SAM'S DEAD, BABY, SAM'S DEAD

This is Part Two of 1970's week and/or month, to celebrate finding some worn books in a dusty old box and discovering utility in them for the YA crowd, whether for simply reading or as antiquated cultural artifacts, like bell-bottoms and falling in love at summer camp. They didn't call it The Me Decade for nothing.

SAM DIES AT THE END

Authors and publishers have to do provocative things to gain readers. Some go with racy cover art, some engage is guerilla marketing tactics, and others simply give away the ending in the title. Such is the case with My Brother Sam is Dead, a brilliant YA fictional recounting of the social climate of the Revolutionary War, or as the Brits call it, Whoops.

Sorry for your loss. Have a children's book award.

I read this book during SSR time at school, and gave periodic updates to the students, who wanted to know if/when Sam would actually die. Being a brilliant teacher, I used their interest in the title and my reading of it to solicit predictions about Sam and impromptu discussion of the role of a title in selling a book and generating interest in the book. This book is clever in that it continually keeps the reader asking when Sam will die, if at all. In my case, it had me screaming, "DIE ALREADY, YOU REBEL SCOUNDREL!" 

The Brothers Collier brilliantly present an historical fiction that is set around actual events in an actual colonial locale. The main characters in the Meeker family are invented, but their tavern is not, nor are many of the supporting characters. They combed through crusty old documentation to create a realistic portrayal of daily life in the colonies, as well as the exceptional burden the rebellion put on towns, families, and individuals. I just happened to be finishing a term on the American Revolution when I picked up this book, and bow howdy, I wish I'd been able to read portions of it at the appropriate intervals to bring to life some of these debates and issues. 

As it is, I referenced the book after the fact quite a bit, and we did have a stirring debate in which students portrayed patriots, loyalists, moderates, and representatives of King George. One girl who argued the Crown's perspective compared the patriots to spoiled children who needed to go to their rooms. The boy portraying James Otis yelled, "I will, soon as you get your soldier out of it!" Oh, how we laughed. Quartering Act humor, people. IT'S FUNNY. And the basis for the Third Amendment, which seems just as outdated as everything else in the grand decade of 1970-79, with the possible lone exception OF THE VERY BOOK I DISCUSS HERE. 

Of course, this is historical fiction, and not necessarily indicative of anything about the decade, other than the book's publication, and that it happened to be written near the time of the US Bicentennial and its patriotic (some would argue nationalist) fervor. My Brother Sam Is Dead serves as a stark reminder of the divided loyalties in the colonies and that the movement to become independent and self-governing did not enjoy the support of the majority in its own time. And before you go calling me some pinko fascist, look! I'm now typing in RED, WHITE, and BLUE. 

Back to the book: It's brilliant. they cover so much territory of the Revolution that one could teach it with this novel as its basis. There is a website full of primary source material for educational purposes, and (FREE STUFF FOR TEACHERS ALERT!) packaged curriculum that is open-ended and makes for fairly easy instructional planning. Bless the internet, and its clunky predecessor that ruled the 1970's, ARPANET. 

Use this book for teaching. Read it to gain some historical understanding. Read it for pleasure if you're a historical fiction person. If you're not, this might be an appropriate starting place. 

WHAT ABOUT THE BOOK'S LITERARY QUALITIES?

They're fine.

Okay, I'll comment on one thing: Tim Meeker's internal struggle to pick a side in the war, which amounts to choosing between his father and his brother. That's taut realism, and central to the story, which the authors execute with great aplomb. The symbolism of the father's gun, Brown Bess, and Sam's decision to steal it, further the split that conflicts Tim. 

Okay, one more thing: word choice. Not so fine. Exhibit A:

You're writing a book for kids, not a letter to Penthouse. 

I might just skip that part, or build in ten minutes for students to giggle and snicker and take pictures of that line for the making of memes. Why not. 

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

Stagflation! Just kidding. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone but Jimmy Carter. Instead, it's time to evaluate the original novel that spawned one of the greatest movies ever to grace celluloid. Let's just say I'm preparing an R.O.U.S. - a REVIEW OF UNUSUAL SIZE!

BORING STUFF

My Brother Sam Is Dead

James Lincoln Collier & Christopher Collier 

1974 Scholastic

HEY! TEACHER! LEAVE MY CHEESE ALONE!

Looks like I picked the wrong decade to start reading

Unintentionally, it's 1970's week and/or month. I've been reading novels from that decade and I don't know why. Some are YA and will be reviewed here, while others are destined for my new blog entitled, Dear 1970's, You're Weird & Gross (Don't Ever Change)."

So, I finally read I Am The Cheese, which sounds like a malapropism you'd hear in some lousy romantic comedy of errors when the desperate man is trying to communicate with his Latina lover after a misunderstanding (For some reason I'm picturing Adam Sandler doing this and it makes me want to punch a wall) or a kid in 9th grade Spanish class who just doesn't get it.

[Cue flashback sequence]

1996: I'm in Spanish I with Señor Patterson. First of all, his name is Señor Patterson, so how can I take him seriously? Second, he looks and acts like the Dean on Community, a TV show which does not exist in 1996, so I've just committed an act of anachronism. Pardon me for not being able to think of something more period-appropriate, as I spent most of my teenage years in the basement. 

Sr. Patterson: Let's review our infinitives. Responde en íngles. Antonio, enseñar.

Antonio: To be insane?

Sr. Patterson: Paco, correr.

Paco: The thing you slice apples with?

Sr. Patterson: Samuel, ir.

Samuel: I thought we were doing verbs, not anatomy.

Sr. Patterson: Samuel, I'll see you in detention today. 

Samuel: Merde. 

[End flashback] 

Surprise! I was Samuel. Spanish class was torture to me, yet I went on to minor in the language in college, then promptly lose most of it because I had no one to practicar with me, and it made me muy triste. 

GET ON WITH IT

It's a metaphor. 

I suppose this book is a classic; if it receives a 30th Anniversary edition, it's not a hunk of stale mozzarella. In fact, it's a gouda one, and probably made Robert Cormier lots of cheddar. Dairy I continue with these puns? No. 

Cormier has three simultaneous narratives going, which breaks up monotony and ought to intrigue the reader as to how they will come together. And they do! What's most impressive is the presentation: One is a first-person narrative of the protagonist, Adam Farmer, on a desperate bike ride* to see his father, the second is his life told in flashback, and the third is a transcript of Adam talking to what we believe to be a psychologist. What I thought would be an obtuse teen drama turned out to be a crime thriller of sorts. Not my normal reading material, but worth the time. In an interview with the author published in the 30th anniversary edition, Cormier states that he was worried that the fractured narratives would alienate his audience, but the presentation is so vivid and compelling that he achieves the desired effect. Cormier gradually introduces hidden elements of the story, as a practiced writer does, rather than throwing everything at you in the last five pages (every story ever written by a 7th grader). 

Adam himself is complex, aloof, and somewhat strange, but he resonates. Who hasn't eavesdropped on their parents' phone calls, thinking that they were up to something, or pressed themselves against the wall around the corner to listen in on their quiet conversations. I did, and that's how I learned that the goldfish hadn't actually gone on vacation, and what really happened to the dog. [I had told my little sister that the dog ran away to join the circus; she still hasn't forgiven me.] Because each of the three narratives centers on Adam in a different context and condition, we know there is something underneath that he/we want to discover, and that makes for great anticipation of what will happen next. Even after the big reveal, there's more to the story; Cormier doesn't know the definition of falling action. He breaks the rules! 

The true face of literary rebellion.

Here are some of the questions I generated while reading and trying to get to the bottom of the mystery:

1. Why does Adam so badly need to see his father?
2. What's the "present" he's bringing along?
3. Why does this psychologist keep asking the same questions over and over?
4. What's the deal with the title and - oh, I get it now.

And so on. It's difficult to explain much of the book without giving away details, but the above questions will get you started. If you like your stories spoon-fed to you, 1) what are you doing here? and 2) please view the 1983 film of the novel, which completely changes/destroys the ending, on the magic of the You Tubes, starring a young Cynthia Nixon, who would later be in a show many girlfriends have forced me to suffer through. At least it's not in Spanish. 

*Another bike ride story, another mystery, another set of interrogations, and another reason for me to be irritated with Jennifer Bradbury. 

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

the second installment of 1970's week and/or month. This time, it's historical fiction, and it so moved someone to create an entire website built around the story. I'm far too lazy to do such a thing, as are the authors of the book; let's just say the TITLE GIVES IT ALL AWAY!

BORING STUFF

I Am The Cheese

Robert Cormier 

1977 Alfred A. Knopf

I CAN DIG IT

FINALLY

I'm supposed to be some kind of big-shot blogger. The kind of person who makes witty observations, sarcastic remarks that make you guffaw and cover your mouth, but hints at some kind of truth that we can all agree upon, then go back to looking at cat memes. How can anyone take me seriously when I haven't even read one of the better, and well-known, YA novels out there? IT'S TRUE - - I AM A FRAUD. 

I take that back. I WAS a fraud. Then I read Holes by Louis Sachar. In my kiddo years I read There's A Boy In The Girls Bathroom, which resonated with me at the time because I'd sometimes wear a skirt to school to justify going into the girl's bathroom, because I looked like the sign, don't you understand me, Mr. Martin? HAS THE WORLD GONE MAD? Please don't call my dad. So I know Louis Sachar. Not personally. I once went trick-or-treating at his house as Bradley Chalkers, and he didn't find my real-life antics of his character funny at all. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed his kid off the porch, but hey, I heard he gave out full size candy bars. Anyway, I was escorted from his property.  

Enough about my sealed juvenile record. Let's talk about the criminal exploits of a group of boys in the Texas desert. Stanley Yelnats is an overweight kid with a palindrome for a name, who is convicted of stealing some valuable shoes. But no, he didn't do it! Wrong place, wrong time. "Sure pal, that's what they all say," is what we've heard when faced with the same situation. So, Stanley meets a group of actual criminal kids who are sentenced to digging 5x5x5 holes in the desert. Now that's a plot that deserves attention.

How many can you find in the plot? Answer: A couple.

Sachar takes a straight-ahead story and combines it with two other narratives to create a timeline of events that lead to the inevitable conclusion that brings all the lines together, while exploring the themes of friendship, truth, karma, and exposing young readers to the literature of the fantastic. Stanley has only heard these stories about his family, so he believes that he is cursed. Or is he just the victim of bad luck? The parallel narratives remind me of The Convalescent, a grownup book I recently took in because it was cheap on McSweeney's website. [Now you understand my discriminating tastes.] The protagonist is physically unappealing, and his own way of viewing the world makes sense to him, but not most others. Add in a historical recounting of his own family line - his parents and Hungarian ancestors, and you get a similar, compelling structure. Holes can help make sophisticated readers with its multiple narratives. But can it shovel a load on my fiery complaints? I only have two. So, probably.

1. Stanley keeps his cool the entire story, then some kid named Tweek, or Twitch, or Twerk, shows up. Within fifteen seconds Twitch says he earned his name because that's how he feels right before he's tempted to steal a car, and Stanley immediately jumps into a truck and tries to make a break for it. How is it that this one kid who just met Stanley transfers his characteristics and influences Stanley to steal a truck? There are some plot factors at play that I won't spoil for you, but I can't imagine that they're enough to make Stanley snap. It's a weird transition that I don't like. 
2. Stanley's parents are broke, but dad is a zany inventor trying to make some kind of super shoe, or odor pads that never go bad. Something like that. Look, it's been a month since I finished the damn thing, so PARDON MY FAULTY MEMORY. Point being: they're flat face poor. That's it. Why the weird shoe thing that goes nowhere? Dad's eccentricities have absolutely nothing to do with this story...or do they? Dad works on shoes and Stanley is accused of stealing THE MOST VALUABLE SHOES IN TOWN. Maybe Sachar didn't work too hard to hide a foot fetish. Cmon, Louis. Just say they're poor. I'm insulted at the low-level inference we're asked to make. 

Other than two querulous points, I'm impressed with this book. And apparently, so are the youths (Utes if you're Joe Pesci). My students were 1) in disbelief I hadn't yet read the book; 2) insistent that I pursue Small Steps, the sort-of sequel. It's on the list. 

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

Another YA classic, from way back in the 1970s. Let's just say, they must not have had refrigerators then, because PEOPLE HAD TO BE THEIR OWN DAIRY!

BORING STUFF

Holes

Louis Sachar

2000 Dell Yearling

LET'S RIDE BIKES!

A TIME-HONORED TALE

Two high school graduates take off on a cross-country road trip. One returns. Is it a legitimate disappearance, or is it MURRRRRDER?

NO, I MEAN THE EVOLVING FRIENDSHIP THEME

Spoiler alert: I'm not quite sure why these two are friends in the first place. Jennifer Bradbury brings us Shift, a bike trip mystery. As far as I know, Agatha Christie never covered this territory, so this might be the first book of its kind. My favorite part: the constant flat tires. I quit biking to work after getting three consecutive flats on a goathead-infested stretch of the only path in town, so I received some perverse pleasure in watching these boys fall victim. However, they had patch kits and could fix a flat in two minutes. Screw you, I'm calling a cab. 

Alternate title: Something Wheeled This Way Comes

So, these two guys are friends, but Winston, who disappears, is a slacker and a user; an utterly repugnant character, not because he's evil, but because he so casually lies and manipulates to get his way. He's from a privileged background, and his parents don't care about him - making him the kind of person I find hardest to root for: I'm well off, but my dad just wants me to get into an Ivy League school and doesn't know me as a person. Boo hoo. I don't want to sound insensitive, but I do, so what the hell. 

What really gets to me is why narrator, Jeff or something, is even friends with Winston. HE USES YOU FOR EVERYTHING, JEFF. GET A NEW BEST FRIEND. Bradbury attempts to establish rituals and traditions between the two besties, but they're just not developed enough for me to buy that they're so bonded. They both come to some realizations about themselves, one another, and their relationship through the course of the book, which is standard and somewhat saves this story, but I just can't get beyond the trope of two kids scamming their parents into letting them bike from West Virginia to Seattle all by themselves, with no support, and their own seemingly stilted friendship. 

The mystery portion of this story involves a lazy FBI agent, Winston's domineering father, who thinks Jimbo or whatever his name is, killed Winston. Question: Winston ditches Johnboy somewhere in Montana, and all the guy can think to do is ride around for a couple hours looking for Winston, then turn and head to the Pacific Ocean so he can catch a bus home in time to get to college. 

Yeah, I remember when my best friend disappeared in the middle of nowhere and I did next to nothing to attempt to find him, even though he's a total flake, and then went all the home WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE WHAT HAPPENED. At least Bradbury has the sense for Jerky to unconsciously protect Winston after the fateful decision, which would stand to reason. Bradbury doles out tidbits of information as the story goes on, but the Tolkien references Winston makes in some postcards as clues are so obvious, and it takes Joe Blow a hundred years to figure it out. If that's the case, HOW DID YOU EVER GET INTO GEORGIA TECH IN THE FIRST PLACE. Yet, this guy is clever enough to evade an FBI agent's (weak) line of questioning. I sincerely believe he rode his bike into a brick wall and suffered brain damage. 

*INTERMISSION* 

No bike story review is complete without this

BACK TO IT, THEN

Another gripe: this is a road trip supreme book, but the narrator casually mentions a handful of instances without developing them, completely antithetical to what a boy's travel journal would look like. You partied with some cute girls in Minnesota? TELL US ABOUT IT. I can't believe I'm saying this, but some romance WOULD HAVE ACTUALLY HELPED. Excuse me while I punch myself in the kidneys. There is a tiny bit of budding romance between ol' what's his face and a girl in his college class, but that also gets tossed aside. 

So, I guess that's it for Shift. Oh, and I just looked it up. The narrator's name is Chris. This changes everything. So does the huge list of awards this book won. I must have missed something. Was it the one-dimensional parental characters? The delayed realizations of Chris? Winston's moronic selfishness? I suppose readers can really identify with Chris being "pissed off" at Winston for leaving him, and all of his annoyances building to a titanic wrestling match in an old barn. Sure, those parts are cool, and even I could empathize. [The wrestling part for sure: Bradbury captures that aggression well, especially when Chris says that this time it was real - more than a for bragging rights. That part was good, and made me want to hit someone with a folding chair.]

Bradbury really likes bikes, I guess. So why not write a novel centered on a long bike trip. She gave it a ride, but in the end, it made this reviewer saddle sore. 

She's been "framed!" HA! HA!

Bradbury herself says of Shift: "And yeah, Shift is pretty good."

Pretty good at loose ends! OH, SNAP. 

Anyway, it was an okay book. I hope my review doesn't derail you, as I spoke negatively of parts, but perhaps it's geared to a crowd that doesn't tire of such a format. Who am I to judge? I simply pedal my own biased view. 

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

A book I'm ashamed to admit I've never read. I blame Jennifer Bradbury. Let's just say, you don't want to ride your bike into ANY OF THESE!

BORING STUFF

Shift

Jennifer Bradbury 

2008 Atheneum Books for Young Readers 

CAUGHT IN (Y)A MOSH

HEAVY METAL AND ME

It started at recess in 7th grade, when my closest friend would split ear buds with me and play Metallica tapes as we avoided social interaction with our peers. I stared at the skulls he painted on the Walkman and the image of Iron Maiden's Eddie taped into the player window, and thought, THIS IS REBELLION. At first it seemed like a wall of noise, because he usually got the bud channel with the guitar solos. After a few tries, metal started to make sense to me. I requested mix tapes, started pooling my pocket change to buy used tapes at the record store down the street from my house. By high school, I was a metal head at heart, and could talk for hours on end about the nuances of Steve Harris's bass tone or the stylistic shift in Metallica's music after Cliff Burton died, or plead with the more extreme dudes to accept Anthrax into the pantheon of greatness, because they deserve it, dammit. I'm just happy I didn't dress that way, because nothing says "please beat the crap out of me as I walk home through bad neighborhoods" like a Megadeth shirt, black jeans, spike bracelets, and stringy hair adorning your 120-pound gangling frame. I'd rush home every day to blast my favorites on the big stereo in the living room before my sister and her boyfriend came home and kicked me out so they could (shudder) "be together". Gross. 

Metal helped get me through the high school doldrums and long, hot summers. It helped me make friends at my age level and in the adult world when I worked in a restaurant kitchen, blasting Sepultura with the sous chef as we prepped the dinner specials. Hell, it even put me to sleep, as I'd throw in Pantera as I went to sleep, but at a low volume; somehow through his legendary, house-shaking snoring, my dad could hear music through walls that I could barely discern from five feet away. 

I still dig metal, and probably always will. It's been helpful in getting to know students who think they're unreachable because of their interests, and makes for debate material with these boys and girls, which I always win, until they get into the Scandinavian black metal stuff, which I just can't get behind. Sorry, my northern brethren. But hey, let's have some tea and discuss the finer points of Black Sabbath any time. 

These guys warped me, and I gave them lots of my money.

HEAVY METAL AND YOU

A guide to ruining your life

ANYHOO, I read the Heavy Metal & You by Christopher Krovatin, for which I had high hopes. In one sense, Krovatin delivers thoughtful analysis of metal music and translates the scary rage into something outsiders can understand. I have had to slowly introduce many a lady to metal, with mixed results, but I can identify with protagonist Sammy's passion for the genre. HOWEVER, I just can't get with Slayer and Deicide, his two favorite bands. I tried with Slayer, but after about four songs of yelling about blood and Satan and visceral accounts of how you are to be dismembered, I'm ready to move onto something more stimulating, like putting my head in C-clamp. So, the music part is good. My problem with this book? THE ACTUAL STORY.

Argh. It moves so slowly and seems empty. There is some revelation near the end that is deeper than I expected given the setup, and Sammy and Melissa learn a lot about themselves, and relationships. For that, this is a worthy read, but it takes a while to get there. Krovatin cleverly uses the play, pause, rewind, and fast forward button symbols to indicate time at page breaks, which assists in navigation and makes this feel like an audio book or movie, and the chapter titles are all recognizable songs. Sammy has some rage issues, which are explored between bouts of heavy petting, and while he is a stereotypical metalhead on the outside, at least he's well-read and somewhat intelligent, of which we in the metal world are not usually accused. 

Without giving away too much, this book is a mixed bag, but it's a promising first effort, and because he knows his metal so well, he has an authentic voice when rendering ideas about into a fictional context. He has subsequent books out there, which I'll eventually try. If the Goodreads page for this book is any indication, he's gotten through to many people, and that's what it's all about. 

HEAVY COMPLAINTS AND ME

In all, this book is fine, I guess. It just doesn't have the right oomph to make it to the upper echelon. And now for my list of SEVEN DEADLY COMPLAINTS:

1. I don't smoke, but I know enough that quitting smoking is extremely difficult. Yet, this guy Sammy seems to go cold turkey for his love interest without a problem. An angst-riddled metalhead who doesn't have a nicotine craving worth mentioning? As my boy Downtown Clay Davis would say: 

2. Sammy angrily stalks the streets of NYC with Slayer blasting in his ear holes, but somehow gets Anthrax lyrics stuck in his head and equates it to his situation. Me, being an authority on metal, can tell you that it's impossible to have a coherent thought while listening to Slayer. 

3. I know there exist young metal-loving men who go to expensive prep schools in Manhattan, but when you're trying to create a story for the extreme music set, most of whom probably don't have that upbringing, that's a classic case of misplaced setting. 

4. Rookie mistake: the standard classic book plant is executed poorly. The back of the book says Krovatin was an undergrad when he wrote Heavy Metal & You, so it stands to reason that he'd stumble when inserting references to The Catcher in the Rye. Instead of finding some kind of deep connection to Holden Caulfield, Sammy breaks some windows and realizes that he's acting JUST LIKE CAULFIELD. Does this mean I could put this book down and READ A BETTER VERSION OF THIS STORY? I guarantee no one will be clamoring to read Krovatin's sealed stories, decades after his death. 

5. Technology moves fast, and by spending so much time describing the finer points of creating a mix compilation (High Fidelity did it, and did it better*) on CD, Krovatin is already alienating his younger readers, who probably use them for coasters. If he'd checked his email using AOL I'd have chucked this book in the neighbor's burn pile. 

*I could go into the differing theories on creating a killer compilation here, but I'd have to start a new blog titled JB Yells About Your Crappy Mix. 

6. The protagonist's favorite band is Deicide. Deicide sucks. 

7. Krovatin gives such short shrift to Sammy alienating his friends that their eventual conflict and resolution feels forced, shoehorned in to give complete resolution to the boy + new girl = boy's friends are sad trope. This is the second most important part of the story and it receives about four rushed pages of treatment near the very end. 

8. I'm not fond of Sammy being a stereotypical high school metal dude who smokes, drinks, does drugs, and pukes all over his friends. I was a high school metal dude, and didn't do any of those things until college. Just as there are eight items on this promised list of seven, I'm the exception to the rule!

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

A book advertised as a bike trip murder mystery, but turns out to be a coming of age novel about acknowledging change. Let's just say this book has a great title of double meaning, and HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH JOSEPH GORDON-LEVITT!

BORING STUFF

Heavy Metal And You

Christopher Krovatin

2005 PUSH

Running on Empty

HELLO AGAIN

I can't remember the last time I read a book and thought, "You know, I understand why people think burning books is a good idea." Oh, wait, yes I can. What a shame that the first YA book I get the time to read after two months of doctoral coursework (read: voluntary suicide) is such a dud.

Fitting, then, that this book was available for a dime at a library book sale. No, really, a dime, and I just happened to have one. You can't get anything for a dime anymore. A dime can't even buy you two nickels. I tried it at the bank and they said go away. I said I have a right to be here. They said we don't know how long you've been living in our break room, but it stops now. I said fine.

Don't click. Please, don't. I've never been so serious.

This book, by English author Julia Donaldson, is set in Scotland. Right away, there are two problems:
1. I may have Scottish ancestry, but the way their spoken language is written is maddening, and there are enough apostrophes in it to I don't know a good punchline for such a lousy setup.
2. The text on Donaldson's website is all Comic Sans. Therefore, I must attempt to destroy her.

The story itself is about a girl, Leo, who runs away from her aunt and uncle, her primary caretakers after the death of her parents. For some reason, when a kid in Scotland runs away from home, it makes the front page of the paper. Either it was a slow news day or the fine people of Scotland get their world news from around the cracker barrel. Anyway, running factors heavily into this story, for about, oh, two pages. Leo, in typical fashion, hasn't thought far beyond simply running away and is starving; she steals some donuts and is chased by the vendor, a nice young man named Finlay who becomes her best friend and ally. They befriend some invalid woman who somehow is released from an asylum. She yells and screams madcap things, which is supposed to be funny, I think? Yeah, nothing like making fun of the deranged, and then making some political commentary about how her shady drinking buddies only come around when her welfare check arrives. Kids love that stuff. They eat it up and talk about the pitfalls of the socialist model on snapchat and instagram.

As if that weren't enough, Leo is pursued by her uncle, who may just be a pedophile who talks to birds. What?  Oh, and Leo RUNS away from him, so there's your titular significance.

Within this mishmash mix-up of weirdos and pederasts, Leo attempts to find her identity as she attempts to track down her father's side of the family. HOWEVER, the entire story is compromised by several plot holes, flat characters, and the fact that it's her first and only book for people over the age of 7. Somehow, Donaldson won an award for positively portraying people with mental health issues. Did they even read this book? Mary the nut job is played for laughs, and if she isn't, she's just played to be a nut, with no redeeming qualities, over than breezily giving shelter to Leo. The rest of the time she's howling Johnny Cash lyrics and twirling in circles. There isn't anything to Mary, but of course, Leo and Finlay care for her, and her plot point is beleaguered the way it's shoehorned in...and then resolved through exposition. EXPOSITION. Come on. That's like killing Hamlet off-stage, and Rosencrantz & Guildenstern lumber onstage to describe his demise. "Bet you thought we were dead! Nope, we were too stupid die. Now, about the guy who's been whining throughout this entire play..." Not that this is even close to Shakespeare.

So, this was a tough 220 pages to navigate. The format is sort of neat; points to Donaldson for splitting up the sections with headings for the parts that center on Leo and Finlay and the person talking to the birds (I already spoiled that one, boo hoo). It works for a while but becomes tedious, as Leo's sections are in the first person, and the rest in the third.

And what's the deal with Finlay being ridiculed for experimenting with goth style? Why are we doing this to a subgroup of people? As if it's a phase that needs to be overcome. For a novel that's supposed to be about finding like-minded people and acceptance from others, this is a gross misplay.

Skip this one. Not even worth reading it to heckle.

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

A book for which I have high expectations: the heavy metal romance novel. In high school, I had down the heavy metal part, but the romance was absent and/or catastrophically present. I'm putting all my leftover angst and encyclopedic knowledge of the genre into this one. Let's just say, no matter how disappointing this one is, it can't be worse than the tripe I just reviewed.

  \m/  \m/

BORING STUFF

Running On The Cracks
Julia Donaldson
2009 Henry Holt & Co

we were here - but you'd never know

INVISIBLE KID

My favorite students (to torment) are the ones who want to go unseen. They sit as far away from the instructor as possible, hunker down in their hoodies, and try to sneak the earbuds in and drift off to where they want to be. First, I want to know where that is, because 95% of the time it's a time or place they can never reclaim. There is a story I want to hear and help the boy (it's always a boy) comes to terms or generate a new understanding, using what they know, or want to have. Second, I move in their direction and passive-aggressively engage them. Oh, the joy on my face as I see the anguish on theirs. Sorry, buddy, you won my attention by attempting to avoid it; I'm about to draw you in, make you my go-to guy; You're too young to disappear.

Dark Dude 2: Another light-skinned Mexican boy soul-searches. This time with more swearing.

We Were Here by Matt De La Pena, tells the story of three invisible kids. The story is narrated by Miguel, who enters juvenile detention and immediately instigates conflict with Rondell and Mong, who, like Miguel, carry their own emotional baggage. Mong inexplicably recruits Miguel and Rondell to break out and head to Mexico, to freedom! And, presumably, tacos, as the boys consume dozens on their journey. I say freedom - not just from juvy, but from their personal demons. In true YA novel fashion, the boys are a diverse group from varying backgrounds/ethnicity, who each have their unique personal issues with which readers might identify.

This takes the form of an epic adventure, but quickly derails, as the escapees run into trouble everywhere they go, despite staying off the grid and hiking along the California coast on their way to Mexico. The situations are all believable and grounded in the boys' own desires and pet peeves; anyone who was burned by a crush in high school will identify with Miguel over the Flaca episode. I'm most impressed by their many nights spent on the beaches; Miguel revels in the solitude, and De La Pena ingeniously captures teenage escapism and desirous invisibility at its finest. There are some hidden elements to the plot that I won't reveal here, but they combine with his want of getting away to drive Miguel's actions. 

Caveat: This book is long. Too long. Long like the end of Invictus. The story drags in too many parts for my liking, but not so for the many rave reviews on Amazon. The story is full of wacky slang and salty language that I enjoy, but at the same time it'll turn off the curmudgeons who won't read this book anyway. So, good job, Matt! Write for your target audience. Then get them to read books that aren't yours.

CLASSICS ALERT!

I need to keep a running tally of naked advertisements of "classic" YA books. De La Pena has Miguel read Catcher in the Rye, The Color Purple, and Of Mice and Men. This time, the inclusion of the classic novels is quite clever, as the plot of each book echoes the character traits of one of the boys. Miguel is Holden Caulfield, Rondell embodies Lennie, and Mong is Oprah. Ha! Ha! But seriously, Mong does represent the abused Celie (and everyone else) in the Walker novel. I haven't seen this much overt courtship of readers since Dark Dude. I suppose the kids need their classics spoon-fed to them. For me, see the brilliant Book-a-minute Classics website. Ultra-condensed versions of the all-time greats!

UNDERSTANDING THE LATINO PERSPECTIVE

I wrote something in the Dark Dude post about learning more about the culture/perspective of Latino boyhood. Yeah, well, I haven't done much studying other than my own anecdotal conversations with my students and watching Stand and Deliver to get amped for the school week every Sunday night. ((I don't actually do this.) I should.) However, the population of my location and my line of work demands that I read, study, and develop my own approach to these Latino boys. For the most part, the girls take care of themselves and make an honest effort. The boys seem lost in comparison. Reading this fiction is a good start, but I'd appreciate input on journals, scholarly articles, documentaries, or any media related to this issue. I could expand this request to all minority groups, but I feel like the most urgent (and my least-understood, or so I feel) is the Latino perspective. That's right, I'm a Ukranian-American YA genius. (No.)

So that's where I am. I want to know more, always THIRSTING for KNOWLEDGE. And if you're young and demonstrate this trait, it will never go unnoticed.

If Miguel had a camera, and got lost and walked to Seaside, Oregon, it would have looked like this. Flickr photo from Oregon State University special collection. 

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

I'm sort of trying to read a book I found for a quarter at a library sale. So far, it's terrible, meaning I will put on a brave face and plow through an awful YA book one more damn hell ass time, as my boy Miguel would say. I'll just say that this book might BREAK YOUR MOTHER'S BACK!

BORING STUFF

We Were Here

Matt De La Pena

Delacorte 2009