Weekly Geeks 3: Childhood Books

This week’s Weekly Geeks is supposed to be about childhood books, and I’ve been thinking about what to write since Saturday (but have not actually made it to posting until now). Partly this is because when I was thinking about it I mostly wasn’t in my bedroom, where most of the books I read as a child now reside. But also I wasn’t sure what I would say.

I was reading over at things mean a lot, and Nymeth posted a Weekly Geek about The Diary of Anne Frank, one of her childhood favourites. That made me remember that the same book was a favourite of mine when I was about the same age. Which in turn made me remember that I had had classmates who had also read that book at about the same age. Which made me think about the books I had read for school as a child, and realize that while I’ve entirely forgotten some of them, others I remember quite vividly, even though it’s been years and years since I’ve picked them up or even thought of them.

One example is The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, which google tells me is by Avi. Our English class read this in grade seven or grade eight, I don’t remember which. I think probably it was grade seven. I haven’t read this book since then, but I remember a lot about it. Thirteen-year-old Charlotte Doyle gets put on a ship to cross the Atlantic (though I don’t remember why), and over the course of the novel wonderful adventurous things happen, including a mutiny (led by Charlotte, as I recall), and in the end Charlotte cuts off her hair and runs away to sea.  It was enthralling.

Our teacher used to read the texts out loud in class, sometimes making us take turns reading out loud as well. I got in minor trouble one day for not knowing where we were in the story when I got called upon to read — but that was because I had been silently reading ahead. Since then, I’ve learned to keep track of where everyone else is at even when I’m reading ahead (a very useful skill which I recommend to you now).

The next year, assuming that Charlotte Doyle was for grade seven, we read Gary Paulson’s Hatchet. I still have a hatred for this book. From what I recall, Paulson writes like this:

He was sad. Sad. Sad because of the divorce. His parents were divorcing. It made him sad. The divorce made him sad.

Eurgh! I remember feeling quite indignant & insulted that we had to read it — and I also remember that the front of the book placed the text at a grade five reading level. That probably explains both the stilted prose and my violent dislike of the thing. I also recall a conversation with my mother in which I expressed my desire to burn my copy. It definitely wasn’t a hit. [I mentioned Hatchet to my mother, as she walked in just now. Her eye-roll was impressive].

That same year (I think) we read The Giver, by Lois Lowry. This was another book that I loved, and I wrote an essay on it. There are a lot of scenes that I remember: the main character’s dream about Fiona, the way he is chosen to be his community’s next memory-keeper, the chase scene at the end where the two boys have to lie down and remember all they can about snow and coldness in an effort not to be seen by heat-seeking equipment, Fiona’s job at the old people’s home, the moment when the main character starts to see in colour … lots of things. From what I recall, it’s a fantastic and a chilling text, and a hopeful one. And librarything tells me that this is actually the first in a trilogy — I had no idea — and that is tremendously exciting.

What else, what else? There was a French book about a girl with retrograde amnesia . . . there was a book about pioneers I read for a project in grade three . . . there was Le Petit Prince. I remember a grade five book report on The Phantom Tollbooth. And I remember the same grade five teacher disbelieving my claim to be reading The Tower of Geburah because it was so large (it’s 400 pages long and remains a favourite to this day). Other than that it gets kinda fuzzy, at least as far as for-school books are concerned. My friends and I did tear through Babysitters Club and V. C. Andrews novels.

I only remember one of the Babysitter novels with any clarity, because I remember thinking one of the characters was pretty stupid on account of a particular incident: she cooked rice wrong because she didn’t know what “codes” like tsp and Tbsp and “simmer” meant, and so she wrote a long rambling letter to the rice company, full of digressions like

“I’m writing to you from my room at the big house. The big house is the one I live in sometimes with my father and my step-mother and my step-sisters, and the little house is where I live sometimes with my mom. I have two pairs of everything, one pair at each house, because my parents are divorced …. blah, blah, blah”

That section of the book, at least, was pretty tedious. Oh, and there was another one where a girl who did badly at school studied really hard and got a good grade, but the teacher thought she cheated off of the smart girl, but then they did a retest and it turned out that the smart girl had cheated off the usually dumb girl, and then everyone was happy, except for the actual cheater. The end.

We also read books by Diane Duane, whose name is pretty interesting, I think.

What books did you read in elementary or middle school? Did any of them stick with you?

Tell Me

I’ve been thinking lately about why we read. You see, P is basically a non-reader, and so I sometimes find myself trying to explain why, exactly, books and words and such mean so much to me. How many different reasons do you think there are for people picking up books?

Why do we read?

Why do I read?

I read because I’ve always read — almost as long as I can remember.

I read because the books are there.

I read because I’m bored.

I read to find out what other people are like.

I read to find out what I am like.

I read because I’m addicted to words.

I read to be entertained.

I read to be enlightened.

I read to imagine the past and the future.

I read because it is comforting.

I read because I need information.

I read because there’s nothing better to do.

I read because there’s nothing worth doing more than reading.

I read so that I can write better.

I read so that I can write more.

I read to have something to talk about.

I read to have something to aspire to.

Why do we read?

Why do you read?

Tell me. Let’s compile a list.

BTT: Manual Labour

Writing guides, grammar books, punctuation how-tos . . . do you read them? Not read them? How many writing books, grammar books, dictionaries–if any–do you have in your library?

I took a look, and I have five of the above on the shelves in my room:

1. Student’s Guide for Writing College Papers, by Kate L. Thurman (1963)
2. Eats, Shoots & Leaves, by Lynne Truss (2004)
3. Roget’s Thesaurus, by Peter Mark Roget (1972)
4. The Elements of Style, 2nd Edition, by Strunk and White (1972)
5. The Elements of Style, 3rd Edition, by Strunk and White (1979)

Those are the goods, and the bulk of them are not exactly in date — but then again, things like thesauri and style manuals don’t really go out of date, either. Unless they’re published by the MLA, because they’re all about updating their handbook and making you buy new ones. (But I get around that, via the intertubes: Purdue has a great online MLA thingy-thing, as well as a funny name. Puuurrrrrduuuue).

As to how often these are accessed … let me think. Eats, Shoots & Leaves I read when it first came out, and maybe once or twice in the intervening years. It’s pretty funny, for a grammar treatise.

I’m pretty sure that I haven’t touched Roget’s Thesaurus since about grade eight.

The Student’s Guide I brought back with me from my grandmother’s house last summer, but I don’t think that I have really used it — I’ve flicked through it a couple of times, but I’ve been writing university papers for three years now, and so a lot in there (”Using the Library,” “Evaluating Source Materials,” etc.) I’ve either already been taught or have already figured out on my own. One of my brothers is starting university this fall, though, and so perhaps I will pass it on to him.

Lastly, I have Strunk and White, two editions thereof. I’ve read one of them, although I do not remember which it was. I think the earlier edition — the 3rd edition has a price sticker on the front ($0.50) which means it much be the one I picked up in the bargain basement of my favourite bookstore. Come to think of it, maybe I got that one for my brother as well.

Clearly, I don’t refer to these texts particularly often — but as with most of the books in my library, I like that they’re there when I need them.

In terms of dictionaries, I tend to use the online versions. I will use Miriam-Webster for my day-to-day needs, and when I want to look up something really interesting, I use the OED Online. I adore the OED, and get a free subscription to it through school (which is good, because the personal subscription costs $300/yr!).

We do have large Webster’s Dictionary (1980 edition). I like the reference material at the back, which is often quite humourous. I particularly enjoy the long section on names. It gives lots of advice on naming one’s children:

Watch the Initials. The initials of a name should not form unpleasant or undignified words. Martin Ulysses Taylor is sure to be nicknamed “Mutt,” and Sydney Alfred Lee will doubtless be known as “Sally.”

and

Here’s to the Mothers! But after all these do’s and dont’s and warnings, we come back to where we started — to the good judgment and loving care of the mothers. Here’s to the mothers! May they name their infants as they please — and my they please to accept this dictionary in the friendly spirit in which it is offered.

Pure gold.

Review: The Sweet Hereafter, by Russell Banks

Title: The Sweet Hereafter
Author: Russell Banks
Original Publication: HarperCollins, 1991.
This Edition: Vintage Canada, 1997.
ISBN:067697094X

One snowy day, a school bus plunges through a guard rail in the small and poor town of Sam Dent, New York. Almost all of the children die. Half of the town’s children are gone. Many of the survivors are permanently injured. The Sweet Hereafter tells the story of Sam Dent as the town comes to grips — or doesn’t — with the aftermath of the accident.

The story is told through the voices of a series of characters: Delores Driscoll, the driver of the bus; Billy Ansel, a widowed Viet Name vet who loses his twin children; Mitchell Stephens, esq., a negligence lawyer drawn to the town in hope of finding a lawsuit there; Nichole Burnell, a grade eight student who survived the accident but is now wheelchair bound; and finally, Delores Driscoll once again.

Banks does the telling-through-different-voices bit extremely well. It’s quite excellent, in fact. Each of the above-listed characters speaks in a different manner from the others. This quality is somewhat rare, I think — I find that usually when authors attempt this, they tend to end up with a handful of characters who, for better or worse, all seem to speak and think in the same way. (This happens on screen, too; think of Gilmore Girls. Ever notice how the entire town spoke like Lorelai Gilmore? Exactly.) But Banks has managed to come up with four characters who not only behave distinctly, but act and speak distinctly as well. It’s superbly done.

4.5/5

Review: Virus Games, by G. L. Sheerin

Title: Virus Games
Author: G. L. Sheerin
Original Publication: 2008
This Edition: 2008
ISBN: 9781934454046 / 1934454044

Ever since I posted about receiving this book to review, a number of weeks back, I’ve been receiving 3-6 search engine hits every day for the phrase “virus games book gl sheerin.” Perhaps there is an internet buzz over this book of which I’m not aware — but the constant sameness of the search phrase makes me wonder about that. Mr Sheerin, is that you?

At any rate, Virus Games is a shortish novella aimed at young readers, particularly boys, in maybe the 9-12 age range. According to the promo material I’ve seen, Sheerin wrote this book to fill two needs: to address the reading gap between boys and girls, and to fill a deficit of young adult books incorporating, or about, technology.

Here’s the back jacket:

Peter Dempsey hates computers. He detests looking at monitors, can barely type with two fingers on a keyboard, and considers his PC 101 class a torture chamber. But when a fateful bolt of lightning gives him the ability to see just who lives and works inside our computers, Peter might have to change his mind.

Peter befriends the “packets” who live in his computer and begins to learn about the secret world alive inside the internet. Packet World isn’t always friendly, though. A new super virus has just been unleashed, and Peter and his packets realize they might be the only ones who can stop the “bullies” from shutting down the Internet, and Packet World, forever!

This story does have a lot of strengths. The plot progresses at a fairly reasonable pace, intersperced with a number of faster-paced dramatic moments. The writing is accessible and — though I’m definitely not part of the target demographic — I wouldn’t hesitate to pass it on to a younger reader.

Probably the best feature of Virus Games is Sheerin’s rendition of “Packet World” — ie, the insides of our computers as seen by the creatures who inhabit them. He writes extremely imaginatively on the subject, creating several types of computer creatures (Packets) and fleshing out their world and their routines. Checkers, Guiders, and Dumpy Packets travel through Tunnels (the internet), hang out in holding areas and crunchers (hard drives and software applications), and, more importantly, help Peter to not only complete his homework assignments, but to save the very internet itself from an extraordinarily malicious virus. The battle scenes between the good Packets and the Bullies (Packets infested with a virus) are actually fairly tense — and fairly brutal.

It’s a cute story. And there’s definitely room for a sequel. I would like to know more about the mysterious and sinister Professor, for one thing.

This is not to say that the book is flawless. I found the premise — a typical, modern, North-American ninth grader with not just a disinterest in but an almost pathological hatred of computers — extremely hard to swallow. I know, I know, I’m supposed to suspend my disbelief. It’s really hard to do in this case, that’s all I’m saying.

Stereotypes also abound. We’ve got the jolly fat kid, the superficial rich folk, the doofus cheerleader sister, the happy but gullible parents, the unloved and therefore evil antagonist . . . and so on. It’s a little hard to swallow, although perhaps much of that is because I’m reading this as an adult.

The last problem, I think, is that the book reads extremely anachronistically. Peter Dempsey has two best friends, Fats and Billy. They bonded over their mutual love of baseball cards. Jenny Dempsey gets a ride to school every day with junior cheerleader Mary Sue. Little details like that add up and make me wonder; except for the computer-related content, Virus Games reads a little like it was written thirty or forty years ago.

But again, this is not to say that the book is all bad. It’s fine. It’s not fantastic literature by any means, but Sheerin has come up with an interesting storyline and the inside-the-computer bits are creative and fun. This could be a good choice for a younger reader, particularly one interested in computers.

3/5

April Books

Well, kiddaroos, here are the things I read in April, with some brief commentary occasionally appended. As usual, an asterisk denotes a first-time read.

*A Place of Hiding, by Elizabeth George. I do like Elizabeth George books. I’m not sure how we’ll they’ll hold up on re-reading, because they are mysteries and because I haven’t yet read enough of them to need to re-read any of them, but they are very clever and quite enjoyable. A little gritty, though.

*Making Money, by Terry Pratchett. Haha! The main character’s name is Moist von Lipwig! Is there anything else you would need to know before reading this book?

*Atonement, by Ian McEwan. (reviewed) Hmm. I will let my review speak for itself.

*The War of the Worlds, by H. G. Wells. (reviewed)

Unshelved, by Bill Barnes and Gene Ambaum. This book is the first collected collection (eh?) of Unshelved strips. If you are not reading Unshelved every day, you really, really need to. Please to enclicken here.

Library Mascot Cage Match, by Bill Barnes and Gene Ambaum. This is the third collection, ditto.

Read Responsibly, by Bill Barnes and Gene Ambaum. And, as above… and as the above of the above. You know.

*Thud!, by Terry Pratchett. I think this is probably my favourite of all of the Discworld books I have yet read. Yes, Pratchett writes silly fiction — but underneath those funny bits are lots of serious, incredibly smart things. Plus, this novel contains within itself what must be a most excellent children’s book.

*Dining with Death, by Kathleen Molloy. (reviewed) Again, I’ll mostly let the review speak for itself — but I want to say that this is one of the best books I’ve yet read as a result of having this blog up.

What Would Dewey Do?, by Bill Barnes and Gene Ambaum.

*Lolita, by Vladimir Nabukov. I read this book over the course of about a month and a half, for roughly two sessions of forty or so minutes each per week (I was reading it in a non-lending library in between classes). And the library in which I read it is the closest thing yet I’ve found to my ideal: stone walls, high ceiling, dark wood bookshelves built into the walls, leather couches and chairs, two fireplaces, giant bay windows for sitting near or in, near-complete silence … marvellous.

*Men at Arms, by Terry Pratchett.

*The Ovum Factor, by Marvin L. Zimmerman. (reviewed)

*Hogsfather, by Terry Pratchett.

*Mort, by Terry Pratchett.

*Maskerade, by Terry Pratchett. This one I also really, really enjoyed. There is an opera ghost. It is excessively amusing.

*Monstrous Regiment, by Terry Pratchett.

*Playing for the Ashes, by Elizabeth George. Another excellent George novel. The only thing was that it’s full of cricketing terms, which I found rather bemusing.

What Would Wally Do? by Scott Adams. This is a really poorly put-together anthology. Strips appear out of date (for example, a three-day series appears in the book as Day Three, Day One, Day Two) and mess things up. But I was bored, so I read it. So it goes.

Piercing the Darkness, by Frank Peretti. I really like this book. You know, it’s really really hard to find Christian fiction that isn’t just a giant ball of syrupy, cheese-ball goo. But this novel is quite enjoyable. It’s fast-paced, and very well written.

Clearly, this was a big month for reading certain types of books over and over. I got through two Elizabeth George novels, four Unshelved books, and, yes, seven Terry Pratchett novels. Three of us here at home are reading through the entire Discworld series; we still have about twenty books to go, and so I don’t expect this pattern to change any time soon.

In terms of reading for challenges, I finished twenty books in April, putting me to 37 books total since I started the 100+ Reading Challenge.  (The goal of this challenge is to read at least a hundred books in the space of a year — that’s 1.9/wk — and if you like this sort of thing I encourage you to click through and check it out for yourself. It’s fun.)

What were the best books you read in April? Were there any worst books?

Music Librarianship

I am a happy cataloguer — it’s true. It doesn’t even have to be books. I catalogue my books for fun, but I’ve also been working (both paid and volunteer) as a music librarian for about three years with my current choir, and for a year with a previous group.

You might be wondering what a music librarian does, actually. I guess this because I was asked that very question last Saturday night, driving with A on the way to see a play. Here is what I do, as a choral music librarian:

At the beginning of term, I find all of the repertoire our conductor wants us to sing. This may involve using music from our own library, purchasing new music, or borrowing or renting copies from other choirs. Once I have the music, each copy is given a unique number, as is each choristers. The copies are then matched, and a folder is assembled for each chorister, containing all of the pieces for the year.

While this assembling is going on, I am also on the lookout for music that is falling apart. Choral music can take quite a beating over the years, especially when it comes to smaller pieces (the bulk of our holdings, in fact) which are stapled rather than bound. If a copy is falling apart, I repair it using surgical tape. Regular tape will dry and become useless, and also cannot be removed without causing damage to the thing it’s trying to hold together. Surgical tape does not have these problems, and we order it in bulk. Sometimes a piece is beyond repair, and some creative re-numbering happens after I make the trip to the recycling bin.

Once the folders are finished, they are distributed to choristers. I keep track of who has paid their fee for the term, because choristers can’t keep their music between rehearsals until they have paid their music deposit for the year. Once a chorister has paid, he or she is allowed to keep the music — and I can stop carting it around.

Around this time of year, we also get requests from other choirs who wish to borrow some of our music. If we have the wanted piece, I make sure that no in-house groups need it, and negotiate for its safe lending and return.

During our season, after everything is distributed, I am responsible for making any repairs that become necessary. I also provide extra copies of the music to choristers who have forgotten their folders, pencils to those who have none, and such like. I also badger our conductor about setting the repertoire for next term, so that I have time to redo all of the above.

After our final (well, only) concert of each term, I collect all of the music that has been returned. That music is put in order, and the copies are checked against a master list of choristers and their numbers. Once a chorister has returned all of his music, he is able to have his music deposit refunded to him. If music is lost forever, I withhold the fee, do some more creative renumbering, and update the catalogue to reflect the new number of copies we own. I don’t purchase a replacement copy as, generally speaking, the music store makes you buy a minimum of five copies of any particular piece. After all of the music is collected, collated, and accounted for, it is re-shelved. This end-of-term process can take about five hours, all told, depending on how many pieces we sang.

Then it all begins again.

Also, I catalogue — in fact, this has been the bulk of my work as a music librarian since last summer. Our library had vastly outgrown its space, an incredibly small and very fire-hazardous room. Accordingly, it had to be moved to a better location, and so my friend L and I were hired to facilitate that. We boxed up the entire library, moved it between floors, and then began the job of cataloguing and shelving.

You have no idea how much work that was.

To put it in perspective, our library holds about 1,000 individual titles. The last time I ran a sum-check, those 1,000 pieces were made up of roughly 34,000 copies. When we started the job, we found that the catalogue hadn’t been updated in fifteen years — and the catalogue as it existed was handwritten on index cards.

Oh boy.

So, we went to it. The first half of the job was boxing everything up for the move, getting rid of any garbage or illegal photocopies that had found their way into the piles, badgering facilities to please please take away our empty boxes, bagging up archival material for removal to the university archives, and dragging piles of flattened cardboard boxes across campus because we had to find our own moving containers. The second half was the un-packing, and cataloguing, and sorting, and counting, and shelving, and re-shelving … and that took, by far, the longest amount of time. It’s still not done, in fact — although everything is done except for our small holdings, pieces of which we have ten copies or fewer. The job stopped when school began again, and now that I’m out for the summer, I’ll be finishing it off.

That’s what I was doing today — cataloguing, stamping, numbering, counting, ordering, and shelving — for about six hours. It’s tedious work, and it involves heavy lifting, and lots of standing because the library table is a weird height for the chair, and on days like today it involves screaming grade nines attending a workshop in the room right under me (the music library is housed in the loft of this room, and so it’s open on one side to what’s down below).

I love it.

There’s something eminently satisfying about a cataloguing job well done. When the music is in order, and in the box, and the box is in order … it’s just lovely. And, believe me, very satisfying.

Music librarianship: now you know.