and love:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze

Of all the books that I own, it is in the best condition. Now, I own thousands of books (acquired legitimately) and my child's personal library contains many hundreds. I collect and I read or I accumulate and I read; sometimes it's both. I still borrow from the library, too, on a regular basis.

So, I may not know exactly how it is that I became one but I think that I can pinpoint the very moment at which I knew that I was, in fact, a reader.

Scanning Books for Meaning

The process of entering book information into a database is almost hypnotic in the sense that memories surface and lead me down certain paths directly to activities that used to interest me or, at least, keep me sane.

One activity of which I speak would probably not be of interest to anyone.

While at university, I worked part-time at a large-ish, independent bookstore. I handled the processing of hundreds of books as they arrived (or returned to publishers). The store was unique in that it was the first that I knew of that actually used point-of-sale inventory. The ISBN of the book was used to store and retrieve information on a local area network. This sounds pretty commonplace but it wasn't in the very early nineties, at least not in my university city.

I constantly looked for patterns, meaning, in the ISBNs. I did this quietly while receiving books into the inventory and while scanning a purchase.

The memories of scanning, physically and mentally, for meaning/patterns in ISBNs are occurring to me this evening as I record book information.

I guess it was just a way to pass the time back then.

Is It Just Me?

This is going to sound like a small urban legend of sorts but I know both people involved. I'll change names for the sake of privacy.

Jane lent Sally a hardcover Diana Gabaldon book. Sally took a long time to read it (which doesn't surprise me and shouldn't have surprised Jane). When Jane received the book back, there was a tiny tear (apparently, less than one cm) at the top of the dustjacket. Sally hadn't even noticed it.

Jane, it transpired through her boyfriend, was very upset about the condition of her book and expected it to be replaced. Sally knew that, in order to preserve the friendship, she would have to buy another copy for Jane.

Wow. How many people are this, er, fussy about the condition of their books?

For one thing, I don't EVER lend books (shame on me) and I don't borrow anymore, either. My impatience would have to weigh more heavily than my cheapness in order for me to buy a hardcover. If I DO read a hardcover, I always remove the dustjacket until I'm finished.

If someone is THAT concerned about the condition of her books, I should think she wouldn't want to lend them to others.

I don't know if Sally actually did replace the book and I don't know the status of the friendship but this situation strikes me as, well, odd.

Do others consider Jane's reaction to be overly much?

A Good Find, A Provocative Title

One of my favourite sources of buyable books is the library. At the local branch today, I found a copy of The Professor and The Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary for $1.00 (Cdn).

It's in excellent condition since it was read, obviously, by someone who is careful enough to avoid creasing the binding. That people can do this has always perplexed me. I mean, doesn't the process of losing yourself in a book mean that you must throw yourself into the relationship, come what may?

Author: Simon Winchester
Genre: History
Publisher: English Harper Collins Canada (2005)
Format: Softcover, 242 pp
ISBN: 0060839783

Coping

What do you do when grieving starts? Well, in our family, we head to a large bookstore and browse with the purpose of finding solace.

I developed this habit, this coping mechanism, as a girl of sixteen. When I married, my husband was quick to adopt the same.

Unfortunately, our beloved cat of 10 years passed away yesterday morning and we were laden with grief all day. We planned an evening trip to the bookstore (followed by swinging in the park.)

What soothes, obviously, has to be subjective. In general, I think it is finding a book that I have always wanted to read or finding one that wakens curiosity in an exciting way.

These were our finds:



Author: Gregory Maguire
Format: Trade Paperback, 466 pp
Published: Harper Collins Canada (October 1996)
Trim Size: 6.12 x 9.21 x 1.13 IN
ISBN: 0060987103



Author: Jacqueline Wilson
Format: Trade Paperback
Published: CORGI (October 2004)
Trim Size: 5 x 7.55 in
ISBN: 0440863686

My husband found:



Author: Douglas Hofstadter
Format: Trade Paperback, 800 pp
Published: Basic Books (January 1999)
Trim Size: 6.43 x 9.25 x 1.42 in
ISBN: 0465026567

Nothing replaces grief but a good book can help to distract during the process.

The Antiquarian

My book collection is divided into, well, collections. One of my favourite collections is that of my books on antiques (antique, vintage, used and new). Books for the collector or dealer, by the collector or the expert, can date--in my collection--to the early 1800s. (I highly recommend the experience of reading about antique-collecting mores at the turn of the 19th century.)

Admittedly, I buy so many books that I sometimes forget about the purchase. I recently wrote about my findings at a local thrift shop that was closing and selling its children's books at 50% off the ticketed price. There were other genres, too, for sale.

One such forgotten--but not forgettable--relic is, The Collector's Progress (Revised Edition, 1971).

It was written by Stanley W. Fisher, an antique dealer, who was a member of the British Antique Dealers Association. The cover boasts the distinction of an authoritative look at the subject from the "dual viewpoint of collector and dealer." (It should be noted that there are, nowadays, several publications authored by the collector/dealer.)

As you would expect, the revised edition of this title is less collectible than the first edition (1957); at the time of publication, some thirty years ago, the original edition was considered a rare collector's item.