Beth Kephart's Blog, page 233

For my 2,000th post there is only this:

Me, smiling back at you.



Thank you, all of you, who make this space a happy space and make possible my broader reach into the world.

My son, the photographer

For my 1,999th post (yes, I know: the writer of shortish books has not managed to go shortish with her blog mania), I am featuring one of the photographs that my son shared with us yesterday, during a glorious review of his six weeks abroad.  The London Eye, as seen by him, on a sunny British day.



No (more) words needed.

May B./Caroline Starr Rose: Reflections

Ten years ago, I was spending these heated summer days reading through 160+ books written for children and teens.  Picture books, middle-grade books, history books, biographies, verse novels, novels—you name it.  I'd been asked to chair the Young People's Literature Jury for the National Book Awards.  I was serious, as I tend to be, about the responsibility.



Among the books that rapidly made its way to the top of my pile was Marilyn Nelson's Carver: A Life in Poems.  Here was George Washington Carver's life told with lyric majesty.  Here was poverty and agriculture, botany and music, and I loved every word. Nelson's book would go on to be among the National Book Award finalists that year.  It remains a book I return to repeatedly, cite often, keep tucked into a special corner of my shelves.



It seems fitting, then, that I have spent much of this warm, quiet day with Caroline Starr Rose's magnificent middle grade novel-in-verse in hand.  It's called May B. and it takes us to the Kansas prairie, where young Mavis Elizabeth Betterly, a struggling reader in school, has been sent fifteen miles from her home to help a new homesteader out.  Tragedy strikes, and May B. is soon alone—fending off winter and wolves and the flagellation of self doubt until:

It is hard to tell what is sun,

what is candle,

what is pure hope.

That is May B., thinking out loud. That is the quality of the prose that streams through this book—timeless, transcendent, and graced with lyric spark, moving, always, the consequential story along:

She rocks again.

"The quiet out here's the worst part,

thunderous as a storm the way

it hounds you

inside

outside

nighttime

day."

And:

He had that look that reminds me

someday he'll be a man.

Caroline Starr Rose is both a teacher and a writer (and a fine blogger).  She wondered, she writes, how children with learning differences, such as dyslexia, made their way, years ago, and May B. arose in part from that question, as well as from Caroline's own love for social history.  I listen for rhythms in the books I read, and I found them aplenty here.  I look for heart, and found that, too—abundant and dear. Special books fit themselves into special places, and May B. has a new home here on my shelves—right beside Ms. Nelson's Carver and Jeannine Atkins' Borrowed Names, where versed, artful, backward-glancing works for younger readers go. 



A non sequitur, perhaps:  When I finished reading May B. an hour or two ago, I realized something.  I have at long last collected enough fine young adult literature of different genres and slants to teach that YA course that I have so often been asked to consider.  Ideas form.



May B. is due out from Schwartz & Wade Books, January 2012.

The Jaycee Dugard Story: Immeasurable Dignity and Extraordinary Grace

Just eleven when abducted by a known meth-addicted sex offender, Jaycee Dugard endured eighteen years of deepest horror.  By thirteen she was pregnant.  At fourteen, without medical care, she gave birth to what would be the first of her two daughters by this monster of a man. She had but a fifth grader's education, and yet, in an environment Diane Sawyer properly calls "degranged," Jaycee homeschooled her little girls—teaching them what she knew, protecting them from a brand of evil that seems, frankly, impossible.



Our own troubles are no troubles when we read of stories like Jaycee's, now being published by Simon & Schuster as a A Stolen Life.  Her kidnapping haunted me years ago, when it first made headlines, and her rescue deeply played into my imagination as I wrote about Sophie's struggle to break free in You Are My Only.   I have spent some of this early morning watching the video clips from Diane Sawyer's  two-hour interview with Jaycee, which will air this evening, and I have been so deeply moved by the beauty of this young woman. Jaycee Dugard is a survivor, she says, and not a victim.  She looks for what is good.  She is a mother raising girls of whom she is deeply, rightly protective.



Dignity and grace.  Dugard newly defines these words.

Headed Home

Dana Spiotta. Stone Arabia. (Read it.)

Back on May 21st I made the audacious announcement that I had just read the book of the year, which is to say that I'd just finished Stone Arabia by Dana Spiotta.  Audacious because I'd already been singing some pretty sweet blog tunes about many a fine read this year.  Audacious because I've not yet read the forthcoming Ondaatje or Otsuka, or, indeed, the entire fall line-up.  Audacious because, well, who am I, anyway?



But if one must stand on a cliff, why not stand on Stone Arabia?  This brother-sister story is original, foundational, heartbreakingly sad and heartbreakingly funny, and I don't need to repeat myself, because I called it back in May.



But, hey.  It's nice to have some company in that assessment, and so I give you here Kate Christensen's words, published today, on behalf of the New York Times Book Review.  Christensen calls Stone Arabia "a work of visceral honesty and real beauty."  See what else she has to say.



And if you want to know what big question lies at the heart of this novel, listen to Dana herself, live from YouTube.

Joan Kaywell and her students: the morning after

I spent more than two hours yesterday afternoon/evening in the virtual company of Joan Kaywell and her University of South Florida students. We talked (by way of Elluminate) of many things—of the role of color in my stories, of whether or not I write to specific audiences, of the role that research plays, of the dominant influence of topography and nature in my work, of whether or not I ever look back and wish I'd written differently, of the three words I might choose to describe myself, of whether or not I'm still writing five metaphors a day, of whether I believe that books can save lives, of the family sacrifices I've been willing to make for this writing career (answer: almost none), and of the ways in which books get introduced into classrooms, for Joan's graduate students are primarily teachers, an essential, direct line to students' hearts.



It was a remarkable conversation.  The questions were researched and intelligent, the students' insights were generous, and the group moderator was more dear than dear with an opening Power Point presentation on my life and work (how odd it was, but also so touching, to see my own words quoted back at me).  Joan Kaywell, I have learned, is a remarkable teacher and young adult advocate.  Thank you, Joan and your students, for the privilege.



And as for those metaphors:  I give myself the daily tease, now, of pairing a photograph to a story or blog column.  There's always grand purpose behind my choices.  Can you guess the meaning here?



Can you guess where it is? (hint: think royally wed)

Meet the Dear Reader Giveaway Winners

I knew Dear Reader was a happening place months ago, when I was invited to stand in as a guest columnist for Suzanne Beecher.  Dear Reader is where a book-reading community gets built, where book clubs find their inspiration, and where conversations gather speed and force.  For my own guest column, I wrote about the young people I've met in my time as a young adult novelist—the passions they stir and the things they teach, the many ways that I am hopeful for and with them.



It was a special opportunity, and so I did something I've never done before—offered all six of my young adult books (the seventh,the Seville-based Small Damages, won't be out until next summer) as a summer giveaway.  And oh, what a response we have had.  I've heard from school principals and librarians, grandmothers and moms, fathers and grandfathers, uncles and aunts.  I've heard from young writers and young readers, students on the verge of college and students on the verge of applying to master's degree programs.  I've received notes from all across the country and all around the world.  Many readers have asked for YA books featuring a male teen; I'm 6,000 words into writing one of those.  Many described their particular passions, their favorite books.



I had originally thought that I would give all six books to a single winner, sweepstakes style, but as I read these notes through and considered the huge volume of mail, it occurred to me that there were some very right and particular titles for some very particular readers.  Here, then, are the winners, with the lines or thoughts that triggered my own "I have just the book for them" responses.  Please know, all of you, that I read and considered and valued and had a very hard time choosing winners.  I hope you'll look for books that sound interesting to you and let me know what you think.



Undercover, my first young adult novel, about a young, Cyrano-like poet and her discovery of her own beauty, to 14-year-old Kyla Rich, who wrote, "My 12-year-old sister and I love to read. .... you can never read too much, especially with how much you can learn from reading: Learn about the world, about scholarly things that you'd learn in school, or, sometimes, about yourself. I never really knew why I read so much or why I liked it but, as I read your Dear Reader, I realized why. I read to understand, to know beyond myself. Exactly what you said in your Dear Reader. I guess that might be another reason I write. My sister and I are writers, unpublished of course, and we write to craft the kind of books we like to read, to give someone joy, to help someone, maybe even start a craze. We write for even that ONE person who likes our books, even if it is just one. At least someone cares enough to read." 



House of Dance, about Rosie's quest to find a final gift for her grandfather (and her discovery of a wonderful cast of ballroom dancers), to Patricia Corcoran, who wrote, "I'm 63 years old and have read for as long as I can remember. Except for when I was growing up, I didn't read Young Adult books. I don't know why, but I didn't. About 3 years ago, I started reading them and thoroughly enjoy the ones I've read so far. I have 2 grandchildren, Gregory who is 9 and Emily who is 8. Both of them like to read and, of course, I encourage them to do so. I've set a goal for myself to learn more about the young adult books, their authors, the book awards, etc so I can be more knowledgeable in this genre of books. I'm so pleased you have the relationship with these young people that you do.What an enrichment they are to your life and how fortunate you are to realize this. Thank you again for sharing this most enjoyable column. The way you described these young people will help me understand and enjoy the young adult books I will be reading in the future."



Nothing but Ghosts, a mystery that stars a bright young woman named Katie, who has recently lost her mother and is trying to understand how one survives loss (a journey that takes her into the garden of a recluse and into the care of a fine and fashionable librarian), to Lisa Moss, a librarian who wrote, "Our department, technically, covers up to 8th grade. But so many of our kids don't ever leave! Oh, sure, they move on in school and read bigger, not better, books from the adult department - but so many keep coming back to us. They volunteer in our Summer Reading Program. They visit during Spring Break.  They tell us stories from their first jobs. And the first thing they all do is go over to the new YA display to see what's there! Once a connection is made, it is there forever."



The Heart Is Not a Size, about Georgia and Riley, whose bestfriendship is tested when they travel to Juarez, Mexico, to build a community bathroom for a squatter's village, to Janet Valentine of Orlando, who is contemplating joining a teenage mission trip and wrote, "You portrayed teen-agers in such a positive light, my husband will be so happy that I read your column and it makes me lean more towards accepting this ministry.  Maybe I will learn a lot more from them than the other way around."



Dangerous Neighbors, about twin sisters, set against the backdrop of Centennial Philadelphia, to Jean Brady, who wrote, "It is so uplifting to see life from someone else's viewpoint, to walk beside someone solving a mystery, though often fiction; to learn more about decorating, recipes, and the like."



You Are My Only, the alternating stories of a young mother who loses her Baby to mysterious means and a teenaged girl breaking free from a reclusive home, to Pat Harmer, who wrote, "I just read your column that you wrote to fill in for Suzanne Beecher. I was so moved by how you expressed the young people. And I am going to recommend your books to my granddaughter, who will be thirteen this fall. She has yet to find an author that she really enjoys, and therefore does not read as much as I would like her to. And perhaps your books will be the ones that drawn her into the wonderful world of reading. Thank you so much for the inspiration."



My thanks to Caroline Leavitt, the wonderful novelist and friend and Facebooker, who suggested Dear Reader to me in the first place.

Elluminating with Joan Kaywell and her doctorate/master's students

Tomorrow evening I'll be here at my desk, but not precisely here at my desk, as I interact with the doctoral and master's students of Joan Kaywell's University of South Florida class by way of camera eye, microphone, and Elluminate software.  Joan tells me that Elluminate is like Skype on steroids.  She tells me, too, that I don't need to prepare for a thing—that the class has read Dangerous Neighbors and is ready to talk.  Joan probably doesn't know that I hyper-prepare for everything.  Perhaps I'll clean my office, then, in high anticipation.



I'm eager to take this foray into long-distance guesting.  Even if (as some of you know) I am less than techno-savvy.

The Coffins of Little Hope/Timothy Schaffert: Reflections

These words from The Washington Post's Ron Charles drew me to The Coffins of Little Hope:

The Coffins of Little Hope is like an Edward Gorey cartoon stitched in pastel needlepoint. Its creepiness scurries along the edges of these heartwarming pages like some furry creature you keep convincing yourself you didn't see.

You're in, right?  You want to know more?  I bought the book, I got in and I stayed, from the very first line:

I still use a manual typewriter (a 1953 Underwood portable, in a robin's-egg blue) because the soft pip-pip-pip of the typing of keys on a computer keyboard doesn't quite fit with my sense of what writing sounds like.

 .... to the last:

You were young only minutes ago.

Reading the pages in between was like watching the lights of a carnival go on—the hurly burly commotion of color, the hyperkinetic blink of possibility, the flavorful oddness of a sui generis cast of characters.  There's Essie Myles, an 83-year-old obituary writer for the local, small-town paper.  There's the possible kidnapping of a possible daughter (yes, that's right, we never know for absolute certain if the kidnapped daughter is a scam or a true loss).  There's the final installment of a famed young adult book that's being printed by Essie's press.  Parts of that book get leaked (or are those parts the real book?)  Gentle weirdnesses come and go (but have they left forever?).  These small-town people face all kinds of trouble (or they make it up), and Schaeffert can't say no to the sweet tangent. 



It's a wild bob and weave.  It's profoundly and preposterously well-imagined.  There are lines here, plenty of them, that most writers would give their polished eye tooth to lay a claim to.  Taken together, Coffins is a delight—a book that you cannot wrangle with.  Just let it happen to you.  Stumble off, dazed.