Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Sorry about Wednesday night, folks–I had a meeting that ran after 10 and then my hubby and I were talking and suddenly it was SO late. I suppose it’s just as well, though–reviewing Kiku Hughes’ Displacement is going to take more concentration than I usually have late at night. I was so excited to read it–it was an honor book for the Asian/Pacific American Literature award for youth fiction–but I ended up having more conflicting feelings about it than I expected.

On the one hand, the idea of having a modern teen transported back in time to Tanforan and Topaz is a good one, and there aren’t enough books about the Japanese-American experience during WWII. Hughes choice of “incarceration” camps was new to me, but I ended up liking it; after all, “internment” camps don’t sound like places surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by men with guns, where the rights of other American citizens didn’t apply. (I’m aware that few of the Issei were citizens, but a)the Nisei were and b)most of the Issei would have been if they had been legally permitted to become such.) The focus on teenagers and young single adults, including those who were actively protesting their incarceration, was new for me as well, but interesting.

My problem with Displacement is this. Hughes goes to a lot of trouble to establish the continued relevance of the experiences it portrays, referring to Trump’s immigration policies as well as attitudes towards the anti-war protesters in the 70s, and I don’t actually think she’s wrong. If the message of your book, however, involves painting an accurate picture of history to give present-day readers a stark portrait of what can happen–and that is the sense I got from Hughes, over and over–then you have to give an accurate picture of history. Having a queer heroine from the future is one thing; portraying two Japanese-American young men from the early 1940s dancing together is another. I don’t see that happening openly during WWII; it’s simply not culturally or historically realistic.
Between that and Kiku’s relationship with May, which also crossed the boundaries of realism for the early 40s, Displacement loses its claim to historical accuracy. The rest of it may be quite realistic, but when one aspect of life in the camps is deliberately romanticized (and I use that word purposefully), it stops being a portrayal of history.

I’ve been staring at my screen for a ridiculous amount of time, but that’s the best I can do for a review. I think Hughes tried to tell two stories–two different KINDS of stories–in the same book, and it didn’t work for me. You’ll have to decide for yourself if you think it will work for you.

For the first five chapters of Stacy McAnulty’s Millionaires for the Month, I felt like I was reading a new book (which I was, in fact, doing); there was tension between the characters, I was wondering how the initial conflict was going to work out (or escalate), and the eventual plot direction wasn’t yet clear. By the eighth chapter, however, I realized that I was reading a 21st century middle grade buddy version of “Brewster’s Millions.” (Which I googled, by the way. The 1985 film with Richard Pryor, which I saw taped off of TV as a kid, is apparently only one of multiple adaptions of the original novel, which was written in 1902. Who knew?) If you’re not familiar, it involves someone having to spend a large sum of money in a set amount of time in order to win a much larger sum of money; there are rules about assets that can be acquired and ways in which the money can and cannot be spent, the someone isn’t allowed to tell anyone in his life the truth, and it’s a much different experience than the spender(s) initially believed it would be.

Yeah, that pretty much covers it.

On the one hand, I think the intended audience will enjoy the journey, and it might just teach them something about money and the value (or lack of value) thereof in the process. If you have middle graders in your life–especially boys–it’s a great choice. And if you don’t want to read a cranky-ish adult perspective on the book, feel free to stop here.

Still reading? Okay, since I’m wearing my cranky-ish pants, I have to say that it was enough of a remake that it dragged a bit for me; they’re spending the money, they can’t tell anyone, their families are upset, it’s hard and not as fun as they hoped it would be, they’re hurting the people in their lives–blah, blah, blah. (If the plot’s new for you, though, great. I would have enjoyed it much more had that been the case.) My other complaints, however, involve Felix’s sister’s reaction at the wedding (okay, also Benji’s dad’s), and the fact that McAnulty suggests that Benji may have a learning disability (not explicitly, but it’s definitely there) and then NEVER DOES ANYTHING ABOUT IT. Why bring it up if you’re not going to go anywhere with it? If you don’t want to go anywhere with it, why have it there at all? Benji’s life situation doesn’t support the idea of it going undiagnosed and him struggling unseen for years–not convincingly–and so it just feels like a thread introduced and then left hanging. (As for the wedding reactions, really? REALLY?) And lastly? As a parent, so much no. Adults are one thing, but kids placed in such a position while sworn to secrecy is not okay.

Okay, I’ll try and wriggle out of the cranky-ish pants now. Like I said, it ought to be a good read for its intended audience, and if the story hadn’t been familiar to me, I would have enjoyed it more. (Some stories are far more fun to relive than others.) So far, however, The Miscalculations of Lightning Girl is still my favorite McAnulty novel.

So–tonight is my three girls’ dance recital, which is pretty much during our regular dinnertime, and I’m posting early so that I won’t forget later; I’m also waiting for a friend of mine to get here to do hair (not my specialty), though, as well as another friend to drop off the daughter of hers that’s coming with us tonight, which means that my powers of concentration are rather divided at the moment. Hence–I’m reviewing a simple book, and it’s going to be a simple review. Needs must.

I finished reading Iggy Peck and the Mysterious Mansion aloud to my kindergartener this past week, and we both thoroughly enjoyed it. It’s rather an art mystery, which is more up my alley than STEM solutions, and I got to google architectural styles when we were done (which was totally cool). Get into this series with your elementary-aged kiddos and you won’t regret it–and while we’re on the subject, my 14-year-old has been reading and enjoying them as well!

I meant to post on the 13th, folks–I really did–but between my hubby and I finishing his birthday puzzle (a 2,000 piece Star Wars extravaganza) and the horrid, constant dripping of my nose, I didn’t manage it. That dripping presaged a day of feeling pretty awful–yesterday–but I still can’t tell if I’m beating back the allergies that are trying to cause a sinus infection or just suffering through a fast-moving cold. (There’s some evidence for both.) Either way, I’m feeling most grateful that when I saw Kleenexes on coupon at Costco last week I bought two packs. (Once upon a time, at the beginning of a previous year’s allergy season, I only bought one–and I still remember regretting it.)

By the way, when your nose is dripping and you’re about to sneeze, finding nothing but Barbies in the living room Kleenex box can bring on intense (if relatively brief) feelings of frustration with your offspring. Just saying.

Anyway. Since shower time is fast approaching, I shall quickly highlight George Dunn’s latest “Breaking Cat News Adventure,” Elvis Puffs Out. The last third of it takes a decidedly odd turn, but it’s still an entertaining look at cats, occasionally kids and other animals, and the people who love them. I’ve noticed that the three books with cats’ names in the titles seem to be published specifically for younger readers, unlike the initial BCN collection, and the writing reflects this. My girls were split on whether or not they enjoyed the last one, so we’ll see who ends up reading about Elvis; in the meantime, sleep well, peeps!

Okay, okay, the cover says that Class Act is a companion to New Kid, but it follows it chronologically and it’s about the same characters. (Although, come to think about it, the first book might have been mostly from Jordan’s point of view? Class Act is possibly more omniscient than its predecessor, but it’s 10:24 and I’m most definitely overthinking this.)

Anyway. The important point here is that dang, Jerry Craft is good. He manages to tell a humorous AND poignant ‘school story’ in an utterly thought-provoking way, and he represents different points of view with compassion and understanding. Books like this give me hope for our world–hope that we can figure out how to be kind, that we can see each other as human beings and children of God, and that by getting to know each other and communicating as friends we can build bridges right over our differences. I’m looking forward to handing this one over to my older girls.*

*I also loved the book allusions at the beginning of each chapter. Seriously, though, is Jordan’s mom going to let him go to art school? Inquiring minds want to know!

My most recent book group read The Tattooist of Auschwitz for last night’s meeting, and I squeaked in just under the wire, finishing it the night before. (Go me!) Last night’s discussion seemed to focus mostly on whether it painted a realistic picture of Auschwitz or not, but to me, the point was that it paints a different perspective of Auschwitz than any I’ve seen before. The tattooist held a privileged position, and while the horrors of the camp proper are there, they play more of a background role to Lale’s experiences and his and Gita’s love story. (To be honest, I was just as caught by the contrast between Lale’s continued promises of survival–both to himself and Gita–and the periodic probably-fatal circumstances in which he and/or she found themselves. Gita’s point of view made far more sense to me.) At the end of the day, what matters most is that it is a compelling book, a story of love and survival–and not just Lale and Gita’s love. It’s a novel based on a true story rather than a Holocaust narrative, and that’s generally a little less my thing, but Tattooist is most definitely a worthwhile read.

I didn’t want to just skip another post–my track record has been a bit spotty of late–but I couldn’t manage a book review because I was finishing my audiobook. (And chatting with my hubby, and listening to a conference talk, and coming home from a combined youth activity with my older girlies.) I’ll manage on Friday, but for now, well–I should have been in the shower an hour ago. Pleasant dreams!

Okay, I admit that I could have posted on April 1st and just didn’t get to it; I’d posted the day before, however, and when push came to shove, I couldn’t quite make myself do it instead of other things. The 3rd, however, was General Conference Saturday, and the day we did Easter baskets, and then we packed up and stayed the night at my in-laws’ for Easter and more General Conference and my hubby’s birthday the next day. (Bless my mother-in-law–she totally made his birthday breakfast. My amazing family blows me away.) Posting, well…didn’t happen.

Obviously.

Today, however, as I was packing a variety of things to take to my niece so that SHE can take them to my family in Idaho this weekend, it occurred to me that if I finished BOX: Henry Brown Mails Himself to Freedom today, I could review that and return it to the library tomorrow. (Supposedly the library has downgraded their quarantine period for returns to 24 hours instead of 72, and while evidence suggests that it’s going to be a process and isn’t exactly happening yet–or at least not with consistency–one still wonders if that means that the items out limit will be going back down to fifty in the not-so-distant future. This is, in case you’re wondering, a concern, which is why returning any book possible has heightened appeal.) I did have to start it again–I’d gotten distracted–but since it’s picture book-ish, I still managed to finish it. Hence, this review!

I have to say, while the blank verse felt more like careful prose arranged in (with one exception) deliberate six-line stanzas, it was a powerful book. Michelle Wood’s illustrations added a great deal, and together she and Carole Boston Weatherford told a story that I hadn’t heard before. Just the idea of cramming my body into a box that size makes me shudder, but–what price freedom? While I found myself wishing that Henry’s story could have ended differently, family-wise, the truth felt heartbreakingly real. I’m not sure how young readers will react to the format, but the story is an amazing part of our history.

BOX is most definitely worth the read.