Val Muller

While my son was in the library, I decided to pick up a graphic novel from the middle grade/young adult section to read over while he ignored storytime and played with all the hands-on activities in the children’s section. This story caught my eye because of its multicultural elements: it follows a Muslim student who is fasting during the days of Ramadan, and she is being bullied for it by her classmates. At her school, which I presume is American based on the descriptions on the cover and marketing materials, there is only one other Muslim there, and she seems to expect Nayra to be best friends, which seems exhausting for Nayra. I have several Muslim students, and I was hoping for this book to be sort of a Life of Pi experience, highlighting the beauty of Nayra’s religion, even in the context of a hostile American culture. For instance, we had an end-of-quarter celebration that involved food, and because of the timing of the school calendar, the celebration took place during Ramadan. I asked my student if she would rather spend the class in the library rather than have to watch her classmates eat, and as I made that offer, I wondered how it truly felt to be a Muslim student fasting in a largely American school.

I was hoping the book would bring me into a rich perspective on that.

I was further intrigued by the premise that the character is visited by a djinn, a mythical character, who helps Nayra with the coming-of-age story. I do enjoy magical realism and elements of fantasy. I liked the color schemes of the pages, and the artwork looked simple enough to let the story work on its own.

In all honesty, though, I was disappointed. I realize the book is for middle-grade readers, but it was too simple. There was not enough richness of culture, and there was a lot of flat characters and telling instead of showing. I was hoping for more perspective from Nayra on what fasting means to her, but it seemed like she was just going through the motions of it—along with everything else in her life. Maybe I am “cursed” by having read and loved Life of Pi, but in a single passage, Martel is able to express the beauty that the main character (Pi) finds in everything, but specifically in all aspects of religion. In Nayra and the Djinn, I never felt connected with any of the characters.

Nayra doesn’t like her friend, the only other Muslim in the school, and I get that her friend is being a little pushy, always wanting to hang out, but I wonder what Nayra wants instead. Then there are the Americans. They are all so cruel to Nayra, but the taunting gets old. Yes, I teach, and yes, I have seen cruelties, but these characters read as flat and unmotivated. The characters seem angry at Nayra because her fasting seems to be impacting her ability to play volleyball, and at first I thought maybe the American characters had a point—maybe it was a way to introduce the complexity of the issues of fasting in a society that doesn’t fast. I was hoping for an in-depth discussion or examination of that issue: should a varsity volleyball player fast and risk harming the team? Should the team respect a player’s decision to fast? But then I saw that it was just gym class. It wasn’t even a real competitive team. This made the Americans seem too petty. I’m guessing it’s a private school, but it seems the girls who were mean to Nayra wouldn’t care too much about how good or bad they look in gym class based on someone fasting being on their team. And in my experience at school, teachers are made aware of when fasting is taking place, and we are asked to keep an eye out for students who might be physically struggling, such as in gym class, during that time. The teachers in this book were also unsympathetic and unaware of the bullying, and I found it hard to believe that there were not any more sympathetic characters until the very end.

I never felt I was deep enough in Nayra’s perspective, whether in the words or the images on the pages. I felt the book would benefit from being two steps deeper, and even if for middle grade, I wasn’t sure the simplicity of the story would mean anything to a reader. There are a lot of questions unanswered. Even Nayra’s family seems a stereotype. How do they feel? Where actually do they live? Why do they live in a community that doesn’t accept them? How did Nayra’s siblings do well in school, and why is she so different?

The djinn side story was interesting, but I was looking for even more parallels and connections between Nayra and the djinn. Overall, I did finish the book, but it is not one that will stay with me, despite my wanting to love it.

The reason I picked this book up is because I saw an interview with Ben Montgomery about how to encourage high school journalists to improve their interview skills, so I was curious to read a book-length piece by him regarding a woman he researched after her death.

The book follows Emma “Grandma” Gatewood, a woman who in her late 60s decided to hike the Appalachian Trail during the 1950s, when the trail was far less famous than it is now. After suffering years of abuse at the hands of her husband, raising 11 children of her own, Gatewood decided to make a handmade rucksack and hike the trail with a walking stick, tennis shoes, and a blanket.

The book follows her story as she takes the trail south to north, often relying on the kindness of strangers to take her in and feed her. Without a tent, if she can’t find a place to stay, she often sleeps on tables or porches or moss. I enjoyed how Montgomery interwove stories of Gatewood’s past, such as her relationship with her abusive husband, as well as details about the time periods, such as the tendency of the country to drive rather than walk (with the increase of cars and highways) as context for her motivation to walk. He relies on interviews with Gatewood’s children as well as quotes that Gatewood herself gave to journalists as she gained fame.

Not only did she hike the trail once, but she went back two more times, despite age and bad knees and a lack of fancy hiking gear. It was an inspiring story and a quick read. In fact, I read it in two days, and on the second day, I had planned to go for a walk with my son. It was rainy and cold for June, and at first I thought about putting off the walk, but when I remembered all the challenging conditions Gatewood faced, I figured I could do a mile walk through the rain, even 7 months pregnant. Montgomery traces those who were inspired by Gatewood, showing how her story helped raise awareness for the trail and begin the process of making the trail more manageable to hike (with more regular maintenance and labeling).

Even if you have no interest in hiking, it’s a great story about a woman with true grit, and just thinking about her and her life will really put other challenges into perspective.

When I was in college, I heard an author speak. I did little research about her before I went to hear her read a passage from her book, When the Emperor was Divine, but I do remember a poignant passage she read about a woman, a shovel, and a dog. I won’t say more, but if you read it (or heard her read it), you will know.

The whole novel is a fast read, a poignant account from various perspectives, of a family displaced from their home during the 1942 Japanese internment relocations. What I like about the novel is the way it allows the emotions of the characters to come through using simple actions and details. We don’t need an angry tirade against the United States to see how wrong it was for the family to be relocated, their house abused in their absence, and the best years of their lives stolen from them. These details come out in an understated way that stays with the reader—in my case, even years later (I hadn’t read the whole novel in college, but I remembered it as soon as I read the first chapter again, decades after I heard the author read the same passage).

This is an important novel for everyone to read, as I believe this is a time period in American history that is glossed over. It’s a fast read at only 144 pages, and an important one. I like that the book shows how and why Americans would become complacent with the relocation of Japanese American citizens—while at the same time pointing out the irony and blatant wrongness of the fact that these are American citizens who happen to be of Japanese ancestry. They were guilty without being allowed to be proven innocent. It’s easy to judge atrocities like how the Nazis were able to come to power—how could a people allow that?—but then equally easy to overlook how easy it is for such fear of generalized groups can lead to inhumane actions. Perhaps it’s fitting to pre-post this to go live on the eve of Independence Day, a reminder that we always must strive to be fair to others and not give in to fear. It’s a fine balance to achieve, for sure, but books like this help us to see multiple perspectives and gain wisdom even if we were not alive to witness these events first-hand.

Original story by Mary Downing Hahn. Adapted by Scott Peterson, Meredith Laxton, and Russ Badgett

A while back, I reviewed the original novel Wait Till Helen Comes, though when I first became aware of the title, it was as a graphic novel at a book fair.  So of course I had to check out the graphic novel version.

You can read my original review for a synopsis. The graphic novel was fairly true to the original. The characters were not quite what I pictured them, but that is usually the case. The scenery was true to the Maryland setting, and I liked that each scene has its own color scheme that works with the vibe of the scene. There is one artistic choice that I wasn’t too fond of. The little girl, Heather, is very annoying in the novel, and the artists did a good job of making her face look really mean and spiteful when she is being mean—and then gentle when she is with her father, who dotes on her too much (as he does in the book). However, in the story, we eventually are given details that reveal to the reader why Heather is acting that way, and it adds a level of sympathy toward her. It was difficult for me to feel any sympathy for her with her face looking so nasty toward the other two kids in the graphic novel.

That said, I enjoyed the novel better—my imagination is much scarier than artwork, usually—but I would recommend the graphic novel version for reluctant or visual readers.

Now that school’s out, I’m catching up on posting reviews of some of the easier reads I’ve read over the school year. I try to preview books that my daughter might be interested in reading.

Having grown up in the age of dinosaur computers that ran The Oregon Trail game, this book appealed to me, also reminding me of the “choose your own adventure” series I used to read as a kid. This book is structured the same way, so it’s a combination of a low chance of success (Oregon Trail game) with the decision-making power of the “choose your own adventure” series.

The plot is simple: a family is leaving for Chimney Rock in 1850, and you have to help them make the right decisions. It was fun to read through all the possibilities, choosing the best and worst options. It’s the first of four books in the series. It does highlight the trials of pioneers moving west during this era—there was so much stacked against them. The level of detail was not overpowering, but sometimes I wished for a few more details. It was short enough at 150 pages that I was able to read through the whole adventure—and all of the possibilities—before bed one night (the font is very large).

It’s a fun book that I will endorse for my daughter. There is nothing inappropriate about it, and it’s an interesting look into the era—perhaps an entry into the time period that might lead to looking more closely at some of the more nuanced issues in history.

I picked up this book in a classroom one day while substituting for another class, and it was a super easy and fast read, but with complex themes that would be good for a reader in the coming-of-age years, someone confronting the drive to be independent of parents and their beliefs and someone examining their sexual awakening. The novel is written in poetry, and it follows a girl names Xiomara Batista. Her body develops early and conspicuously, and as she writes in one of the first poems, the boys who made fun of her now ask her to send pictures of herself.

The poems help to characterize her Harlem neighborhood and her heritage, as well as how her family’s strong beliefs factor into her life. Her Mami wants her to be religious, but Xiomara doesn’t feel that anymore, at least not to the extent that her mother, who doesn’t seem happy with her own life, demands it. Xiomara is busy juggling her family’s expectations with the taunts she hears from her peers. This all potentially changes when she is invited to join her school’s poetry slam club, and she is torn between her Mami’s expectations of her and her drive to dream and express herself in a poetic way. At the same time, she’s experiencing a sexual awakening, dating and daydreaming about a student named Aman, something else that would be forbidden given her mother’s strong religious views—not to mention Xiomara’s twin being gay.

What I really enjoy about the book is that it can be read quickly for plot, but the poetry begs you to slow down and appreciate its figurative language. At the same time, the words are accessible to many levels of readers, and while the ideas in the poems are complex, they are very accessible without insulting the reader or oversimplifying ideas. It’s definitely in the young adult category, and maturity is required for some of the themes, but the language is rarely explicit.

Last year, this was the Loudoun County 1book1community pick, and I grabbed a copy after we had excess in our school library. I had forgotten about it until now. It’s about a seventh grader, so that gives you an idea about the target age range. To me, it was odd to choose a book for a younger readership when it’s meant for the whole community. It was an easy read, and I finished it in about two sittings. That said, the topic is an important one that everyone should be aware of.

The book centers on a girl named Mila, who is starting to develop, attracting the unwanted attention of a group of boys at school, who, it turns out, are playing a game in which they earn points for hugging or touching her. To make matters worse, he mom seems to be having problems at work, and the family is short on money, so Mila’s options for clothing are limited.

What the book helps to illustrate is how an event like that—boys acting sinister behind the scenes and behind the view of adults—can spiral out of control. For instance, at one point, Mila reacts by kicking, and that is what the teacher saw (not what the boys did that led to her feeling the need to kick), and Mila was the one who was punished, not the boys.

What I enjoyed was that Mila found an activity that provided her strength in numerous ways—martial arts—to help build her confidence and give her the respect she deserved. It’s a fast read, and it’s important for all ages to read. For those in the seventh grade (or nearing seventh grade) age bracket, it’s important for kids to know that this type of behavior is called sexual harassment. For those who are older, it’s important to be reminded of the types of things that kids go through—and to remember that things might be happening behind the scenes.