The Giver

     In 1993, Lois Lowry had a book published titled The Giver (New York: Houghton Mifflin). It won the Newbery Medal, and seems to be generally credited with sparking the YA fiction trend in publishing, especially when it comes to dystopian future settings. Despite that, I enjoyed it, because it built so solidly off the work of Ray Bradbury in Fahrenheit 451, George Orwell in 1984 and Aldous Huxley in Brave New World. 

     Jonas is eleven years old, and he has a sister named Lily. Each family unit in their Community has only two children as required by law, and everyone is color blind. There is no weather as we know it, nor hills or valleys. Music doesn't exist, and neither do emotions. There is no war, or hunger, or conflict. Instead, everything relies on Sameness, genetically-engineered conformity. (Though this doesn't always work out....some people have blue eyes, and his friend Fiona has red hair. "Life will find a way," as the characters in Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park and Lost World say.) He is looking forward to turning twelve, where the Elders will assign him the job he will work for the rest of his life.
     He is assigned to be the new Receiver; the person tasked with living with all the known memories of things that once were - battles(we see flashbacks of the Civil War), pain, love and happiness. The previous Receiver, who Jonas calls "The Giver," wishes to train someone new to take over this burden of handling the weight of the world's experiences. Through this training, he becomes able to comprehend concepts like hunting, war, starvation and anger. Also, through a glimpse of a family gathering at Christmas, love.
     This is a big problem, because his family unit has been taking care of an unnecessary baby named Gabe, who will soon have to be Released: killed by lethal injection and left alone to perish. And that can't happen. So Jonas and the Giver decide that he should escape; with the Giver staying behind to help the Community's citizens deal with the influx of memories that will wash over them once Jonas disappears. (The Giver knows this is needed because of the way the last Receiver-in-training reacted; she couldn't handle it and fell apart. The memories caused a large panic throughout the Community.)
     Jonas and Gabe escape into the strangeness that is Elsewhere; eventually coming to hills, seeing things like trees, and experiencing coldness and snow. The ending is ambiguous; either they escape to the safety of a little village, or they die of hypothermia like Hans Christian Andersen's Little Match Girl.

     There is a definite sense throughout the book that the current state of affairs is wrong, in some concrete, definable way. There isn't much detail given about how things got to this current state, but there is enough detail for the setting to feel believable. The third-person limited narration also feels authentic, and the tone is realistic, instead of being idealized like later dystopian-YA protagonists.  .

Old Yeller

     Old Yeller (1956), by Frank Gipson, is one of those tearjerker dog stories which would make life miserable if they didn't exist. It was a Newbery Honor book, and made into a movie by Disney the next year.

     This story takes place in the West Texas community of Salt Lick in the late 1860's, as best our narrator, Travis Coates, can remember. The men in the community decide to start a cattle drive to Abilene, six hundred miles north, in order to get some money. So fourteen-year-old Travis is left to take care of his mother and rock-throwing five-year-old brother, Little Arliss, as best he can until the men get back in fall. That goes well enough, until one day a very ugly dingy-yellowish dog with no tail and one ear steals the last bit of ham out of the smokehouse. Arliss adopts the dog, much to Travis's displeasure. And he also steals chicken eggs, according to Lisbeth Searcy, their pretty neighbor.
     However, Old Yeller scares off a pair of dueling bulls that threatened to smash up the Coates cabin, and then he saves Little Arliss from a wild bear. That endears Travis to both Yeller and Arliss, and from there on he discovers how smart and useful the dog can be. Which is why it's such a worry when a man comes along claiming that he owns Yeller. But on seeing how much Travis and Arliss love/need the dog - having been a boy himself, and likely with a boyhood dog of his own - the man (a bachelor) agrees to let them keep the dog in exchange for one of Mama's home-cooked meals. He also prominently foreshadows (without much subtlety) the oncoming plague of hydrophobia.
     Yeller then saves Travis from a group of angry wild hogs, getting all slashed to bits, and barely hanging on to life. Just when he's about healed, though, two cows get hydrophobia and have to be shot. (And burned, so the wolves and buzzards won't spread the infection.) Just after Mama and Lisbeth finish burning the second cow, they're attacked by a mad gray wolf, only to be saved by Yeller. After some time, Papa and the rest of the men come back from the cattle drive, and Lisbeth gives Travis a puppy, parents Yeller and her dog Miss Prissy(who was herself a puppy of Bell, the Coates' previous dog), and Travis decides to teach the puppy and Little Arliss how to hunt squirrels.

     Lots of people would consider this one a prime candidate for Saddest Ending Ever Written, but in my opinion Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rawls, is far worse(and by that I mean, while still horribly sad, much more worthwhile and beautiful). It's noble that Yeller dies protecting his family, and the tension of the hydrophobic cows is strong, but this just isn't that special a story. There is a lot of this-is-how-things-were-done-on-the-frontier-at-that-time description of hunting and trapping techniques, which some boys would likely love(like my brothers). I would have preferred more societal/historical details about the setting, if it were me. Travis is a frustrating narrator, because, no matter how responsible, the attitudes of most early teen boys are insufferable by nature(I'm sure I was, too). He was still easier to deal with than Katniss, though. I think it's because of the movie that this is considered such a classic.

#Wesley

Seabiscuit: An American Legend

     Great nonfiction is really hard to find. Off the top of my head, only Bob Greene, Michael Lewis and Laura Hillenbrand leap to mind as favorites in this area. Great biographies are even rarer, but Hillenbrand takes a wonderful story of three wildly-dissimilar men and the horse that intertwines their fates, telling it perfectly in Seabiscuit: An American Legend (New York: Ballantine, 2001). Be prepared for a thorough immersion in the fast-paced, adrenaline-packed world of horse racing.

     It started with the horseless carriage, really. An ambitious bicycle mechanic named Charles Howard began to tinker with these toys of the San Francisco rich whenever they broke down, and from there he talked his way into receiving a dealership. But who wants a motor-car when there are horses that will transport people just fine? That was the thinking, anyway, until the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906. Howard's machines were pressed into service as ambulances during the aftermath, and everyone began to realize the importance of these machines, and how useful they were for covering large stretches of ground quickly. As a result, more people bought cars, thanks to this growing realization and some snazzy PR by Howard, a born salesman if there ever was one. This made him one of the richest men on the West Coast. Being a rich man, he had dabbled in horse racing, since that's what wealthy people amuse themselves with(plus his friend Bing Crosby pestered him into it). In the mid-twenties his son Frank died in a horrific car wreck, which cooled his interest in cars a great deal. This hobby of horse racing - which he shared with his wife Marcela - was part of what helped him get over his depression. But the early horses were pretty awful. Until, that is, he met an Old West character called Silent Tom Smith.
     Smith was a horse trainer just as the Old West was fading, and then it was discovered that his talents could be used for making racers go faster, too; in addition to breaking mustangs for various cavalry, rodeo or stock outfits. That probably saved his life. The horses he trained were about the level of Howard's - meaning the bottom of the barrel, at claiming races in little out-of-the-way lawless racetracks. Claiming races are where there's a set price set for all horses before the race starts, and only the winner is safe. Anyone else can be bought by anybody. Sort of the pawn shop of the "sport of kings." But his horses started winning, and often. That led to better horses and more wins, which led to his meeting Howard and getting hired.
     Red Pollard was raised on the bush-league tracks, after being abandoned in Wyoming at one at the age of fourteen. He was eccentric for a jockey - he would quote Emerson and Whitman, or read Shakespeare all the time. Yet at the same time, he had an incredible grasp of the profane, so his talk was a weird hybrid of cultivation and vulgarity. So the reporters loved him, of course, because he usually always had a great quote or two they could use. And shortly after he was hired by Howard, a rock blinded him in his right eye, which he kept a secret from everyone, knowing that his jockey license would be suspended if it was known that he had basically zero depth perception.
     Smith had seen this funny-looking horse on the claiming-race circuit and thought he might be something special, considering that Sunny Jim Fitzsimmons, one of the foremost trainers in the world at that point, was training him, and that he was a descendant of Man o' War, one of the greatest racehorses in history. But Seasbiscuit(for that was his name) was lazy. So Fitzsimmons gave up on Seabiscuit, who then bounced around near the bottom of the barrel of the East Coast tracks, eventually was picked up by Howard after Smith spotted him again in a claiming race.

     It took several months to get the woefully underfed Seabiscuit into racing shape, both physically and mentally, but in late 1936 he finally began to show the promise of his bloodline. So he was sent off to San Francisco's Bay Meadows track to spend the winter, readying for the richest race in the world, the Los Angeles-area Santa Anita Handicap, which paid the winner $100,000(and this is during the end of the Depression, mind you.) Handicaps are races where the faster horses are assigned more weight to carry, in order to make things fairer, and also to encourage betting. Most of the big races outside of the Triple Crown, like the Breeder's Cup, are handicapped.
     The 1937 edition of "the hundred grander" took place with on February 27 with Seabiscuit pretty much a dark horse, as far the favorites went. He took on the favored contenders Rosemont and Special Agent, sailing into the lead on the backstretch...until he suddenly veered to the left, near the rail, killing his momentum and allowing Rosemont to come up beside him. The rail is the shortest way around the track, but also potentially the slowest, since the ground is usually worse down there. Seabiscuit loved to run along the rail whenever he could. But Rosemont crept up on his right side, leading to a photo finish....with the Howards' horse the second-place finisher. Maybe Pollard couldn't see Rosemont coming; because of his blind eye. But since he couldn't tell anyone that, he was left defenseless against the rousing onslaught of criticism which said he lost the race. That pretty much killed his reputation around the barn, adding to the conditions which made the Howard stable Pollard's only reliable source of rides.
     The press invasion had begun, because America needed a hero, and the media determined that that hero was a scrawny Thoroughbred who got the wrong end of one of the biggest races in the world. While establishing himself as the fastest horse on the West Coast, he became the top American news item of 1937, topping even FDR and Hitler. At the same time, Pollard's reputation was still taking a beating. To fend off the prowling hordes of photographers and reporters, Smith began practicing Seabiscuit in secret, and frequently substituting his nearly-identical brother Grog in photoshoots. War Admiral won the Triple Crown that year, and was by any measure the best horse in the country. But a growing percentage of people thought that Seabiscuit could give him a run for his money. A match race was tried to be agreed upon, but nothing happened due to the East Coast establishment attitude from War Admiral's owner Samuel Riddle. Meanwhile, the weights the handicappers were assigning for Seabiscuit were enormous; putting greater and greater strain on his body. The two titans were scheduled to face off in the Washington Handicap in November at Baltimore's Pimlico racetrack, but it was raining heavily on the day of the race. Seabiscuit was a terrible mud-runner, because he didn't like to get dirty, for one thing, and he couldn't get any traction with the way his short stubby legs galloped. So he was scratched, and War Admiral ran away with the victory. They were also scheduled to run in the Pimlico Special, but it rained again that day, and so Seabiscuit was scratched - again. And War Admiral won - again. But Smith thought he found a way to beat War Admiral, though, if they ever could meet....
     Seabiscuit, you see, hugely enjoyed tormenting whoever he was racing against. He liked to intimidate the other competitors, so much so that it was nearly impossible to find anyone else who was willing to work out with him, except for a filly named Fair Knightess. In the Pimlico Special, another horse had stared War Admiral straight in the eye, which freaked him out considerably.

     In December, the Howard crew headed back home to San Francisco, spending the winter at the Tanforan racetrack. Things didn't go well. On December 7, Pollard was riding the Howards' sprinter Exhibit when the horse swerved suddenly away from something, right into the path of another horse called Half Time, impeding his progress. It was very unlikely that the move was intentional; but perhaps erring on the side of safety, considering that horse racing had a very shaky reputation, the track stewards suspended Pollard for a month. This derailed Seabiscuit's preparation, for Howard said if Pollard wasn't riding him, he wasn't racing. Fair Knightess was also scratched in a Christmas Day race, for good measure. War Admiral was named the 1937 Horse of the Year by the sportswriters. Then Riddle pulled War Admiral out of the Santa Anita, racing him in Miami at Hialeah racetrack instead against significantly weaker competition. So Seabiscuit missed several races waiting for the new year of 1938 to appear, and thus Pollard's suspension to be lifted. In the meantime, everyone went stir-crazy - the reporters, the horse himself, Charles and Marcela, Pollard, Smith... And the hundred-grander kept inching closer and closer without a race, first because the track secretary issued Seabiscuit an astronomical 132-pound impost, which everyone flatly refused to accept. When the secretary finally relented with a 130-impost in the San Carlos Handicap on February 19, he was finally entered and set to run again.
     On the night of February 18, it started raining. So Seabiscuit was AGAIN scratched, but Fair Knightess was left in the field. Pollard was aboard the filly. She was running well - hanging in fourth most of the way - but up ahead of her an infamous horse called He Did sideswiped someone else, leading to a huge traffic jam that Fair Knightess plowed right into, with no way to slow down or swerve out of the way. She went down, with Pollard underneath her. Her hind legs were paralyzed; and Pollard's left side was utterly crushed. Both horse and rider hung uncertainly near death. A jockey named Sonny Workman was hired for ride Seabiscuit for the last prep race, but given conflicting instructions on how to ride him, he finished second in a dead heat at the wire. Smith forced Howard to fire him, which left them again without a jockey for the big race. Until, that is, Red's friend George Woolf (a much better jockey) pulled some strings to get out of his ride, and he explained in detail the way he would ride such a temperamental horse as Seabiscuit was. That convinced everyone; and so Woolf would ride Seabiscuit in the 1938 Santa Anita Handicap.

     It started out dismally. A goon riding a hopeless longshot called Count Atlas repeatedly smashed into Seabiscuit at the opening furlongs, deliberately delaying his progress. Woolf knew the lawless tricks of unscrupulous riders as well as Pollard did; they raced on the same cut-through-a-wheat-field bullrings at the start of their careers. Sometimes, you had to fight back just to survive. This was one of those times. Woolf smacked Count Atlas' rider in the butt with his whip, which gave him a clear hole to advance through. That left Seabiscuit in twelfth, eight lengths back, with a little over half the race to go. The only option was on the outside of the main pack. And the main competition were nearly identical brothers, Stagehand and Sceneshifter. Stagehand was the hotshot three-year-old, the pre-race favorite for the Kentucky Derby. Seabiscuit caught up with Sceneshifter and rocketed past, leading the field, until Stagehand(carrying only 100 pounds, due to a quirk of scheduling) blazed up alongside. The horses hit the finish line together; for the second year in a row, Seabiscuit was in a photo finish for the win. And for the second time, he lost. It took a while to determine that, though - and everyone in the Howard camp was crushed. So was the public, who wanted their hero to triumph.
     Pollard was able to start riding again in May, much to everyone's surprise. After much behind-the-scenes negotiating, a match race between Seabiscuit and War Admiral was finally set for Memorial Day at New York's Belmont racetrack. Everyone went crazy with excitement and anticipation, but both horses didn't do very well in practice leading up to the big race.At the last second, Seabiscuit had to be scratched because of soreness in his front tendons, much to Riddle's relief. In June, Pollard was working out a horse as a favor to a friend. The horse went berserk; crashing into a barn and shredding Pollard's leg to the bone.
     In July, with Woolf aboard, Seabiscuit won the Hollywood Park God Cup, defeating Ligaroti, the horse of Charles' friend Bing Crosby and Charles' son, Lin. A match race was arranged between them at San Diego's Del Mar track in August, and the press had a field day with it, promoting all the interesting angles - friends competing against each other, son against father, American horse versus an Argentine; Bing and Lin had even hired Smith's son Jimmy as their trainer. Seabiscuit won - barely - but there was a huge controversy that sprung up after the terrible brawling of Woolf and the other jockey. But that was eventually forgotten a couple months later, when in early October the news broke that the Pimlico Special, on November 1, would be run as the match race between War Admiral and Seabiscuit, for real this time.

     Woolf and Pollard talked strategy in the hospital, while Smith worked to improve Seabiscuit's reaction time out of the start. War Admiral's trainer worked on improving his horse's endurance. A vast, agitated throng swarmed into the track, despite the race date being a Tuesday. This race was being broadcast live across the airwaves by NBC, and almost everyone - including President Roosevelt - was listening intently. Forty million listeners was the estimated audience. The crowd at the track was so tightly-packed that Clem McCarthy, the announcer, couldn't reach the press box. So instead he leaned on a portion of outside railing and called the race from there.
     It was a thrilling race. They dueled neck-and-neck for quite some time before Seabiscuit's intimidation mode kicked in, and he sailed ahead to win by three lengths. The sportwriters finally named Seabiscuit the Horse of the Year.

     In a race at Santa Anita in early 1939, one of the prep races for the hundred-grander, Seabiscuit ruptured a suspensory ligament in his front left leg, putting his career in doubt. The Howards entered another horse from their stable, Kayak, in the Santa Anita Handicap, and the Argentine horse(bought in the same herd as Bing and Lin's Ligaroti) won the race. For most of 1939, Pollard and Seabiscuit recuperated on the Howards' ranch, slowly mending from the injuries to their bodies as the mental scars those injuries brought along were washed away.
     In January 1940, they returned to Santa Anita. The day of the race dawned on March 2, and all the other trainers were hoping that if their horse didn't win, that Seabiscuit would. It came down to Seabiscuit and Kayak; and for the last time, Seabiscuit found that extra reserve of acceleration. They finished one-two, and the public finally got the fairy-tale ending they were hoping for.

     In 1946, Woolf's diabetes caused him to faint in the middle of a race. He was thrown, and died instantly. Three years later, there was a statue of him erected in the Santa Anita infield.
     Smith faded into obscurity, despite winning the Kentiucky Derby in 1947 while working for an eccentric perfume baroness. He suffered a stroke at 78, and died several years afterward.
     Red got married to a nurse named Agnes in the spring of 1939, and he and his wife had several children. He kept riding until 1955, then he worked in various tasks around a track in Rhode Island so he could be near the horses he loved so. He died in 1981, Agnes followed two weeks later.
     Seabiscuit learned how to herd cattle in his retirement, and on May 17, 1947, he died of a heart attack at the age of fourteen. Howard's health was failing by then, he would die of heart failure three years afterward. Several fighter planes were named in Seabiscuit's honor, as was an ambulance for the British Red Cross. In 2003, there would be a movie made about him, with Tobey Maguire as Red Pollard.

     I apologize for the length and detail of this review, but such intricate reporting and thrilling phraseology merited a quick summarization of all the wonderful content in these 400 pages.

#Wesley

The Story of Ferdinand

     The Story of Ferdinand (New York, Viking, 1938), by Munro Leaf and illustrated by Robert Lawson, is one of my favorite picture books of all time.

     Once upon a time, on a farm somewhere in Spain, there was a little bull born named Ferdinand. All the other little bulls he lived with in their pasture would run and jump and butt their heads together - but not Ferdinand. Instead, he liked to just sit quietly and smell the flowers, watching the world go by under his favorite cork tree. His mother, a cow, was worried about him; because little bulls do not usually watch the world go by. But Ferdinand explained that he wasn't lonesome and he was having a good time, and because she was an understanding mother (even if she was only a cow) she let him be.
     All young bulls, no matter what their personality or behavioral quirks, must grow, and so Ferdinand also grew to be a big, strong, fearsome animal. Fearsome in appearance, that is - he still loved to sit and smell the flowers. All the other bulls would fight each other all day long, because they wanted to be one of the bulls chosen to be in the big bull fights in Madrid. But Ferdinand just watched, like always.
     One day five men in very funny hats came down for Madrid to select which bulls would be chosen as the biggest, roughest, and fastest one of them all. So all the other bulls were butting each other and sticking each other with their sharp horns. They snorted and bucked and leaped and jumped so that the men would think they were very very strong and fierce and pick them. Ferdinand knew they would never pick him, and he didn't care, so what was the point of showing off? He walked to his favorite cork tree and sat down - right on A BEE. Bees do not enjoy being sat on. So this one stung Ferdinand, right on the rump. And that HURT! So Ferdinand rose up with a snort, and he ran around puffing and snorting, butting and pawing the ground as if he were crazy. The five men in the funny hats were delighted - this must be the bull for the trip to Madrid!
     So they took him away in a funny-looking cart, and there was a great celebration in Madrid. (Mr. Ernest Hemingway writes a lot about it in his novel The Sun Also Rises.) Flags were flying, bands were playing, and (best of all for Ferdinand) all the ladies were wearing pretty-smelling flowers in their hair. There was a parade into the bullring - first came the Banderilleros with long pointy sticks to poke the bull and make him mad. And next came the Picadores on skinny, horses, who carried long sharp spears to jab the bull with and make him even madder. Finally came the Matador, who was very vain (for the ladies all thought he was quite handsome) and he had a red cape and a sword, and he was supposed to stick them into the bull last of all. And then after that came the bull. You know who that was, right? Yes, that's right - it was Ferdinand.
     All the people in the crowd called him Ferdinand the Fierce and all the Banderilleros were afraid of him, and all the Picadores were afraid of him, and the Matador was scared stiff. Ferdinand ran into the middle of the ring, and everyone in the crowd cheered and clapped their hands, thinking that he would now act very fierce and scary and give them all a good show. But Ferdinand saw all the nice-smelling flowers the pretty ladies were wearing, and so he just sat down and smelled. This made the Banderilleros very mad, and it made the Picadores even madder, and the vain Matador was so mad he cried, because he couldn't show off with his fancy cape and sword.
     So they had to take Ferdinand home, since he wouldn't fight. And for all I know, he may be there under his favorite cork tree still, smelling the flowers.

     It would be hard to say how much I love this book. For one thing, fighting should only be done if it must (like if you are stung by a bee). Otherwise, it is much more interesting to watch all the other bulls in the pasture running and jumping and butting their heads together, because that is conflict, which is needed in a good story. And those come from long moments of sitting quietly and observing the world.

#Wesley

Open Wide: Tooth School Inside

     Laurie Keller's first book, The Scrambled States of America, was a runaway success. So her second book, Open Wide: Tooth School Inside (New York: Henry Holt, 2000) takes the same educational-ish-while-still-being-hysterical format and applies it to dentistry(not the most exciting or interesting subject). But told in this way, it works really well.

     We spend the day in the halls of Tooth School, following the students throughout their day, from the Pledge of Allegiance("I pledge allegiance to this mouth, and to the dentist who takes care of us. And to the gums on which we stand, strong and healthy, with toothbrushes and toothpaste for all.") to the end-of-day bell. The cast we particularly follow is Dr. Flossman and the 32 students in his class. There are the eight incisors, Omar, Liza, Elvis, Sherrie, Sally, Sam, Ira and Ingrid. They're sort of used to being the center of attention. There are the four canines of Candy, Conan, Christy and Carl. The eight (musical) premolars have their own choir; they are Lola, Charlie, Pinky, Penelope, Rosie, Boopsy, Preston and Pedro. Then there are the twelve molars - Rusty, Martin, Marilyn, Marky, Bubba, Millicent, Roland and Melody. (What's that? You only counted eight molars? That's because the rest are Wisdom Teeth. Yep. Edward, Wallace, Wendy and Evelyn. They're weird smart. Like they yawn through episodes of Jeopardy!, saying that the questions are too easy.).
     Principal Fillingston gives his daily announcements over the intercom - there's some bridge work being done, so buses might be a little late today. And there will be a dance after the Chompers' football game on Friday night against the Plaqueville Germs. (Wallace Molar is reading a copy of the Canine in the Rye during these announcements, and Liza Incisor is stuck up.) Almost everyone failed last week's quiz on what healthy teeth ought to look like, so Dr. Flossman has to explain all that info again, including what the teeth are made out of. The part that can be seen is the crown. The outside layer is made of enamel, which is a hard coating protecting them from bacteria and germs.  Under that coating is dentin, which makes up most of the teeth. Pulp is what hurts when one of the teeth has an ache. The root keeps each tooth in place, fastened to the gums by a thin layer called cementum.
     Sally Incisor then reads her (rather incoherent) essay on the Tooth Fairy, and Dr. Flossman plays a videotape so the class can learn more about her. Then it's time for lunch, so everyone breaks into their groups: the incisors are food cutters, the canines food tearers, the premolars food crushers, and the molars are food grinders. (Martin Molar's mother made him a peanut-butter-and-onion sandwich.) During lunch there's a food fight, and then recess. (Preston Premolar had dirt for lunch, and Carl Canine and Lola Premolar are a couple, according to a mark on the schoolyard tree.) A terrifying lesson on cavities is next, so the terrified teeth hastily brush themselves clean. Dr. Flossman reads to them from the bestselling book So You've Got Yourself a Cavity, by Dr. Lou Stooth, then he promotes the Wisdom Teeth onward for higher learning. (Roland Molar is running for Student Council President, according to a banner in the hallway.)
     The history reports need to be read next, and we find out that ancient Egyptians believed that an onion, spice and incense mix would cure toothaches. (And maybe it did. They knew their medicine.) Mayans filed their teeth into different shapes (OUCH!!!!) and decorated them with jewels, while in the early 1600's Japanese women blackened their teeth (ew) to show loyalty to their husbands. Then the school bell rings, and everyone is free for the day. Except for the two quizzes of homework in the back of the book, one true/false and the other multiple choice. This helps reinforce the educational facts we've learned throughout the book.

     The final two pages are more entertaining scribbles adding depth to the world of these teeth, similar to the comments in the margins from The Scrambled States of America. It's a very well-written and well-drawn book, which ought to be read by pretty much everyone with kids, in my opinion.

#Wesley

The Giving Tree

      First, let me just point out that Shel Silverstein was one of the scariest-looking people on Earth. Anyway, he could write, though; even if most of his stuff is rather strange. But The Giving Tree(New York: Harper and Row, 1964) is one of the best picture books ever written, I'd say, because of the sacrificial love the tree displays.

     The plot is simple: There is a boy who climbs a tree and eats her apples, swings from her branches, carves messages into the bark of the trunk, etc. Eventually, though, he gets older, and then he carves a girl's name into the trunk, not spending as much time with the tree. This makes the tree lonely, but she still loves the boy. He says that he would like some money, and while the tree doesn't have any(being a tree, obviously), she suggests that the boy gather her apples and sell them in the market. So he climbs into her branches again, "and the tree was happy."
     Then the boy goes away again for a very long time. Then he comes back as a middle-aged man, and asks if the tree can help him get a house. (This doesn't make much sense if you think about it too long.) The tree has a house already - the woods - but she suggests that the boy cut off her branches and make a house out of them. (What kind of house can be made out of chopped-up tree branches, I've always sorta wondered.)
     He stays away for another very long time, returning as an old man seeking to get away from everything. So the tree says that he can cut off most of her trunk to use as a boat, if he wishes. (The picture shows that the trunk gets chopped off at the girl's name he'd marked all those years earlier, leading me to think for a long time that he had gotten married to the girl "Y.L." and then they divorced. But seeing how elderly the man is on writing this review, I think it's more likely that that girl died of some sickness.)
     After another long time, the tree is just a wizened stump, and the boy is now ancient and feeble. The tree apologizes that she has nothing left to give him, but the boy says that he is too old and weak to do anything except sit and rest. So the tree admits that stumps are very good for resting upon. "'Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.' So the Boy did. And the tree was happy."

     This book can be seen as a great depiction of the tree's selfless love, which is how I usually see it. Other people have complained that the relationship between the tree and the boy is abusive, which I can kind of see, too. The boy never thanks the tree or does anything for her; he just always takes. I guess it just depends on how you wanted to look at it. Either way, this is one of the most influential picture books of the twentieth century.

#Wesley

Once Upon a Town: The Miracle of the North Platte Canteen

     As a longtime journalist who's written roughly twenty books, Bob Greene knows how to structure a story really well. And World War II had plenty of those to choose from. But not many people know this one; that North Platte, a smallish city in the southwest Nebraska sandhills, operated a canteen for troop trains during the war as a way to keep the soldiers' morale up. Every day. For years. Coffee, fried chicken, sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, cake - all this, with rationing going on. It was a community-wide effort, as people came from a hundred miles around to volunteer. In Once Upon a Town: The Miracle of the North Platte Canteen (New York: William Morrow, 2002), Greene tells us this tale, by inserting himself as a character searching for this history of what once was then, and no now longer can be, in our society of the 21st century.

     He chose that format because he was interested in this concept himself, and wanted answers. So it was reasonable that readers would also be interested. The trains still go through North Platte today - it's the home of the biggest train yard in the country - but passenger trains are a thing of the past. Once the haven of every type of ne'er-do-well imaginable, now the only trace of vice he could find was a bikini contest at a sports bar....that had no entrants. The community was hosting a regional softball tournament at the ball fields north of town, which was a major point of interest. But downtown was deserted, of course - in stark contrast to all the stories gleaned in interviews with those people who helped out with the Canteen in some way or another. Now everyone shops at Wal-Mart, which feels familiar, because we're all used to it. Greene muses on these and other points a good while.
     Back then, though, it all began around 1941-ish with Miss Rae Wilson, who had a brother in the army, Nebraska National Guard, I think it was. Word got passed around somehow that they would be passing through North Platte for a minute, so everyone in town, basically, came out to cheer them on and thank them for serving the country. It was the National Guard, but it was the Kansas National Guard, not Nebraska. Well, no matter, these boys needed good food as much as anyone else. So instead the people gave their cheers and rations to the boys on the train, who quickly left. So Rae wrote a letter to the editor of the Daily Telegraph newspaper, suggesting that such a custom might be a good idea to become a permanent thing - their bit of pitching in to the war's success, by raising the morale of the troops. For several years, every day without fail, there were volunteers to meet every troop train, until about eight months after the war ended. Sandwiches of every type imaginable(ham and pheasant were remembered especially fondly), coffee, cake, fried chicken - all freely given. In the interviews, many of the men who had stopped at the Canteen still teared up at the memory, it was so welcome. It got to be one of those subjects of common interest over in Europe, the reception soldiers received in North Platte.
     There was a nice piano over in the corner, so sometimes sailors or soldiers would play it, while others would dance with the teenage girls on the platform. Some of those girls stamped and mailed letters for the boys that wanted to send a word home. There were a lot of people who got married because of the Canteen in one way or another. A boy selling papers once ran into his long-lost cousin there. Some of the men who survived the war moved to North Platte in gratitude.

     None of that would happen today, because it simply couldn't. There aren't really any communities like that any longer, that band together for common projects, unless it's disaster cleanup after a tornado. That mindset, of "keeping up morale," is entirely alien now. It got lost somewhere in history of our society. Single men hauled supplies to the depot. Housewives used their allotments of sugar rations for angel food cakes for the soldiers. Little girls went without the pretty shoes they dreamed of in store windows. None of that would happen today, not for complete strangers you'll never see again. And that's sad, which is where the modern-day part comes back in, to contrast the war years to the new millennium. Provides a lot to think over and about.

#Wesley

Do More Better: A Practical Guide to Productivity by Tim Challies

★★★★★

(2015)
  
Tim Challies gets a LOT done.  He gets the right things done.  Matt Perman interviewed him in What's Best Next on how he organizes a typical day.  When I read the interview, I wished it was longer and more detailed.  So I was thrilled when I heard he had written an entire book on productivity!  It has turned out to be an answer to my prayer that I would be abundant in good works.  

Tim defines productivity as "effectively stewarding your gifts, talents, time, energy, and enthusiasm for the good of others and the glory of God."  Keeping this definition in mind, I worked my way through this short book, pausing to complete the Action Steps before moving on.  I had already written my mission statement while reading What's Best Next, but I was stuck on how to set up my day/week based on it.  Through Do More Better, Tim Challies took me from "stuck" to "doing".  I completely reorganized my Evernote, set up Todoist and downloaded Google Calendar.  Everything is so USEABLE when Tim explains it!  I am able to think about my responsibilities in a more organized way!  

As I write this review, I have been using the system for five months and it has made "doing good" smoother, more flexible, and more likely to get done.

--Jatina  :) 

What's Best Next: How the Gospel Transforms the Way You Get Things Done by Matt Perman

★★★★★

(2014)

When I started What's Best Next I had never heard of the author, never heard of the book, and had no idea my life was about to be changed.  I simply chose it at random as an audio book to listen to in the car.  I did listen in the car, and the idea of gospel-driven productivity appealed to me so deeply that when the book ended, I immediately started it again.  Then I bought a physical copy of the book and poured over it with a highlighter.

Matt Perman clearly and logically uses scripture to show that

"there is no distinction between learning how to be productive and learning how to live the Christian life altogether, for both are about how we are to live in this world for the glory of God.  The way we go about handling our email, making appointments, running meetings, attending classes, and running the kids to where they need to go are not distinct from the everyday life of sanctification that God calls us to but are themselves a fundamental part of it.  We are to 'be wise' in them just as we are to be wise in the things that directly pertain to salvation; indeed the way we go about them is an expression of our Christlikeness and sanctification."

He explains how productivity is about getting the right things done and how good works are anything you do in faith, even tying your shoes.  I am just going to keep reading and keep listening to this book until these truths have soaked into my soul and start oozing out my actions.

--by Jatina  :)

Yo, Sacramento!

     From the minds behind Yo, Millard Fillmore! (Will Cleveland, Mark Alvarez and Tate Nation) comes the follow-up about state capitals, Yo, Sacramento! (New York: Scholastic,1994).

     Did you know that in the Green Mountains, a gigantic varmint is shaving away ground with his mountain peeler? (Montpelier, Vermont) That the Concorde is sometimes ridden by a nude hamster? (Concord, New Hampshire) Or that the rich lion listens to his collar radio inside his comfy den of fur? (Denver, Colorado) The historical information is right there again on the left-hand pages across from the cartoon, along with important details like state size(by square miles), post office abbreviation, the official bird, tree and flower of each state, as well as the date it entered(or reentered) the Union. And there's nifty trivia in the margins.
     This book also contains helpful quizzes to make sure the information sticks, just like its predecessor. And the states are grouped by region, which is interesting(though confusing, how those regions were decided on). The Jeopardy!-style quiz section is back, in addition to a name-that-state-outline page(which is no problem at all if you read Laurie Keller's Scrambled States of America.)

     This book is hilarious, and incredibly useful. (Seriously, how else would you know that the capital of Kentucky is Frankfort, or the capital of Pennsylvania is Harrisburg?) Check it out ASAP, especially if you have kids.

#Wesley

Yo, Millard Fillmore!

     Written by Will Cleveland and Mark Alvarez, and illustrated by Tate Nation, Yo, Millard Fillmore! (Brookfield, Connecticut: Millbrook Press, 1993) is an instantly-useful and highly entertaining way to memorize, in order, all the presidents from 1 to 42(43, 44 and 45 came after publication) through bizarre images and terrific cartoons.
     Cleveland was on a road trip with his family, the car coated in the heavy silence of boredom, when he suddenly had a great idea: Why not have everybody memorize the presidents? So he checked the list in an encyclopedia(this was before the internet) and over the next couple trips he, his wife and kids came up with entertaining off-the-wall images to make things more bearable. And that's how this book was born.

     We start with a washing machine big enough to wash a ton of clothes. (Washington, of course, but you have to start everything somewhere.) And from there we get escaping mad suns (Madison), a minivan coated with hair (Van Buren), great ants (Grant) coming out of toilets and more. There are helpful quizzes to review your newfound knowledge every five Presidents or so, which solidifies the information while disguising it as a game, which of course is the best method for teaching something so that it'll stick. Skimming the pages, this will take about twenty minutes to finish, and you'd be surprised at how useful it is for knowing the answers to Jeopardy! questions. If you have more than twenty minutes to spend, then there is a short biographical sketch of each President, along with the years he served and his birth-to-death timespan.
     After the cartoons are finished, there's a Jeopardy!-style quiz section to make sure you paid attention to the biographical information, and some memory tricks for remembering years served and which number each guy was. (For every President from John Tyler [10] to William McKinley [25], the last two digits of their term can be figured by multiplying the president's number by four, then adding one.) Then there's a copy of the the oath of office, and the order of succession to the throne after the vice president. (The Secretary of Education is sixteenth in line, which seems pretty far back.)

     It's amazing how often I still use the memory tricks in this book to remember presidents, and capitals, especially(but that post is coming). Read it ASAP, especially if you have kids.

#Wesley

The Scrambled States of America

     Laurie Keller's Scrambled States of America (New York: Henry Holt, 1998) is one of my favorite picture books of all time. (Which is saying something, because there's a lot of really great ones out there.) This was her first book, after working several years as a Hallmark greeting-card designer.

     It's narrated by a man named Sam, who opens by telling us that he bets that we've heard it all, but that not many people know this story. Ohio and Virginia rush up, both wanting to tell this story, but Sam tells them to get back in their places. Then he begins: "It was just your basic, ordinary day in the good ol' U.S. of A., and all the states were waking up, having their first cups of morning coffee, and enjoying the beautiful sunrise." (All the states, that is, except for Kansas.) How do we know this? Well, because he tells us so: "I'M NOT FEELING HAPPY AT ALL!" he yells. His very kind best friend Nebraska asks him what's wrong. "I don't know, I just feel bored. All day long we just stand here in the middle of the country. We never GO anywhere. We never DO anything. And we NEVER meet any NEW states!" So Nebraska thinks a while, deciding that Kansas might have a point.
     So then Kansas has the idea to invite all the other states to a get-to-know-you party, they enlist their neighbors Missouri and Iowa to help plan, and "those wacky little Midwestern states planned the biggest party ever," according to Sam. (Keller throws in wonderful little background details like Nebraska's disgusted expression while licking stamps, and Iowa's uncertainty how to spell Connecticut. Guess he didn't read Yo, Millard Fillmore!)
     At the party, Tennessee drops his fork at least three times and Nevada and Mississippi fall in love. Late into the evening, Idaho and Virginia have the idea to switch places, so each can see a different part of the country. Everyone else loves this idea, and everyone quickly makes plans to swap with someone. (This works out better for some states than others. Indiana, Alabama and New York all switch places with California, for example.) But as Roy, a minor character from Peanuts, once said of Charlie Brown: "He's the type that makes a good temporary friend." The states realize this wasn't the best arrangement, as Alaska has Michigan's thumb tickling one side of him and Oklahoma's Panhandle jabbing into the other. Arizona's hair keeps getting destroyed by the waves where South Carolina used to live.
     Even faster than they made the first trip, everyone wanted very quickly to go home as soon as they could. (So in Virginia's bus, West Virginia and Ohio play Go Fish to pass the time. Colorado hikes, Indiana skateboards ) There's lot to talk about when they get home; Alaska's joke-telling skills, Minnesota explaining how awful sunburns are, and samples of food were exchanged to give to neighbors. The final two pages are filled with quick sketches of landmarks interacting, like Minnesota's 10,000 Lakes visiting the Grand Canyon. It's really entertaining, and a great way to wrap up the story.

#Wesley