Jennifer Cameron Paulsen has been making the selections for Dr. Bickmore's YA Wednesday Weekend Picks for the month of September. They have been fantastic picks and focused on a different theme each week. I hope that you check them out. Jenny and I know each other through the ALAN Workshop. I know that a couple of times we have worked as door monitors together early on Monday morning as people arrive to pick up their books at the ALAN Workshop. By the way, if you haven't registered for the ALAN Workshop, I highly recommend that you get on it. It is time to go to the NCTE website and go to the registration page. One of my interests in teaching and researching Young Adult literature is how this body of literature can be used to combine the curricula of the Social Studies and English Language Arts. I am glad that Jenny has touched on several ways that this might be implemented in the classroom. Take it away Jenny.

Policy has Human Consequences:  An Uninterrupted View of the Sky, a beautiful book by Melanie Crowder, demonstrates the consequences of the “War on Drugs” declared by the US on the indigenous people of Bolivia. In Margarita Engle’s book of verse Silver People, even the trees have a voice, stressing the sense of disturbance of nature itself in building the Panama Canal. These kinds of stories force us to face that actions have consequences, that our world is truly interdependent. ​

There are a number of other ways to use YA, these are just the ones I’ve decided to dig into first. I have a lot of work to do! I continue to seek more #OwnVoices texts, whether fiction or non-fiction or poetry to support my students in their pursuit of knowledge about the world and our collective past, so we can create a better future together for ALL of us.

I welcome your suggestions for my library!

In her 25-year career, Jenny Cameron Paulsen, has been an English teacher and an instructional and technology coach. She currently teaches middle level American history and world studies in Cedar Falls, Iowa. Reading YA hooked her in 7th grade when her best friend gave her a copy of The Outsiders. Teenagers are her chosen people.

Jenny can be contacted at jennifer.paulsen@cfschools.org.

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I love this time of year!  I get to know and learn from a new group of students. Summer is ending and fall is beginning and, as a result, Las Vegas has great mornings and wonderful evenings. A start to think about the NCTE convention (I need to register tomorrow, but at least I have a hotel!) and the ALAN workshop. I get to chat with colleagues old and new; it is rejuvenating and inspiring. I hope to see many of you there. If don't know you yet, please say hello.

Perhaps, one of the most exciting parts of fall is the announcement of the National Award longlist for Young People's Literature. I love this list and others like it and the statements they make about quality literature. This list also allows us to keep a pulse on issues of diversity in authors, characters, themes, and genres. I watch carefully to see what is included and what isn't.

I have written about the award (You can read our article about cultural diversity in the award in the first 20 years of the ward here.). Some of the past winners are among my favorite books: Brown Girl Dreaming, Inside Out and Back Again, True Believer, and When Zachery Beaver Came to Town.  Of course, there are others that I admire, teach, and recommend. In fact, if anyone wants to make a case that Young Adult literature has an abundance of literary quality, just have a list of all of the final five books for this award since 1996. You would have a list of 115 books that could keep people reading for while. Don't worry spending a lot of time compiling the list, you can find the list here. 
*to all images are hot linked to a place get the book.

To begin with, I have to tell you that I feel like a slacker. I read a 100 or more YA books a year, but I have only read one on this years list, Boots on the Ground. A them.Couple more have been on my "to be read list," but I just haven't worked my to The Poet X, The Assassination of Brangwain Spurge, and The Journey of Little Charlie. Over the last several years I have had a better track record. Usually, I have managed to be over 50% and some years as many as 7 of the 10. Not this year. I have some reading to do over the next few weeks. I know that my colleague Sharon Kane (You should check out her past post on the contributors page.) will be examining this list as well. She usually has her students reading the books off the list. 

The following list has some hyperlinks. The authors name is hyperlinked to the a page inside the National Book Award web page. On that page you will find a description of the book offered by the publisher, a brief description of the author, and some links to other informational pages. The titles are link to a Kirkus Review with the exception of A Very Large Expanse of Sea with is linked to an interview in the Los Angles Times.

I have enjoyed browsing through the publishers descriptions of the book and reading the Kirkus reviews. I hope that you will spend some time exploring as well. I love the diversity in terms of authors, theme, genre, and settings. Perhaps, the most important thing you can do is share this list and the descriptions of these books with your student. That is exactly what I will be doing with the graduates I will be seeing next Monday. I will show them the post in advance and discuss a few of the books. I will encourage them to take a couple of minutes to share with their students as well.

This post is a just a bit on the short side, but it packed with some informative reading between now and when the winner is announce in on Nov. 14, 2018 in New York City. 

​Until next week.

This week’s guest contributor is Padma Venkatraman. I have had friendly a relationship with her for as long as I have been an academic and since she has been writing Young Adult Literature. I can still picture her standing at the podium at an ALAN workshop in a beautiful sari discussing her debut YA novel Climbing the Stairs. As she spoke I knew that I had to read it. I wasn’t more than a few chapter into the book and I knew I was going to try and write about it. It short order it turned in to one of my first publications. (Bickmore, S. T. (2011). Craftsmanship, ideology, and reader appeal in Climbing the Stairs. In A. Choubey (Ed.), Women on Women: Women Writers’ Perspectives on Women. (pp. 40-67). Jaipur: Book Enclave.) It was published in India and it is hard to find in the US. You'll just have to take my word about how good this chapter turned out.
 
I love Padma's work. Several years ago, I reviewed some of her work and conducted an interview with her for this blog. You can find it here. Padma has also contributed to the blog by writing about YA verse novels. It is engaging; and she points us to some books that shouldn’t be missed. Take at minute to read or revisit the post.
 
This week she discusses diverse books from an international perspective with a specific focus on how diversity is represented children's and YA literature in Germany. She does a great job with the topic, so I will get out of the way and pass it over to Padma.

We've spent the past eight months in Germany, where my husband and I were honored to recieve invitations to reside as "fellows" at the Hansewissenschafts Kolleg in Delmenhorst. Although our ten-year-old speaks German fluently, her reading level in German doesn't quite match her reading level in English. So, while she devours novels in English (and analyzes each with assiduity and the acerbic attitude of a future book critic) she doesn't read as many German books.

That said, one of the first things we did upon arrival was to pay for a membership at the local library. As we did so, I thought nostalgically about free libraries back home - the public library being, in my opinion, a cornerstone of American democracy. My ten-year old interrupted my thoughts with an observation. "Look at that book! It's racist!"

The book that she's pointing to is a picture book that has a problematic cover, showing an "Indianer" with a feathered headdress, a tomahawk and war paint on his face. Mistaking her horror for enthusiasm, the librarian is quick to bring out similar books, all of which depict characters who resemble Disney's Pocahontas; characters created by European authors who don't seem to have done a great deal of research and don't seem to have a great deal of sensitivity.  My ten-year-old, who, since early childhood, has been exposed to the work of exemplary authors like Cynthia Leitich Smith and Joseph Bruchac, is astounded, and proceeds to lecture the librarian about stereotypes. 

The librarian quickly moves away and my daughter searches on her own for another book. As I look at the shelves, I quickly notice that there are hardly any books at all with diverse protagonists (although I'm pleased to see the library does have a small section that contains kids book in Arabic). In fairness to the librarians, there's one book on display, with a cover my daughter finds unattractive, and a title that I don't find thrilling "Djadaji, Fluchtlingsjunge" (Djadaji, Refugee boy). The author is Peter Häertling, who was honored with the Deutsche Jugenliteraturpreis (a sort of German Newberry) for one of his children's books, and who was also a finalist for the Hans Christian Anderson Award, some years ago. He certainly appears to have been a compassionate person who sought to write about social justice issues. But he wasn't an immigrant. So, however well meant or well researched this title might be, it certainly isn't an #ownvoices contribution. Nonetheless, I borrow it, out of curiosity, if nothing else, and I insist my daughter should try reading it.
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"Why?" she demands, and I tell her I want to know what she thinks of it.

My opinionated 10 year old declares that it is "really boring" and refuses to go beyond the first ten pages. I try it after she gives up, and I don't find it captivating either.

On our second visit to the library, we find another book with a non-white protagonist, this time written by an author who has an immigrant background: Das Mondmädchen by Mehrnousch Zaeri-Esfahani. This lyrically written tale interweaves fantasy with realism and we enjoy the poetic language as well as the beautiful black and white illustrations by Mehrdad Zaeri. But I can't find any more diverse books in stock in this library. 

Nor do I find diverse books at the Asylum Seekers Center, where I volunteer to spend time with refugee children. I am delighted to find several cases of books in excellent condition that I can use when I conduct reading workshops for the children. But I realize quite quickly that not one of these books features a protagonist who isn't straight and white. If the protagonist's religion plays a role, it's always Christianity. Not one protagonist is disabled, either.
 
So I start searching, somewhat haphazardly, for diverse kidlit whenever I can, during the next eight months of my stay. Granted, I don't conduct any kind of objective research. I wouldn't know how, anyway - after all my training was in oceanography, not social science. I just do a few searches on the internet, and visit libraries and bookstores wherever I happen to travel, and engage adults in conversation on this topic whenever I happen to think of it and the occasion seems right.

I'm pleased to discover a wide variety of books that qualify as immigrant literature in German for adults. Author Saša Stanišić, in the November 2008 issue of Words Without Borders, writes: Immigrant literatures are not an isle in the sea of national literature, but a component, both in the depths, where the archaic squids of tradition live, and on the surface, where pop-cultural waves hit the shore. And, as Professor Andreas Schumann states in an interesting  article on the subject (https://en.qantara.de/content/new-trends-in-germanys-immigrant-literature-the-guest-who-is-a-guest-no-longer ), the Adelbert von Chamisso Prize, "awarded since 1985 by the Robert Bosch Foundation for "major contributions to German literature by authors whose native language is not German", is a reliable indicator of developments in what can no longer be called "immigrant literature" – from Aras Ören and Rafik Schami in 1985 to the 2005 laureates, Feridun Zaimoğlu and Dimitré Dinev." In bookstores, recent works of immigrant literature (like Melina Nadj Abonji's TAUBEN FLIEGEN AUF) are prominently displayed and staff seem well informed about the subject and recommend several authors and books. Librarians, too, seem well informed about the literary canon and eager to discuss "Migrantenliteratur."

But my inquiry suggests there is significantly less diverse kidlit in Germany than in America. Many "multicultural" stories feature a white savior, and many seem to be written from the point of view of the white character. As for gender equity and inclusion, I don't see a great many examples in the middle grade and picture book categories. Based on casual conversations I have with librarians and bookstore personnel in several German cities, I get the impression that I'm the only customer/patron who has asked specifically for children's books with diverse protagonists. ​

​At every bookstore, if I ask for children's books, I'm shown a section where I inevitably see many old European classics, like Emil and the Detectives (by Erik Kaestner) and the Pippi Longstocking series (by Astrid Lindgren), but not a single authentically diverse book. Instead, I see stacks of comics replete with offensive depictions of people of color. Granted, the authors of these comics are usually from other parts of Europe, not Germany; but they are certainly very popular in Germany, with readers of all ages. 

And almost without exception, if I ask for German books about "die ureinwohner Amerikas" (indigenous people from the American continent), I'm told to read books by Karl May. May, a writer of Westerns, is described as a German institution - and his work, from what I can see by leafing through his books, is riddled with stereotypical portrayals that lack depth and respect. I'm upset to hear how popular and widely read his work remains.
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Most upsetting, however, are the typical responses with which my concerns are met. Not that I ought to be surprised, but at least in America, thanks to the dedicated work done by the leaders of the #WNDB movement, librarians and teachers and booksellers seem more aware of the issue. 

​In Germany, some summarily dismiss the idea that diverse books are necessary. I'm told, for example, that the argument about diverse children needing to see themselves in books is not important in Germany because "kids don't read much these days." I am sometimes met with outright resistance (those kids' parents don't read and they don't value reading - why should anyone write books for them unless they want to lose money), sometimes with ignorance (why are you telling me that kids need to see themselves in books when you seem to have done fine without that).  If I suggest that racist ideas in stories may be tacitly imbibed by young readers, resulting later in insidious prejudice, my listeners often declare that they are good people even though, as children, they may have read books that contained racial/gender/religious stereotypes, so they don't see what the problem is. Another common argument is that the immigrants, be they refugees or not, need to integrate. And integration is often interpreted as meaning that immigrant children need to read books that are classics "so they can better understand German culture" and that immigrant children will actually  benefit by reading books that are populated entirely with monochromatic characters who "truly reflect the values" of German society.

As for values - Emil and the Detectives is a book in which all the characters actively engaged in solving the mystery are white boys and the only girl character in attendance does nothing but bring the boys food and whine about the fact that she can't do anything adventurous because she's a girl, after all (and her job is to provide the men with material sustenance)!

As for Lindgren, I read and re-read the first Pippi book as a child - because, I suspect, it was one of the few who had a truly strong and adventurous female heroine. But even as a child, some of the humor in the book upset me. I detested the nonchalance with which Lindgren described Pippi's father's profession (which is still described in existing German editions of the book in terms that I find repulsive). Then again, of course I deeply respect and admire Lindgren's ability to create such a magnificently bold female character. When I suggest that most German children probably the book without ever being asked to question the rampant racism in it, I'm told Lindgren was just trying to be funny. Sure, it can be funny to laugh at another culture's expense. Sure, it makes some of us feel bigger and better if we decide "others" are somehow less important/beautiful/intelligent/humane etc. etc. But aren't there more refined ways to be humorous? Would a less culturally insensitive Pippi be a bad thing? Would it weaken her character if her crasser statements were substituted with equally raucous  yet sensitive humor? I don't even bother mentioning something else I picked up on and wondered about - at least one of the thieves in one of the Pippi books has a "Jewish" name; a name that a Scandinavian friend said was not Scandinavian; a name that Jewish friend confirmed was indeed Jewish. And the odd choice of name gave me pause.
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One evening, when I mention that Kaestner and Lindgren may not have had an entirely egalitarian idea of humanity as a whole, I manage to deeply affront a whole slew of Germans. Later, a German colleague knowingly describes it as "vertidigung der Kindheitserrinerung" - defense of childhood memories; and he's right - the incident is a testament to how deeply we identify with the books we loved as children. But although Kaestner and Lindgren have created characters that have stood the test of time, it doesn't mean that children should be allowed to consume every book they ever wrote without any reflection or discussion.  

​It always saddens me when my questions regarding diversity and multiculturalism in German children's literature are viewed as insulting and taken personally. Nevertheless, I continue, whenever I can, to engage people I meet in a discussion on this topic, and I try hard to speak issues of white privilege and different forms exclusion and privilege reflected in books. I share thoughts about broadening our understanding of gender and how children's books may help fuel cultural exchange and compassion and mutual respect.
I'm not sure I'm making much headway. But I keep trying.
 
Why?
 
Because Germany has opened it arms to embrace a staggering number of immigrants, and that is admirable. According to an article in the Washington Post last year, 22.5 percent of all people in Germany are migrants or have at least one parent who is an immigrant and 38 %  of all children under 10 in Germany are foreign-born or second generation. So all German children, whatever their culture, gender, or background, however they may choose to identify themselves, will surely live in a Germany more diverse than the one in which their parents grew up.   In some cities, such as in Bremen, where I once lived, there's an even higher proportion of children with a “migrant background.” And I want to help these children settle down in their new home, even if their new home isn't my country. I want do what I can in the years left to me, to help young people build a future world where, I hope, diversity and multiculturalism will be respected and celebrated, and society will be more compassionate and more egalitarian. And one small way to help, I hope, is to promote dialogue on this topic, which is close to my heart, and to support increasing diversity in German children's literature. 

 Lesley Roessing has produced another blog post.  She has written five other contributions. (Find those entries with these links one, two, three, four, and five.). Her posts range from celebrating Nancy Drew, to discussing verse novels, to considering how to confront bullying. Lesley is one of the smartest people I know writing about and teaching YA literature. She has an abundance of information about YA, especially centered on specific themes. Today, she takes on books that focus on the events related to 9/11. It is an homage to people who experienced the event and a reminder to those of us who witnessed from a far. As she points out, the events of that day predate all of the students in P-12 students. What are we doing? For those of us who were adults, or even high school students, living and working on that day remember exactly where we were and what we were doing. As a result of that day members of the military, in all of its branches, are still in combat. We have a relative beginning his fourth deployment. What are we teaching? For seventeen years our country has been spending money and worrying about energy as a result. Lesley helps us consider how we might discuss the events and the emotions around it in our middle and high schools using literature.

By 2016 most states still did not require 9/11 to be taught as a topic. While 49/51 states (and DC) updated some portion of their standards documents since 2001, only 21 states (41%) include the 9/11 attacks specifically as past of a standard, sub-standard, or as an example; 16 states (31%) do not mention the 9/11 attacks or any content related to terrorism; and only 14 states (28%) include some aspect of terrorism or the war on terror (but not 9/11 specifically). Even when included in textbooks, there is very little information given, and students in Social Studies classes make the point that they generally only read about these events in textbooks; they want information that helps them make sense of what they are reading/learning.
 
I find the most effective way to share and discuss the events of September 11, 2001, and actually any historical event, and the nuances and affects of those events is through a novel study—the power of story. When we who were present during this time, talk about 9/11, we share our personal stories of the day and the days that followed—how these events affected us, our friends, our relatives, strangers, our towns, and the nation and world as a whole. Novels and stories serve as mirrors to reflect our reality and to help us look closer; they serve as windows into those who were affected differently that we were and to build empathy for those persons, and they serve as maps to help us navigate a confusing world.

When classes read novels about 9/11, especially in book clubs where small groups of students are reading different books, they access many differing perspectives to a story within their book club but also can meet with, and compare stories from, the other book clubs.
 
I am sharing “Eleven Novels for Nine Eleven” although there are a few more I have not as yet read. I have facilitated book clubs in grades 5 through 9 English-Language Arts and Social Studies classes in a variety of schools over the last two years. Of course some of these novels are more appropriate for elementary readers, some for middle grade readers, and others are more complex for high school readers but each shares a different story and perspective on the events of 9/11 and together they just might show a more complete picture.

​“After today, everything’s changed.”

“Sometimes when a terrible thing happens, it can make a beautiful thing seem even more precious.”

Eleven is the story of Alex who is turning 11 on September 11, 2001. I was concerned that the character would be too young for this topic. I also thought that, the character age’s implied that the novel wouldn’t contain the complexity the topic deserves. but, boy, was I wrong! I was hooked with the complexity of the first 2-page chapter. I wasn’t sure what was happening in this introductory chapter, but it was not a feeling of confusion as much as “It could be this; no, it could be this…” and inference and interpretation, even visualization.

I also forgot that New York City kids grow up faster, taking public transportation throughout the city, but more importantly, I forgot that when you need or expect a young adolescent to rise to the occasion, he will.

Alex loves airplanes and dogs—and he doesn’t realize it, but he loves his little sister Nunu who is relegated to her side of the bedroom they share by a black and yellow “flight line” down the middle of the room. And he loves his father, even though Alex told him, “I hate you,” the night before 9/11. When the Towers fall, Alex rises to the occasion, taking care of his little sister and an abandoned dog, making the sacrifice to return the dog he has always wanted to his owners when the vet finds a chip, facing bullies, making “deals” in the hopes these deals and good works will offset what he said to his father and ascertain his return from the Towers, and comforting Mac, a lonely man who is awaiting his only son’s return from the Towers.

In Eleven author Tom Rogers builds a character who is authentic, a kid who events serve to turn into a young man. Alex’s mother had said to him, “I need you to be grown up today” and, even though he was focusing on his misdeeds of the day, he did. “I’m proud of you, young man…. Young Man. Alex liked how that sounded.”

Warning: Have a box of tissues handy. I was a puddle when I finished the novel. This book is not graphic but does not skirt the events. We hear the news announcement about the four airplanes and, more chilling, a description of an empty hospital—“There were no gurneys rolling through to the ER, no sick and wounded in pain. There wasn’t a patient in sight. And he knew then that none would be coming.” A powerful examination of the events of 9/11 and how they affected ordinary people—and one boy’s birthday.

The events of 9/11 are challenging to describe and discuss, especially with children who were not yet born, which at this point is most of our student population. I think that is so because, as adults, we each have our memories of that day and Life Before. I was a middle school teacher on the day the Towers fell. I remember standing in my classroom as our team teachers watched the morning news. Thankfully, our students were in their Specials and were not witness to the shock and tears on our faces. I don’t remember much of that day, but we were located in Philadelphia and did not immediately feel the effects. But the events o that day have affected our country and all our citizens as well as our contemporary world. The importance of studying and discussing 9/11 as part of American history is highlighted in Jewell Parker Rhoads novel Towers Falling, set in September, 2016.

Nine Ten: A September 11 Story is another novel effective in introducing young adolescent students to the many events of September 11, 2001. Nora Raleigh Baskin’s novel is set during the days leading up to 9/11—in Brooklyn, Los Angeles, Columbus, and Shanksvlle, Pennsylvania, where readers follow four diverse middle-grade students affected by the events of 9/11. Sergio, Naheed, Aimee, and Will first cross paths in the O’Hare Airport on September 9. The four young adolescents are Black, White, Jewish, and Muslim and are collectively surviving loss, guilt, poverty, parental absence, neglectful fathers, bullying, the navigation of peer relationships, as well as the angst of middle school, “…everything felt different, as if you suddenly realized you had been coming to school in your pajamas and you had to figure out a way to hide this fact before anyone else noticed.” (p. 48). In their own ways they are each affected by 9/11, and on September 11, 2002, these four and their families again converge at Ground Zero, each there for different reasons, but this time their paths back together have meaning.

There are a multitude of important conversations to be generated by this little novel, a story of Before and After. I was especially grateful that the events and heroes of Shanksville were memorialized. In fact there are many aspects of heroism brought forth in the novel to discuss. But Nine, Ten: A September 11 Story is the story of people and three days in their lives, “Because in the end it was just about people…Because the world changed that day, slowly and then all at once.” (p. 176).

Relationships are built over time, but how much can they withstand? Jake Green and Sameed Madina have always been friends. They have grown up together; they run track together; they play war games together; they have each other backs; they plan to always remain friends “but only till Martians invade the earth.”

But then the events of September 11, 2001, occurred, and Martians did invade the earth, only they looked like Sam and his family—Muslim. Because one of the terrorists had lived in their neighborhood and was a client at the bank where Mr. Madina worked, Sam’s father comes under FBI surveillance, and the neighborhood divides in their support. Not Jake, though. He believes in his friend and his friend’s family, physically fighting the school bully who refers to Sam as a “towelhead” and arguing with his own mother whose own grief keeps her from supporting their neighbors.

When his father is taken into custody, Sam refuses to attend school, abandons his cross-country team, and distances himself from Jake, taking a new interest in the Islam religion. But Jake does not give up, and the boys reconnect to peacefully stop their racist classmates, Bobby and Rigo, from attacking the local mosque. Afterwards, Jake realizes that they both have been affected by 9/11; he has learned that you can be both scared and brave at the same time, but he has also has learned that adversity can be defeated peacefully. And Jake realizes that Sam is now different. “For the first time I see Sam, a Muslim. An American Muslim. But he is still just Sam, no matter what.”

​September 11. A day that changed all our lives in some way. As we see in Nine, Ten: A September 21 Story, there clearly was a Before and After. But there also was a Then or That Day and an After.

All We Have Left was so compelling that I read from dawn to dusk and did not put the book down until I finished. The novel intertwines two stories, that of 18-year-old Travis and sixteen-year-old Alia who were in the Towers as they fell and the story of Travis’ sister, Jesse, who, fifteen years later, is part of a dysfunctional family whose lives are still overwhelmingly affected by That Day and Travis’ death.

Seventeen year old Jesse is not sure who she is, who she should be, who she should hate, and who she can love. Her life is overshadowed by 9/11, her mother’s mourning, and her father’s hate.

But both Alia in 2001, and Jesse in 2016, learn that “Faith and strength aren’t something that you wear like some sort of costume; they come from inside you” (p.329) as does love. And Jesse realizes that she has to work on “treasuring right here, right now, because that’s important.” As one character says but all the characters learn, “You can fill that void inside you with anger, or you can fill it with the love for the ones who remain beside you, with hope for the future.”

What I appreciated about this novel is that is shows yet another side of how 9/11 affected people, especially adolescents, those adolescents who populate American schools everywhere. I strongly feel that students should not only be learning about the events and effects of 9/11, but that, through novels, readers learn more about how events affect people and especially children their ages. 

Refugees adds another dimension to the 9/11 novels.

Dawn is a foster teen who runs away to New York City and becomes affected by the events of 9/11. As she plays her flute on the streets near Ground Zero to earn money for food, she is approached by families of victims who ask her to play for them and the memories of their loved ones. As Dawn comes to believe this is her mission, she teaches herself music she feels appropriate for those of many cultures and stages of life. In doing so, she opens up to strangers and new friends, something she couldn't do with her foster mother.

Johar is an Afghani teenager, weaver, and poet. His father is killed by the Taliban, his mother is killed by a land mine, his older brother joins the Taliban, and his aunt is missing, leaving Johar to care for his three-year-old cousin. He and his cousin flee to a refugee camp in Pakistan where he works for the Red Cross doctor, Dawn's foster mother, another person who must learn to show love.

Dawn and Johar connect through phone calls and emails, and as they all work toward forming a family—one that spans the globe—the reader learns how war, the U.S. involvement, and the events of 9/11 affected those in many countries. This would be a book I would recommend for proficient readers with an interest in war or history.

P.S. After I read this book and posted my original Goodreads review, I was listening to a discussion about the days following 9/11 in the Middle East on NPR and found that I could actually follow it; therefore, I realize that I learned more than I thought from this novel.

The Usual Rules is an emotional and insightful novel about the effects of the events of September 11th on the families and friends of the victims—those left behind.
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The reader learns about the close relationship between 13-year-old Wendy and her mother through flashbacks: her mother's divorce, the sporadic visits of her father, her mother's marriage to her "other dad," and the birth of her half-brother. And then her mother goes to work at her job at the World Trade Center on 9/11/2001—and does not return. Wendy’s world changes. “Then September happened and the planet she lived on had seemed more like a meteor, spinning and falling” (p. 175).

The reader experiences not only Wendy's (and Josh's and Louie's) loss but the suffering and uncertainty of those left behind. Could her mother be walking around, not remembering who she is? As the family hangs signs, we learn how different this loss was for many people who held out hope for a long time without a sense of closure. And this loss was different because it was experienced by many—an entire country in a way. “Instead of just dealing with your own heart getting ripped into pieces, wherever you looked you knew there were other people dealing with the same thing. You couldn’t even be alone with it” (p. 95).

We see the loss through the eyes and hearts of a daughter, a very young son, and a desperately-in-love husband. Wendy leaves Brooklyn and goes to her biological father’s in California. Among strangers, she re-invents her life. As those she meets help fill the hole in her life, she fills the hole in theirs. Books also help her to heal.

Even though there are quite a few characters in this novel, but they all are well-developed, and I found myself becoming involved in all their lives, not only Wendy, Josh, and Louie and even his father Garrett, but Wendy’s new friends—Carolyn, Alan, Todd, Violet… On some level they all have experienced trauma and loss, and within these relationships, Wendy is able to heal and return to rebuild her family.
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Although I did not want this novel to end and to leave these characters, this well-written novel taught me more about the effects of September 11, loss, and the importance of relationships and added a new perspective to my collection of 9/11 novels.

Another novel as a complement to a 9/11 Novel Study would be Maria Padian’s novel about the ways life in an idyllic small Maine town quickly gets turned upside down after the events of 9/11. 

“Things get a little more complicated when you know somebody’s story.…It’s hard to fear someone, or be cruel to them, when you know their story.”

The majority of the 21.3 million refugees worldwide in 2016 were from Syria, Afghanistan and Somalia. The United States resettled 84,994 refugees. Together with immigrants, refugee children make up one in five children in the U.S. More than half the Syrian refugees who were resettled in the U.S. between October 2010 and November 2015 are under the age of 20.
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In Out of Nowhere by Maria Padian, narrator Tom Bouchard is a high school senior. He is a soccer player, top of his class academically, and well-liked. He lives in Maine in a town that has become a secondary migration location for Somali refugees. These Somali students are trying to navigate high school without many benefits, including the English language. They face hostility from many of their fellow classmates and the townspeople, including the mayor; one teacher, at the request of students, permits only English to be spoken in her classroom. When four Somali boys join the soccer team, turning it into a winning team, and when he is forced to complete volunteer hours at the K Street Center where he tutors a young Somali boy and works with a female Somali classmate, Tom learns at least a part of their stories. Tom fights bigotry, especially that of his girlfriend—now ex-girlfriend, but he still doesn’t comprehend the complexity of the beliefs, customs, and traditions of his new friends, and his actions have negative consequences for all involved. While trying to defend the truth, Tom learns a valuable lesson, “Truth is a difficult word. One person’s truth is another person’s falsehood. People believe what appears to be true and what they feel is true.”

Lesson Learned: Tolerance and acceptance is not enough; we all need to reach respect (for others and their cultures, beliefs, and traditions).

“The bigger the issue, the smaller you write.”--Richard Price
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Instead of focusing on the overwhelming statistics generated by the March 11, 2011 earthquake and resulting tsunami in Japan—nearly 16,000 deaths and 3,000 people missing—the event becomes even more intense and compelling as author Leza Lowitz relates the story of one town and one boy and the resilience of many.

The story begins on March 11 when Kai, a half Japanese, half American 17-year-old and his teachers and classmates experience the “jolting of the earth,” and as trained, they evacuate, running for their lives, looking for the highest place, as their town is destroyed. Written powerfully in free verse, the reader feels the fury of nature as the water “churns,” “thrashes,” “surges,” “sweeps,” “charges.” Kai ends up in a shelter having lost his mother, his grandparents, and one of his best friends. His father left years before to return to America.

Faced with overwhelming loss and trauma, Kai walks into the ocean but is saved by one of his classmates and convinced to accept the opportunity to go to New York City on the tenth anniversary of 9/11 where he will spend some time with young adults who lost their parents as teens in the 9/11 attacks. At Ground Zero, Fia tells him, “Bravery means being scared and going forward anyway.”

Kai hopes to find his father in NYC but returns to his village to help the young adolescents who lost their families and to rebuild his town. “I want to be/ like that tree/ deep roots/ making it strong/ keeping it/ standing tall.” And it is to his roots Kai returns and stays—“The quake moved the earth/ ten inches/ on its axis./ I guess/I shifted,” too.”

Up from the Sea, well-written as a verse novel (a format that engages many reluctant readers), would serve as an effective continuation to a 9/11 study. Readers should already be aware of the events of 9/11 to understand the connection between Kai and Tom but will comprehend the trauma and loss experienced, and resilience that is required, by anyone who faces adversity.
 
Classes can read a variety of these novels to learn events from multiple perspectives—in small-group collaborative book clubs, generating provocative, important intra-group and inter-group conversations about the events of 9/11, intolerance, resilience, and relationships. Book Clubs can then share their novels, as well as creating an after-reading text synthesis for increased comprehension of the text(s) read, through presentations to the rest of the class. I have found “I Am’ poems of each of the characters to be particularly effective if students are required to first make a storyboard or summary of the novel events to establish that all key events are included somewhere in the groups’ poems. See #NineElevenNovelStudy for lesson ideas. Through these diverse novels, readers can experience the days before, the day of, the days after, the years following, and the many effects of the events of 9/11 on a variety of children, teens, and adults, these events and effects experienced from differing perspectives.

A middle school teacher for twenty years, Lesley Roessing is currently Director of the Coastal Savannah Writing Project and works as a Literacy Consultant with a K-8 school. She recently retired from Georgia Southern University where she worked with teachers and taught Bibliotherapy. She is the author of Bridging the Gap: Reading Critically & Writing Meaningfully to Get to the Core; Comma Quest: The Rules They Followed. The Sentences They Saved; No More “Us” & “Them: Classroom Lessons and Activities to Promote Peer Respect; and The Write to Read: Response Journals That Increase Comprehension. Lesley is a columnist for AMLE Magazine and former editor of Connections, the award-winning journal of the Georgia Council of Teachers of English. ​Lesley is a literacy consultant for schools in Beaufort, SC and is available to work with schools on designing or facilitating a 9/11 Novel Study or creating other Reading-Writing-Speaking Units for ELA or Social Study classes.

Last week was more than a bit exciting. It was the first week of classes, I was able to make some initial arrangements with the local school district about the nature of the next Summit on YA lit, and the Wall Street Journal (WSJ) published a piece that critiqued YA Literature. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am not immune to critique about a body of literature that I love. It happens. Debate is healthy and helps us reexamine the positions we hold. We might clarify our arguments and our positions. That is, if both parties are at least a bit informed on the topic of discussion.

I found out about this WSJ critique from a Facebook post that Rob Bittner shared and commented on. Rob and I have met a couple of times, but we primarily know each other through social media and the fact that we both follow the ebbs and flow of comments on YA Literature that appear on social media.  As he lamented this piece and its tone about the “darkness” of YA literature, I decided I better take a look at it.
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Much to my surprise, in his WSJ commentary, Mr. Salerno focuses his attention on summarizing the 2018 Summit on the Research and Teaching of Young Adult Literature. This is frankly amazing. I did my best to introduce myself to every attendee. Oh, I might have missed a few people, but not many. To double check, I reviewed the list of paid attendees and guests of the summit. Lo and behold, Mr. Salerno’s name was not on the list. A casual reader of his piece, might assume that Mr. Salerno was there listening and coming to careful conclusions after interviewing some of the authors and academics like Alice Hayes (Alice has commented that she wasn’t interview by this individual) and James Blasingame. Well, that doesn’t seem to be the case. It appears that the information was likely lifted from one of these two articles (First, one reporting on the participation of academics from Arizona State University or second from University of Nevada, Las Vegas that summarized the summit.) or perhaps a combination of both.   

Again, I don’t mind a good debate. At the Summit we had disagreements and discussed next steps; a major focus of the summit that was ignored in the WSJ commentary. We planned lines of research and began research projects. The scope of the conference was much larger in terms of topics and sessions that were provided discussed in the commentary. A quick look at the Summit page on Dr. Bickmore’s YA Wednesday would allow people to see the entire program, find summaries of the academics that presented, and understand that not only did we have four keynote authors, but eight other authors writing in a range of genres and with a variety of styles and tones were also speaking and presenting.
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In reality, the Summit was invigorating. Participants left with new pedagogical ideas, lists of books that covered a range of topics, new friendships, and partnerships that will lead to new research. Below you will find responses from a several of the Summit participants—participants who actually attended. These responses have appeared on Facebook and other venues, but I felt they need to be collected and archived. Below, you will hear from Chris Crutcher, Kelsey Clause, Amanda Melilli, Kia Richmond, Stephanie Toliver, and Louise Freeman.

​Go Chris, Go!! Making an impact on my life since 6th grade!! 
 
I got bogged down reading the comments of the folks that applauded Salerno for his worldview. Lucky for most of them, they, and their children, haven't experienced most of what gets discussed in the YA lit that's "unsavory"... But that doesn't mean it's not happening to SOMEONE. I'll never understand how people think putting blinders on and ignoring the fact that there are youth dealing with adult-sized issues solves anything. 
 
I'm not going to get too worked up because it is the Wall Street Journal after all... Not a lot of minds you're going to be changing there. 
 
This close-minded article showcases the impact of the work you and your colleagues can have... There's clearly a section of the next generation who aren't going to learn empathy at home. Thank goodness for YA Lit to fill that gap.
 
Maybe we'll extend a personal invitation to Salerno to attend the next Summit and expand his perspective.
 
Kelsey Claus

Educators in the field of children's and YA literature are constantly having to fight this argument (where youth should only be reading about happy things), and to be honest, I couldn't respond better than Chris Crutcher on that topic. So please read his response on Facebook and in this blog post.

However, there is also something scary about this opinion article that drives me nuts as a librarian: the author didn't accurately represent the entire Summit. In fact, he didn't even accurately represent all of the main authors that presented there; he left out Bill Konigsberg who had just as much time and presence at the conference as Laurie, Chris and Kekla. But Bill and his works don't match the argument he was trying to make, so he wasn't mentioned in the article.

Was there some pretty heavy, dark stuff addressed at the Summit? Yes, but that wasn't the ENTIRE summit as the opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal makes it sound like. There were presentations on a huge range of topics (found here: http://www.yawednesday.com/2018-summit.html) including my own that included Light Novels. That's right. Light Novels. You know, those quirky novels from Japan where it's not uncommon for main characters to wake up as vending machines or spiders in some fantasy video game type land? A far cry from the works of Chris, Laurie, Kekla, and Bill, but we had conversations about these types of books as well!
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In fact, all of the teachers I have met with since the Summit have been asking for help in finding one type of reading material for their classrooms: engaging works that their students will actually read and have complex conversations about. THAT's what I see that our educators got from the Summit. Not some need to shove trauma down their students throats, but a desperate need to find materials that their students can relate to and that makes them want to read more.
The Summit was all about helping educators get their students engaged with the ELA curriculum whether through books dealing with trauma or the fantastic or graphic novels or short stories, and the WSJ article is a gross misrepresentation of the conversations and learning that actually took place there.
 


We're really excited for the next Summit! 

In response to Steve Salerno's WSJ article (https://www.wsj.com/…/the-unbearable-darkness-of-young-adul…), I submit the following (and yes, it’s long):

I wish that Steve Salerno would have actually attended the Summit on the Research and Teaching of Young Adult Literature at the University of Nevada - Las Vegas (organized by Steven T Bickmore) with us in June 2018. Perhaps he would have gotten some of his facts right before casting aspersions on educators, authors, and the youth of America.
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I am one of the “nearly 50 presenters—top educators and authors from across the land” that Salerno speaks of in his Wall Street Journal essay (“The Unbearable Darkness of Young Adult Literature,” August 18, 2018). Thanks to a research grant and sabbatical from Northern Michigan University, I was proud to attend the Summit, at which shared some of the results of my recent research on mental illness in 21st century young adult literature.

In this presentation, I focused on 2 of the 30 contemporary young adult texts I analyze in my forthcoming book, Mental Illness in Young Adult Literature: Exploring Struggles through Fictional Characters (ABC-CLIO/Greenwood Press): Wintergirls and The Impossible Knife of Memory (both outstanding examples of young adult literature by Summit attendee and author Laurie Halse Anderson). Session attendees were led through a close reading activity focused on characters’ use of stereotypical language related to mental illness (e.g., “freak, zombie, crazy, unstuck in time” in The Impossible Knife of Memory and “skin-bag of a girl, locked up, crazy seeds, circus freak” in Wintergirls) as well as Anderson’s use of authentic terminology (e.g., “catastrophizing, worry, fear, nightmares, fatigue, therapist” in Wintergirls, and “disordered behavior, therapy, Boerhaave’s syndrome, malnourishment, disturbed brain chemistry, psychiatric care facility” in The Impossible Knife of Memory).

Discussions following the activity centered on the benefits of examining assumptions underlying the language used by characters (and, by extension, real people). This kind of lesson dovetails with several objectives in the Common Core State Standards for English Language Arts and can help students to consider how stereotyping language is connected to biased attitudes and can, when left unchecked, lead to other discriminatory behavior (as described in the Anti-Defamation League’s “Pyramid of Hate”). Helping young adults think about the language they read – and use – can empower them and perhaps help them make informed choices about their behavior toward others. 

In designing such a presentation (and teaching a similar lesson in my Good Books class this summer at NMU), I was not assuming that “all students arrive at school traumatized in some fashion” as Salerno claims that I (and other Summit presenters) did. Nor was I “determinedly insist[ing] on immersing students in an unsavory worldview, portraying life in terms of its anomalies and unorthodoxies” as Salerno states in his essay.

My goal in talking about Wintergirls and The Impossible Knife of Memory was to offer Summit attendees the chance to discuss how young adult literature can, as Michael Cart says, help teen readers see themselves on the pages of the books, foster “under¬standing, empathy, and compassion by offering vividly realized portraits of the lives—exterior and interior—of individuals who are unlike the reader,” to tell young adults “the truth,” even when it is unpleasant.

I agree with Summit presenter and young adult author Chris Crutcher (who, unlike Salerno, actually has experience in the mental health field as a child and family therapist, and who, unlike Salerno, actually has experience as a secondary teacher). Chris says that stories like his and Anderson’s (featured in sessions such as mine at the Summit), “allow bruised kids to talk about - and therefore better understand - their own situations, and relatively unbruised kids to become more enlightened, and therefore, hopefully, more decent.” Creating more empathetic and informed citizens is part of the work of English language arts teachers, who are charged in the CCSS with helping youth to develop “critical-thinking skills and the ability to closely and attentively read texts in a way that will help them understand and enjoy complex works of literature.”

Salerno asks whether higher rates of depression and suicide are “an organic outgrowth of life’s legitimate trials—or are […] a crisis manufactured, at least in part, by painting life as so much more trying than it is?” It is disappointing that an experienced journalist (and visiting lecturer at UNLV) has to resort to using a faulty method of reasoning (either-or thinking) in his writing. The American Psychiatric Association reports the prevalence of childhood trauma (e.g., physical, emotional, or sexual abuse; violence; war; disasters; etc.) as very high, with more than 65 percent of children experiencing trauma by age 16. Moreover, the National Institute of Mental Health estimates that more than 20 percent of young adults experience serious mental illness. It doesn’t seem reasonable that these rates are the result of a manufactured crisis nor to life being painted as “more trying than it is.”

In his last paragraph, Salerno says that if Summit attendees did indeed “care about young adults and their growth,” as Summit presenter Alice Hays states, then we should “consider recommending books that make the world sound like a more hospitable place to be.” Rudine Sims Bishop argues that literature can act as a window, sliding glass door, or a mirror, showing readers more about their own worlds and lives or the lives of others that might be “real or imagined, familiar or strange.”

The Summit in Las Vegas provided attendees with opportunities to discuss young adult literature of all kinds: sports literature (Alan Brown), science fiction (S.R. Toliver), graphic novels (Dani Kachorsky and Stephanie Reid); historical fiction (Sharon Kane and Ritu Radhakrishnan; and Diane Scrofano Novoa – who even connected YA lit to the musical Hamilton); as well as that connected to bullying (Amanda Melilli), social justice issues (Trista Owczarzak; Rebecca Maldonado, Crag Hill, and Danetra King; Tiye Cort; and Laura Davis), and mental illnesses such as PTSD (Louise Freeman Davis – and myself), substance use (Rachel Rickard Rebellino, Caitlin Murphy, and Karly Marie Grice), and eating disorders (me again).
Salerno’s piece asks why Summit attendees didn’t focus on “something other than darkness and depravity." However, it does not address the fullness of context of the Summit, which DID include sessions on light and humor and love and relationship as well as mental illness and bullying. Nor does it bother to mention how talking about young adult literature better prepared attendees to reenter their lives as more informed, empathetic educators, librarians, and advocates for youth, which might just make the lives of young adults that much better. Wow, after reading his piece, I was hoping for happily-ever-after. Too bad Salerno didn’t deliver.
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By Kia Richmond

References from Louise

Appel, M. (2011). A story about a stupid person can make you act stupid (or smart): Behavioral assimilation (and contrast) as narrative impact. Media Psychology, 14(2), 144-167.
Djikic, M., & Oatley, K. (2014). The art in fiction: From indirect communication to changes of the self. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 8(4), 498.
Djikic, M., Oatley, K., & Moldoveanu, M. C. (2013). Reading other minds: Effects of literature on empathy. Scientific Study of Literature, 3(1), 28-47.
Fong, K., Mullin, J. B., & Mar, R. A. (2013). What you read matters: The role of fiction genre in predicting interpersonal sensitivity. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 7(4), 370.
Freeman, L., & Guarisco, M. (2015). The Wonder of empathy: Using Palacio’s novel to teach perspective-taking. The ALAN Review, 43 (1): 56-68., 43(1), 56-68.
Gabriel, S., & Young, A. F. (2011). Becoming a vampire without being bitten: The narrative collective-assimilation hypothesis. Psychological Science, 22(8), 990-994.
Guarisco, M. S., Brooks, C., & Freeman, L. M. (2017). Reading Books and Reading Minds: Differential Effects of Wonder and The Crossover on Empathy and Theory of Mind. Study and Scrutiny: Research on Young Adult Literature, 2(2), 24-54.
Johnson, D. R. (2012). Transportation into a story increases empathy, prosocial behavior, and perceptual bias toward fearful expressions. Personality and Individual Differences, 52(2), 150-155.
Johnson, D. R., Jasper, D. M., Griffin, S., & Huffman, B. L. (2013). Reading narrative fiction reduces Arab-Muslim prejudice and offers a safe haven from intergroup anxiety. Social Cognition, 31(5), 578-598.
Kidd, D. C., & Castano, E. (2013). Reading literary fiction improves theory of mind. Science, 342(6156), 377-380
Mar, R. A., & Oatley, K. (2008). The function of fiction is the abstraction and simulation of social experience. Perspectives on psychological science, 3(3), 173-192.
Mar, R. A., Oatley, K., Hirsh, J., dela Paz, J., & Peterson, J. B. (2006). Bookworms versus nerds: Exposure to fiction versus non-fiction, divergent associations with social ability, and the simulation of fictional social worlds. Journal of research in personality, 40(5), 694-712.
Vezzali, L., Stathi, S., Giovannini, D., Capozza, D., & Trifiletti, E. (2015). The greatest magic of Harry Potter: Reducing prejudice. Journal of Applied Social Psychology, 45(2), 105-121.

There are many others who attended the conference who had plenty to say. I recommend going to Facebook and following the comments that follow Chris Crutcher's response. I think it is especially fun if you can find his first post in the morning of Aug 30, 2018. The comments are often not there or hard to follow in a repost. Given that, even many of the reposts of have interesting strings of commentary.

I hosted the conference and Mr. Salerno works at my University, the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. I am not that hard to find. He could have visited with and even shared his bleak take on Young Adult Literature. We could have had a conversation. It could have quoted me directly instead of lifting quotes from Alice Hayes or James Blasingame from a report of the summit--that by the way was written by someone who attended. 

Oh, Mr. Salerno, if you were there and I missed you, you owe the Summit 175 dollars. 

Until next week.