And yet, she persisted

The eldest niecester is now in the double digits, officially a tween.

I've read all manner of horrible studies that show this is when the gender gap can start in school: girls start to take less of an interest in STEM, sports, etc. She already claims she doesn't like math, despite being good at it; and she already refused to join a new soccer team when they moved out of loyalty to her old team but also because she says she doesn't like running anymore.

Yet La Primera Sobrina has all the makings of a future activist to make her parents and tía proud. (Aside from being vocally enthusiastic about the possibility of a female president during the '16 campaign, when the family decided to watch the Star Wars movies, she demanded that they watch Rogue One first because it had a girl as the protagonist.)

So aside from getting her Hidden Figures on Blu-Ray for her birthday, La Mas Cool Tia Del Mundo went on a bender to get ideas for girl-power, age-appropriate books for her. I looked to A Mighty Girl for my inspiration; most of the time their suggestions are excellent, but sometimes they aren't.

I got Sylvia and Aki without actually reading the description; I assumed it was a book about friendship between two girls during WW2 and that the focus was that one of them was Japanese-American and incarcerated. OOPS! Turns out, yes, that's a tiny part of the story, which is based on a real-life friendship between two girls in the '40s, but also more importantly, the real-life Mendez v Westminster case out of California. Mendez was a father's (eventually successful) attempt to desegregate California schools so that his kids didn't have to walk a longer distance to go to the Mexican-only school; it was later cited in Brown v Board of Education that achieved the same goal of integration, this time nationwide.  I was unintentionally trying to highlight her Asian American heritage but accidentally ended up showcasing how important her Mexican American heritage is. TOTALLY amazing book for La Sobrina, given that she is one (and "only" half) of the Latino kids at their Michigan elementary school.

Next up was Women Explorers. I, for one, was inspired by the true tales of women who travelled alone, went mountain-climbing when society told them they shouldn't, and took off to be adventurous.  HOWEVER, every single woman highlighted was either European or white American (even the Mexican heroine), and most of them were also upper-middle class if not outright wealthy. Sacajawea didn't even make a token appearance. I nixed it for La Sobrina on that basis alone. It was inspiring, yes, but didn't deviate from the pre-Third Wave feminist mentality that women's history is by default white women's history.

I also nixed The King's Equal for being too stuck in the tired Poor Girl Changes Royalty theme.I normally approve of Katherine Paterson, but this book was really disappointing. Basically, there's a conceited prince and a beautiful, intelligent but poor villager. They swap places for a year when he becomes king; it changes him, and his obviously future queen did a great job running the kingdom, so they get married. Blah.


Because the kids loved Newsies, I thought We Were There Too might keep the spark of children's activism alive. I, for one, enjoyed it. But I think it is a little dense reading for kids. And most of the "children" whose stories are told throughout American history are actually teenagers, which I thought La Sobrina and her younger siblings maybe wouldn't find as relatable. Where Women Explorers failed, however, We Were There Too had stories from a wide range of racial and ethnic backgrounds as well as socioeconomic classes. It highlighted everything from strikes to helping their families during war, and wasn't intended to be about activism so much as just showing that kids were part of American history too. The only problematic piece was that the first third of the book (early United States history) relied on European settlers' accounts, so the stories are obviously somewhat self-selective, especially in regards to how Native Americans are presented. Part of that is also a larger conversation about the nature of history as a discipline itself: reliance on first-person narratives leaves out oral traditions or conquered cultures who were very much "there too"...

And though A Mighty Girl didn't suggest it, I loved loved loved loved LOVED Wonder Woman. Mi Hermana thinks the niecester might be old enough to watch it, and I agree. I'd read all the reviews of women going to see the film in theatres and breaking down and crying during parts of it, overcome by the rare portrayal of a powerful, bad-ass lady on screen.... I did not expect to do that myself! And yet I did, towards the end, at the moment the goddess Diana finds and channels her inner mental strength to save the world. I don't tend to like DC universe comics or movies as much as Marvel, but this is the one exception. Yes, there are problematic parts: not enough ethnic and racial diversity, the issue of sexy superhero outfits for women alone, some stereotyping of the villains. Still, it's a movie I'd watch and re-watch in the company of kick-ass lady friends, my niece, my she-roes, and anyone else who is down to topple the patriarchy!

Some relish of the saltiness of time

After a few of Sharon Creech's books for young adults that weren't exactly my cup of tea, I finally read two back-to-back that were!

Bloomability is the story of a girl who never had a "real" home due to her parents' nomadic life. Dinnie, the main character, grows up poor;  after her sister becomes a teenage mother and her brother winds up in jail, her aunt and uncle whisk her off for a year at a boarding school in Switzerland. (Parent Trap flashbacks, anyone?) It's a cute tale about studying abroad, making new friends, dealing with homesickness, and fitting personal experiences into a larger global framework.  The end of the book is unresolved: Dinnie returns to America for the summer, and she hasn't decided yet if she'll stay or not.  Though the book is really about tweenhood and identity, I couldn't help but see it through the lens of educational opportunity: DUH, she should return to Switzerland!

There's also an avalanche scene in the book, which 1) reminded me of this incredibly written but scary NYT piece on the avalanche at nearby Stevens Pass last year; and 2) started to freak me out about avalanches while I'm out snowshoeing.

Chasing Redbird was a bittersweet story about another tween, the middle child of a rather large family. She spends a summer clearing an old trail behind her family's property in the Appalachians. By re-building the trail, she comes to terms with several deaths in her family.

The thing I do like about Creech's protagonists is that they don't come from "perfect" homes; they are generally from struggling or non-traditional families or rural areas, and there is usually some event (birth or death or illness or separation) that provides the catalyst for the angst and apprehensions of her young characters. Though her stories must be wonderful for young readers who can relate to their growing-up themes, her characters are sometimes wiser than many real-life adults who have yet to encounter hardships.

Exempt from public haunt

The library books are piling up, but I'm determined to keep my overdue fine-free streak! So now I have a whole algorithm for determining which books to renew, and which ones to return and then re-check out when next available.

Olive Kitteridge was a collection of stories from a small town in Maine, all featuring retired school teacher Olive at some point in her adult life. In many of the stories, she is the main character; in others, she figures tangentially.

Stepping back, the book is a pretty intricate portrait of sadness and breakdowns in relationships. Strout showcases the desperate slowness before suicide attempts and affairs; and during weddings, funerals, breakups, and end-of-life care. Through it all, the Maine seasons roll by.

It reminded me of another rather gray depiction of a life loved and lost in a small New England town: Ethan Frome. (Given that that classic is one of the most dismal stories I've ever read, I don't know that that's a compliment.)

Sharon Creech's young adult books are always hit-or-miss for me.

The Great Unexpected is one of the ones I don't exactly love. The story is about two girls in foster care in a podunk American town who meet a mysterious boy who falls from the sky. But it bridges reality and fantasy in jarring ways: Irish magic, crows as omens, and witches exist alongside kids who have to "share" about their dysfunctional families for a school assignment (which is both funny and sad).

My main source of frustration is that I liked parts here and there of the story: the backgrounds of the people in the girls' lives, the mystery of the cackling old lady who always wants to "have a murder," the Tim Burton atmosphere of the small town. It was just too short of a book to weave it all together properly... for an adult reader, at least.

The playground round

When I ran out and ordered every Sharon Creech book from the library, I thought her audience is usually the "young adult" crowd. However, three of the books that arrived are clearly intended for the elementary school crowd.  That's cool, though. I consider it research for possible gifts for the nieces and neffies.

Fishing in the Air reminded me of my nephew (who I repeatedly found "fishing" in my bathroom sink last summer when he visited). In the story, a little boy goes fishing with his father. I was a little bored (because there's really not much else), but there's some good, colorful imagery for kids. Maybe the neffy would like it for Christmas.

I couldn't stop thinking about all the immediate legal challenges to the scenario in A Fine, Fine School, so that might have clouded my possible enjoyment of the book. Basically, a principal decides that there will be school all year round, and on weekends and holidays. Nobody protests until they realize they are also learning while at home. Creech gets bonus points for mentioning Ramadan, but I don't think I'll be buying this one for my eldest niece, who just started kindergarten and loves it.

Lastly, Pleasing the Ghost was a cute but bittersweet story about a boy who is visited by ghosts. He really wants the ghost of his father to visit, but he gets his deceased uncle instead. Said uncle had had a stroke while still living, and so his stroke-affected speech make for endearing yet quasi-disturbing conversations with the boy. This would be a good book for a child who has recently lost an adult in their life... except for the possible awkward theological issues that might arise (like why spirits in the next life still have to live with the strokes they had during their time on earth).  This book is a good example, though, of why I love Creech as a children's author: she normalizes intergenerational interaction and doesn't shy away from themes like illness, death, and loss.