I’m feeling all discombobulated today, and I blame it all on this dream I had last night. I was my age, late thirties, but I was marrying someone from my high school. In the dream, a friend of mine had recently backed out of the wedding, so I apparently decided that I would marry the guy instead. He and I seemed to be okay with the fact that we weren’t in love, or even that close, but we were
First of all, and non-kidlit-related, OBAMA! There, had to be said.
Next, the poetry for Poetry Friday is hosted this week by A Year of Reading. Once again, I bring you song as poetry. I think of this one from Toys every New Year:If I cannot bring you comfort
then at least I bring you hope
for nothing is more precious
than the time we have and so
we all must learn from small misfortune
count
A day where you wake up to the anguished cry of, “Mom! The cat threw up on my social studies project!” is not going to be a good day. Oh, it may get better. In fact, one might say that it pretty much has to get better from that point. But it’s probably not going to be a good day.
As you carefully clean the cat vomit off your daughter’s project, you try to reassure her and yourself that it was
For years I bemoaned the fact that the Christmas season began the moment the turkey carcass left the table. I didn’t realize how good things were when Thanksgiving marked the beginning of The Holiday Season. Now the carved pumpkins haven’t even grown mold before the endless supply of Halloween decorations (Skeletons! Bloody fingers! Decapitated heads!) are swept off the store shelves and the
I love books in verse because they are so quick to read. What? You think the same thing, admit it. Sonya Sones also does a good job of making them funny, realistic, and completely enjoyable.
What My Girlfriend Doesn’t Know is a direct continuation of the story of What My Mother Doesn’t Know. In WMMDK, Sophie starts dating Robin, a boy very outside of the high school social circle, during the school’s winter break. In WMGDK, the break is over, and now they’ll have to see what happens when a popular girl dates a boy whose name is synonymous — literally — with loser. This poem from the book pretty much sums it up.
As Sophie and I walk through the halls,
holding hands on our way to art class,
it feels like we’re committing a crime.
Everyone who sees us
looks offended, grossed out,
horrified, even,
as though I’m King Kong,
and Sophie’s the little blonde
struggling to escape from my huge hairy fist.
They’re gawking at us,
like Sophie’s Beauty and I’m the Beast.
Like I’m Shrek and Sophie’s Fiona.
I can feel her palm
beginning to sweat in mine.
I can feel her fingers stiffening.
But I try to let go of her hand,
so that people won’t know
we’re together —
she won’t let me.
The relationship is difficult for both of them. Sophie is losing her friends. Robin feels responsible for her unhappiness, and additionally has to look more closely at his own social status. He finds some refuge in a college art class that he is allowed to take. On campus, the students don’t know his past or his age and accept him for the funny, smart, talented guy that he is. In some ways, that only makes the situation harder.
As someone who regularly dated... let’s say
unexpected guys in my own high school and college careers, I could relate to the story. It’s all too easy to say in books that it doesn’t matter who is identified as cool or uncool, but as someone who’s been there, it
matters. You try being the smart kid whose arty boyfriend goes through a punk phase, though I have to admit that I lost interest just before the mohawk made its appearance. His, not mine.
In this book I was intrigued with the boy’s point of view of the odd-couple relationship. Teen girls may also appreciate the boy’s perspective on the early stages of making out. I’d say it was a tad overdone on the “it will all be better in college” message, but maybe smart teens need that idea hammered home by someone other than their parents. There was definitely a strong message for girls to take it slow with their boyfriends — but with two daughters, you’re not going to find me objecting to that concept.
Let me tell you a little personal story.
As a teen, I went to a private school for a couple of years, and then transfered into the public high school in tenth grade. A lot of the friendships were already signed, sealed and delivered by then — especially as my community generally involved people who had never ever moved. I may have been the only new girl out of two hundred tenth graders. Having trouble finding my people, I ended up with a unique crowd of artsy folk. And things were okay.
But in eleventh grade, I found that my group didn’t really fit me anymore. Some of them had gone from artsy to druggy. Some were heading to the VoTech school for half the day, while I was staying after for music and theater.
So I set my sights on a group of girls who were also into music and theater. It wasn’t necessarily easy. I’d talk to them in homeroom, but if I walked out to our lockers with them, they’d start leaving me out of the conversations. Then I could walk to the lockers, but if I walked down the hall with them, they’d talk about people I didn’t know. Then I could walk down the hall, but I knew I couldn’t sit at lunch with them. I just knew. But by the end of my private campaign, I was not only in the group, but a trend-setter within it.
Additionally, each day I’d go home and tell my mom of my progress in a detached way. I didn’t get bent out of shape that they didn’t embrace me from day one. Why would they? They didn’t even know me. If I wanted to be part of the group, then it was up to me — not them — so I made the effort. I remembered to cut out the article from Seventeen about the cute actor that one of the girls liked. I always had an extra pencil on hand to share. I may have made a mix tape.
Didn’t my feelings get hurt sometimes? Sure. But that’s life. These girls weren’t actively mean. They didn’t say nasty things to me, but they weren’t going to make me their new best friend just because I wanted it. I had to prove that we had something in common, that I’d add something to the equation, that I was... worthy, I guess. It didn’t hurt that I was talented in our shared interests of music and theater, but that wasn’t enough really.
There had to be that “click factor.” Not “clique factor.”
Now put that whole experience in with the blogging world, and you’ll get my point. It parallels my own experience in blogging almost perfectly. Instead of “music and theater,” it’s “books and reading.” Instead of “talk to them,” it’s “comment.” Instead of “my mom” it’s “my husband.” Instead of “article in Seventeen,” “extra pencil,” and “mix tape,” it’s “emailed them about something kid-lit-related,” “linked to a great post,” and “started the 48 Hour Book Challenge.”
And you know what? I’m still doing it. I keep up with my kid-lit peeps, but I still reach out there. I comment on Surburban Turmoil, though she’s never mentioned me. When Defective Yeti — an A-list blog — had a contest, I played and I told people about it and he mentioned me for it and I probably got some new readers.
Now when I opened up my interview question meme yesterday, one person said they’d do it. ONE. What a great chance that was for a blog who wanted some face time to get attention, because I went over to Zee Librarian to look at her blog. And lo and behold I saw this cool thing she had done with her young adult display. I found she writes about movies too, which I love, and I’ll certainly be back to visit her. That’s how you do it, people.
Am I saying that the kidlitosphere is like high school? Noooo. I’m saying that all of life is like high school — in a way. Things become more refined, sometimes. But if you need proof, look at who society pays — athletes and actors (beautiful people).
I bring this up, because Monica brought it up and wanted some feedback. I commented there, and at Fuse#8, where I originally saw the post. She didn’t mention my article on how to be a B-list blogger specifically, but she did reference the A-list, B-list status thing. My idea in writing that article was to tell other blogs how to get out themselves out there — assuming that’s their goal. It doesn’t have to be.
As for Monica’s related point of how to teach our children within classrooms and literature and parenting about not excluding people, I’ll teach my daughters not to depend on everyone else being nice and fair, because life isn’t nice and fair. However, be nice and be fair. I’ll teach my daughters to be proactive about their destiny, not reactive. Oh, and that friendships — even blog and literary friendships — take effort, time, and often that “click factor.” And that’s not the same as “clique factor.”
I love this excerpt. The author really nailed it. I guess I have another book to add to the TBR pile.
Thanks for the great review.
Oh, OH I must now read this book. Just that paragraph alone twinges my heart.
I love that the guy you dreamed of was in choir with you. I remember -- still -- the people in my choir, and this bass named Bill who I occasionally dream about... I find that if it has something to do with music, it sticks in my subconscious for a much longer time.
Damn. That made me cry.
Must.get.book.
Wow...excellent post. Sounds like a great book, too. I've been having weird dreams lately of people in my past who I haven't thought about in years. In one of them, no one would come near me because they said I smelled bad. I was really paranoid and chewed gum like it was no one's business for two weeks. Then I read in my coworker's dream book that dreaming about odors meant I was experiencing anxiety. Well yeah...now I'm experiencing anxiety about smelling bad.
I forgot to put in my review, that one of the things I specifically liked about the characters were how many of them were flawed, but it was never black-and-white. Her boyfriend, Ace, seems like kind of a dunce, but he does stand by her after the accident. The mother has done some bad things, but she's still trying to reach out to her daughter. I love it when the range of people's humanity is expressed - especially in Young Adult where it is too easy to rely on high school stereotypes.
Oh man, that's so true.
I look back at some many things that I *knew* were life-or-death for me back then, and can barely remember the details.
It's something to remember for my adult life, too, especially as I slog through grad school. Will I still freak out about the worst case scenario 5 years from now? No? Then breathe and move on
What a wonderful quote! I'll definitely read that.
Wow! Looks like a good one, MR. Thanks for your review. (Dreams like yours freak me out. I don't like them. They're illogical!)
I love this book in so many ways, for so many things.
I was in choir!
I was in West Side Story!