Week Six: The Book Thief

My chosen YA historical fiction novel, The Book Thief, is a story narrated by Death about the experiences of Liesel Meminger, an impoverished girl growing up in Nazi Germany at the time of the Holocaust. A Jew by the name of Max Vandenburg lives in her basement, a fist-fighter whose story is much more than living in fear of concentration camps: he’s also an (unpublished) author of a book he writes to Liesel called The Word Shaker. Her next-door neighbor, Rudy Steiner, is in love with her, amidst the swarms of the compulsory words, “Heil Hitler” across her country that Liesel and Rudy find themselves seeped in, he plays soccer with her, dives into ice-cold water to save one of her most prized possessions from sinking in the river, climbs a barbed wire fence to steal apples with her that they both can’t afford to buy at the store, and trades insults with her on (probably) a daily basis. Although Liesel survives the bombing of her street, the risk of being taken to the concentration camps when members of the Nazi Party come to inspect her basement for Jews, and her traumatic childhood, aided by a man with a paintbrush and an accordion, many people close to her do not. This book uses dark humor to make its sobering topics easier to read about, but does not shy away from the reality of the Holocaust - its last line is, “I am haunted by humans.” 

One of Sepetys’ claims in The Silent Soldier that resonates with me is that “when discussing historical fiction, the conversation inevitably shifts to individual and personal stories.” This shifting of the conversation to individual and personal stories reminds me of the second writing piece in my final multimedia project, a letter in the form of a poem to Liesel, titled “To Lily, from an Out-of-Character Liesel.” There was no requirement in the final multimedia project to have a character write to you, or suggestion to expand on the narrative of the protagonist in your chosen YA Historical Fiction novel by relating their experience to your own. And yet, this is what I found myself doing - of course, not that my experience was anywhere close to Liesel’s. As stated in the letter/poem, our similarities nearly stop at the fact that we both have brown eyes. As for the question Sepetys’ poses in “The Silent Soldier” of “How would I have endured this history,” when I read the introduction to The Fountains of Silence and most of The Book Thief, I realized the threats to the characters’ lives were so severe that I found myself asking a version of this question with the word “how” crossed out. Instead, the question I asked myself was “Would I have endured this history?”

I think historical fiction is an important genre for adolescents because in classrooms (I’m studying to be a teacher, I have to talk about the classrooms), it can be a relatively safe way for them to process ugly things like injustice, corruption in governments, violence against non-dominant social groups, and atrocities in the world without the curriculum being struck down as often by authorities as being “too political.” Of course, books like The Fountains of Silence and The Book Thief are sometimes banned in schools, but The Book Thief was a book I read in 8th grade; books like Allegedly or Monster that deal with violence against non-dominant social groups in the United States today, were stories I was not assigned to explore in the classroom. Sepetys writes of “striving to learn from the past,” which makes me think of a reason to study historical fiction that has been spoken in many different tongues, many different ways: we study the unpleasant aspects of history so that we do not repeat them. We study historical fiction to prevent the election of Hitlers, the trauma of differently named Max Vandenburgs (the Jew in Liesel’s basement), the creation of new Franz Deutschers (the teenage Nazi), and the bombing of another Himmel Street. Along those lines, we study it to be aware of the chain reactions that lead to these events, so that we do not unknowingly invite them into our lives, and to be aware of the realities of their survivors and perpetrators. Historical fiction is also an important genre for adolescents because for those who are descendants of survivors, seeing stories like theirs talked about in the classroom provides them with a gateway to speak about intergenerational trauma. Likewise, Sepetys explains how beneficial it is for young adults to know about their family history “(the good, the bad, and even the ugly),” by stating what studies show: the more they know, “the more control they feel over their lives and the stronger their sense of self-esteem.” 

One of the passages from The Book Thief that articulates a concept that feels deeply true to me is Death’s description of Hans Hubermann in Chapter Two of Part One, Growing Up a Saumensch. 

It is this:

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 “Somehow, though, and I’m sure you have met people like this, he was able to appear as merely part of the background, even if he was standing at the front of a line. He was always just there. Not noticeable, Not important or particularly valuable. 

The frustration of that appearance, as you can imagine, was its complete misleadance, let’s say. There most definitely was value in him, and it did not go unnoticed by Liesel Meminger [...] she saw it immediately. 

His manner.

The quiet air about him. 

When he turned the light on in the small, callous washroom that night, Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father’s eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver. Like soft silver, melting. Liesel, upon seeing those eyes, understood that Hans Hubermann was worth a lot.”

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I chose this passage because it reminds me of a deep truth about more than one person I know; I seem to find these kinds of people magnetic. When I read it, I am reminded of both fictional and real characters in my life who (might) have the same kind eyes, the same tendency to fly under most people’s radar, and the same quality of being worth a lot. 

Most people reading this will be more familiar with the fictional characters I mention than with real people in my life. So, to put these traits of Hans Hubermann in the context of someone we know, I will say this: 

I think Aristotle would have kind eyes (in spite of the fact that he used violence to avenge the way that bullies hurt Dante). He has a quiet air about him, and not many people sign his cast in class - not because they dislike him, but because they don’t really see him. 

People might not notice Aristotle Mendoza if he were one of their classmates, but there is so much value in the questions he asks us about the universe and in the part he plays in Dante’s life. 

People might not notice Hans Hubermann if he was standing on their street, but there is so much value in his painting, his accordion playing, his reading lessons to Liesel, and in his repeated actions of kindness.  

You might not notice the people who are “able to appear as part of the background” in your own life, those with the appearance of being “always just there.”

But they are important. 

They are valuable. 

They are worth a lot. 

Link to The Silent Soldier:   https://scholar.lib.vt.edu/ejournals/ALAN/v42n3/sepetys.html#:~:text=Historical%20fiction%20is%20the%20quiet%20soldier%20of%20our,published%20in%20over%2045%20countries%20and%2033%20languages.

Week Four: Allegedly

Allegedly tells the story of a teenage black girl with selective mutism, Mary, who murdered a baby… allegedly. Or did she take the blame for a crime she didn’t commit? Throughout this novel, Mary lives in an abusive group home, where her life is threatened several times. Along with dealing with a criminal justice system that fails girls like her, Mary also has a manipulative and mentally ill mother who cares far more about herself than about the welfare of her daughter. Until Mary becomes pregnant and fears for the life of her own baby, has a chance to take the SATs and go to college, and finds a lawyer who doesn’t believe she was the one who murdered the baby, she doesn’t feel like she has a way out of her dangerous environment. Luckily, due to her intellect and the help of a few adults that care about her, she may have a pathway to a future where she will be safe.

Several dynamics between the characters in Allegedly and details in the story can help adolescent and adult readers build critical literacy (i.e. understandings of how institutional power and privilege continue to operate in society). One macro-level aspect of the story related to institutional power and privilege is the fact that besides Mary’s mother, the authority figures in Mary’s life are mainly white (like Ms. Stein and other officials placed in charge of the group home), while the people living on house arrest in the group home are mainly black.  At the micro level, specific words in the dialogue of characters or in the narration of this story (Mary’s thoughts on her situation), call out institutional power and privilege directly. A notable example of this dialogue is in Chapter Ten at the Thanksgiving dinner in the group home, when China suggests to Tara that she should join the army, and Tara responds, “Why would I wanna fight for some white man’s war?” 

What I think Tara means is that she sees America as a country run by white men for white men, so the wars fought by the military reflect their interests, values, and priorities, not hers. Tara elaborates, remarking that she “got sent to the white man’s prison, the white man’s foster care, the white man’s school, [and] the white man’s prison,” and tells the other characters at the group home, “now, I’m in the white man’s basement talking to y’all.” She also tells the group at Thanksgiving that “the white man don’t care nothing about black people.” So, Tara doesn’t see the point in fighting for a country that doesn’t care about her; a country that always wants to exert power over her and wants her hidden away in the “white man’s basement” of the group home, where other Americans won’t be able to see her struggles, or even really see her at all. 

         Before reading Allegedly, I was aware of injustice in the justice system, such as the fact that black people are more likely than white people to be punished for crimes that they didn’t commit, and to receive more severe punishments; sometimes, these punishments are extremely unjust and gruesome. I also knew that, as Ms. Cora (Mary’s lawyer) says in Chapter Ten, “people tend not to think clearly when a black girl is suspected of killing a little white girl.” However, I wasn’t very aware of injustice within the juvenile justice system before reading Allegedly. I am left wondering how prevalent abuse, violence, and mismanagement are in juvenile group homes after reading this, and what actions I can take from the safe place of my home to stop, prevent, or reduce it. 

To (partially) answer these questions I am asking myself, after reading inmates’ stories on a website called Prison Writers, which helps the voices of the incarcerated be heard, I think that abuse, violence, and mismanagement in juvenile group homes is a lot more common than I’d like to believe. As for what actions I can take to stop, prevent, and reduce it, one of the actions I took was to donate to Prison Writers, because I think it is an organization worth supporting. When I googled, “group homes prisons,” Prison Writers’ articles about the abuse in juvenile group homes was the first result that came up. I have mixed feelings about this first search result: I’m disappointed that the abuse is so widespread, but I’m also glad that it is being exposed.

Here’s the link to the Prison Writers website, with real-life details relevant to contextualizing Allegedly: 

https://prisonwriters.com/category/juveniles-in-prison/

Week Three: #NotYourPrincess

This week, I am close-reading “Onto the Red Road” by Dana Claxton, from pages 42-43 of #NotYourPrincess, a multimodal collection of narratives from Indigenous women. Claxton’s statement on page 42 that “Onto the Red Road” is about the “transformation, spirituality, and objectification” of Native American women leads me to believe that the series of women wearing progressively less risqué, more authentic Native American costumes depicted in her work represents Indigenous women reclaiming their identity. Claxton mentions that as the series of images progresses, the Lakota woman’s clothing “becomes more indigenous, and so does her spirituality” as she “takes her Sundance stance in the fifth image” (pages 42-43). The author’s choice of a short dress for the Lakota woman in the first image represents a state of objectification, and in conjunction with the other works included in #NotYourPrincess, the woman's Westernized stiletto boots can be interpreted as symbolic of pain (if you’ve ever had to wear heels as high as the ones in the first image, you know - her poor feet!). In the fifth image, the author’s choices to put a less troubled expression on the Lakota woman, to lengthen her dress, and to make her barefoot after wearing high heels, lead me to believe that being shown in a more indigenous, less sexualized way is healing for her. To me, this image, taken in conjunction with the other works included in #NotYourPrincess, represents women reclaiming their bodies and minds from objectification, pain, and cultural erasure. I normally wouldn’t read so much into a pair of stilettos, but other works in #NotYourPrincess deal with the rape of indigenous women and cultural appropriation, so the interpretation fits. 

The medium of photography (with an artist statement in words) that the artist chose in “Onto the Red Road” makes the objectification of Native American women and cultural appropriation easy to visualize and understand. If she described the five images of women with words instead of photographing them, readers might find it difficult to visualize her point. However, if she didn’t include any words in her narrative, it would be much more difficult to understand the meaning of the five outfits the Lakota woman in her photographs is wearing. 

I chose this particular narrative from the collection because it reminds me of a time I witnessed the sexualization of Native American women in my own life; which clearly connects to the content of another piece in #NotYourPrincess: “We Are Not a Costume,” by Jessica Deer. The image of the first woman in “Onto The Red Road” reminded me of an experience I had years ago - shopping for Halloween costumes with a friend. We were at a store called Spirit, which has been widely criticized for the “Indian Costumes” it sells. She was considering buying the “Adult Princess Native American Costume,” but she didn’t because the dress of the costume was “too short,”  like the dress the woman in the first image is wearing. Spirit is the company that sells the “Reservation Royalty” costumes mentioned by Jessica Deer on page 61 in “We Are Not a Costume,” and is thus a perpetrator of some pretty ugly cultural appropriation. 

This narrative captures the struggle of the Indigenous woman who is telling it to be seen as a person with rich cultural and religious traditions, not a “Pocahottie” to be objectified, by depicting the journey the woman takes in the series of images from being shown in culturally inappropriate attire to being shown in a way that brings her peace. This peace is shown in the fifth image when the woman takes her Sundance stance. Testimonio literature often ends in hope for the protagonist, and hope is what I see in this counter narrative to “Reservation Royalty,” “Pocahotties,” and the sexualization of Native American women. Instead of creating a narrative where Native American women are progressively more objectified, she creates a narrative where they reclaim their religious and cultural identity as they go “Onto the Red Road.” 

“Onto the Red Road,” Page 42 in #NotYourPrincess

 “Onto the Red Road,” Page 43 in #NotYourPrincess

Week Two: Aristotle and Dante

One of the ways Sáenz's novel can help adolescent readers develop more complex and nuanced understandings of sexuality is by showing them how homosexuality can be repressed so much that gay individuals sometimes don’t even realize they’re gay. This was the case for Aristotle, who would not let himself acknowledge his feelings for Dante due to his concern about how his parents and other family members would process having a gay son. When asked why he risked his own life to save Dante, Aristotle just repeated the phrase, “Dante’s my friend” despite wanting to tell them “so many things” that he didn’t have the words for (All The Secrets of The Universe, Chapter Three).  

Stereotypes specific to homosexual individuals who identify as male are also challenged in Sáenz's novel; Aristotle's character traits and actions strongly contradict the stereotypes of gay males as effeminate and promiscuous. Some of these character traits and actions are Aristotle’s weightlifting, use of violence to protect Dante, discomfort with masturbating, and reluctance to go to therapy to work through his feelings.  Based on how well this book helps adolescent readers develop these understandings, I think it deserves the Stonewall award it received.  

How Saenz’s novel helps adolescent readers develop more complex and nuanced understandings of cultural identity is by challenging stereotypes that they may have of Latinx individuals, and how Latinx individuals internalize these stereotypes. Dante’s father and Aristotle’s mother both challenge the stereotype of Mexicans being non-academic through their occupations; Dante’s father is a professor, and Aristotle’s mother is a teacher. Aristotle internalizes the stereotype that Mexicans have few academic, white-collar job prospects through his question to his mom when she says his entry-level summer job is temporary, which is “What kind of a Mexican mother are you, Mom?” Her response of “I’m an educated woman. That doesn’t un-Mexicanize me, Ari,” helps adolescent readers confront their own stereotypes about the occupations that are attainable and expected for Latinx Americans - particularly Mexicans (Remember the Rain, Chapter One).  

Here’s a quote that struck me while reading Aristotle and Dante:  

“Some guys talked about sex all the time. I heard them at school. Why were they so happy when they talked about sex?”

(All the Secrets of the Universe, Chapter One)  

This quote resonated with me because I am on the asexuality spectrum. Like Aristotle at that point in the story, I don’t understand why sex makes some people so happy. Of course, I know that Aristotle’s situation is different because his sexuality was repressed, but I can really resonate with his feeling of not fitting in, and even feeling inadequate, when my friends want to play “dirty” games like Cards Against Humanity or when pop artists sing about sex on the radio. I just don’t get it.  

I enjoyed reading Aristotle and Dante so much that I spent almost an entire day reading it from start to finish. Although there certainly were characters that I wish I knew more about, I don’t think the story should have been written differently to involve those characters more often. I think I was like Aristotle in the people I wanted to know more about: Bernado, towards the beginning of the story, and later, Ileana. I wonder what happened to Ileana after she dropped out of school and about the dynamics of her relationship with the gang member. I also wonder what Bernado’s life is like in prison, and why he killed the prostitute he found was a cross-dresser. My guess is that Bernado killed the prostitute for reasons other than being shocked by what he found; not that they were good reasons by any means, but I imagine that other situations in his life made him angry enough to kill someone.  

Also, I love the way Sáenz is able to write so deeply and eloquently without using a bunch of “SAT words,” as Aristotle would call them. The quote, “Maybe we just lived between hurting and healing” illustrates this really well (All the Secrets of the Universe, Chapter Fourteen). Sáenz didn’t feel the need to say something like “Perhaps our life experiences fluctuate along a spectrum of injury and recovery;” characters’ thoughts and their dialogue align with how they (and most humans) would actually talk and think. So, this book is approachable, thought-provoking, and relevant to a diverse audience, and I think it deserves all its awards.  

Week One: YAL & Me

Growing up, I had a lot of positive experiences with YAL. I was a huge Harry Potter fan; I remember reading Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire way past “bedtime.” Back then, I didn’t recognize the portrayal of the character Rita Skeeter from the series as evidence of Rowling’s transphobia, or the characteristics of the goblins as evidence of anti-semitism. I just loved Dumbledore’s optimism, his belief that “happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light,” and the series’ concept of the Dementors as metaphors for depression - soul-sucking creatures that can be fought off (but not killed) by thinking of one’s happiest memories. The Harry Potter series took me several years to finish because my mom told me that one of my favorite characters died in the fifth book, so I waited to read that one (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix) until I thought I was ready for his death. I still deeply appreciate the series, although I am aware that some parts of it are problematic. I certainly wouldn’t say it needs to be withdrawn from shelves for its content, as the extremest of the extremists in YAL cancel culture might say.

As a teenager, I read almost every book by John Green: Looking For Alaska, Paper Towns, The Fault in Our Stars, Turtles All the Way Down, and Will Grayson, Will Grayson. Revisiting Looking For Alaska, I don’t think I had the same reaction of wanting to avoid reading the descriptions of Alaska’s body (the female character, not the state) by its teenage male protagonist closely then that I do now. 

I also read dystopian young adult novels, such as Matched, The Hunger Games series, The Maze Runner, part of Legend, and others. Also, I read realistic fiction from authors besides John Green, such as It’s Kind of a Funny Story, Speak, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Every Day, and others. And then there were the young adult novels I read for class: Shipbreaker, The Book Thief, The Giver, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, and others. There was also the book one of my best friends had to read for class that I read at her house because I was bored: Chinese Cinderella. The audiobooks that I listened to lying down, with my mom, when I needed to sleep or take a break from the real world, and the YA books in print, like the Harry Potter series, that we read together. 

One of the negative biases I have towards the field of YAL is that the plots can be shallow and filled with boy-girl drama/ drama revolving around characters being infatuated with other characters. I think I got the idea that YAL can be shallow from reading others’ reviews of the Twilight series, which is only one book among many in the YAL field.  I acquired the belief that YAL books are mostly about love from making generalizations about popular YAL books I haven’t read in a while, such as Two Boys Kissing and The Fault in Our Stars. However, I realize that at least two of these books definitely have something deeper in them than two characters who are crushing on each other. Two Boys Kissing, for instance, also deals with AIDS, the threats of assault that gay people face, parent-to-child relationships, friendships, and death - not just two boys who like kissing each other. The Fault in Our Stars isn’t just about star-crossed lovers; it’s also about cancer, grief, parents and friends, books (in a meta sense), support groups, and so much more. I definitely wouldn’t call The Hunger Games shallow, and it doesn’t revolve around a love interest, even though it’s a very popular YAL series. So, although there is much more evidence to support the negative bias of YAL as revolving around protagonists’ love interests than there is of YAL having tendencies towards shallow plots, I don’t think either bias is necessarily true - YAL fiction, I think, is actually a form of media that provides an outlet for young adults to think deeply, and about many, many more ideas than crushes or popularity. 

I don’t know a lot about the Twilight series; but I’m not sure how much I want to know about the Twilight series. I’ve never been that interested in the prospect of choosing either a werewolf or a vampire for a romantic partner, so I’ve never read it.

 But now that I think about it, it’s odd how dismissive I am of a book I haven’t even read one paragraph of. So, the controversy I read about was how popular opinions of the Twilight fan base may be more to blame for the public’s dislike of the series than the content of the series itself. The author of the article I read, Ryan Moore, states that “when a specific piece of media has a predominately teenage and female audience, it is immediately seen as ridiculous and stupid,” citing people’s opinions of the boy band OneDirection and the show Glee as non-literary examples of this. Like OneDirection and Glee, Twilight has a predominately teenage and female audience, so it is seen as stupid. I don’t think this bias is justified, and even if Twilight isn’t particularly appealing to me, I think it still is a valuable work of literature that can entertain its readers and connect them with other “Twi-hards.”

 Here’s a link to the article I read,  “Why the Twilight Renaissance is a Feminist Movement:”https://www.genrisemedia.com/2019/10/03/why-the-twilight-renaissance-is-a -feminist-movement/