The Diamond in the Window

Old? Or GENIUS?!?!?!?

Many of you wrote in on our previous post suggesting Agatha Christie mysteries as perfect for the heavy-duty reader who wanted more sophisticated fare but not teen romance, or YA.

I think this makes a lot of sense. A lot of teens (and others) are ready to take on a mystery, but less ready to confront sexuality, relationships, and all the rest of the messy human condition, even in fictional form. I LOVED mysteries as a kid, and I still do—Nancy Drew of course, and then Agatha Christie was a perfect followup. Despite their being about, you know, murder, they were curiously nonthreatening, puzzling but not terrifying.

And I could never figure out who did it.

At the time, I thought this was just how mysteries were, it was the whole point, really, that the writer could skillfully hide the murderer in plain sight, and you would be thrilled, convinced, and blind-sided, all at once. Some people, I knew, figured it out, but they were special "other" types, living in a rarefied realm I could only admire from afar.

But a few things have happened since:

1) We were watching a romantic comedy with Chestnut (a great one, In a World, which we all really liked, though it's a little bit racy for some kids maybe?). The tension was really tense for Chestnut, and towards the end she was on the edge of the couch and cried out, "But what if the nice guy and the cool girl don't get together?" And I remembered that there was a time when I didn't know how romantic comedies were going to end, and that it was wonderful time.

2) I'm reading a lot of mysteries, and all of a sudden I  know who the murderer is. Often.

It started with my first Jack Reacher book. And I thought, huh, well that's a fluke.  So a while later I read another Jack Reacher book.

It happened again.

I got nervous and a little excited. Because, what if I'm changing the kind of person I am? What if I know everything now? I will win every bar bet! (Except I don't really go to bars.) I will be able to come up with knowledgable and cutting retorts! (Except that hasn't happened yet—but it could!)

Then I read a Dennis Lehane book a few days ago: Darkness, Take My Hand, and I knew. I KNEW WHO DID IT.

So here's what I think. Either I am a genius (highly probable), or I have just been around for so long that I've seen it all. An even darker possibility: I had secretly read all those books before and forgot I read them and then think I know the killer because, er, I read it before? Oh dear.

I will let you, fair readers, be the judge (s).

 

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Advanced Readers/Little Kids

When Diana was an advanced reader early on, I had the amazing good luck of going into a now-gone bookstore in our neighborhood, and saying, "Help! My daughter's reading the Metro section of the newspaper, but she's really little." Into our greedy little hands she put Betsy-Tacy, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, The Cobble Street Cousins, and more, and the Golden Age of kid reading began.

I think of this now because we got this in our in-box recently:

Our daughters are similar ages. My daughter is 11, almost 12 and in 6th grade. She is in middle school and is an advanced and capable reader. She loves to read. It is her most favorite activity and the one material thing she values most are her books. I am struggling with the fact that she feels youth fiction is too "basic or boring". I however am struggling with the young adult category. She is intrigued by all sorts or books but I struggle with the meaty topics and just not sure it is what as parents we want her exposed to. I know it is a reality and we do talk about all of these topics. But when I read these books I feel like they are just too much. She did read The Fault In Our Stars and then wanted to read Looking for Alaska. I read it first and thought it was too much. Any advice, thoughts, similar feelings?

Right now—and it has not always been thus—we let our girls read anything they want, with very different results. Chestnut, now 13, likes nonfiction (she LOVED How We Die) and realistic fiction (big fan of Rainbow Rowell, who we read together). Diana is deep into horror, fan fiction, fantasy (re-reading all of George R. R. Martin). Most of this came as a result of a conversation with a very smart writer and editor I know, who said his greatest joy as a kid was plundering his parents' bookshelves and reading every inappropriate thing there. Most of it went over his head, but it didn't matter—he was thrilled with the world that books opened to him. He then championed his own daughters' right to read anything and everything, something his wife wasn't crazy about but acceded to. 

When did this change? I'm not sure. I think it changed when Chestnut entered 6th grade.

There are really two questions here: what are the parents comfortable with, and what are the kids OK with? It's such a personal question. When Chestnut was in 4th grade, I was sorry she read The Hunger Games (in school no less), and discouraged her from reading the following books. But now? I put no limits on what she reads. I would probably feel differently with watching movies, but that question doesn't come up for us because neither girl cares for movies. I've also never read Looking for Alaska.

What do you guys think? What words of kind and supportive wisdom do you have for this reading parent? What is there for her advanced reader to read (a lot of old-fashioned books, is my idea)? How did you manage this with your own kids, if you did?

 

UPDATE: Really, this should have been a We Recommend, and I will maybe post it as such soon, but for now, can you guys offer up possibilities for her to read in the comments?

We Recommend: Picture Books, You Guys!

It's We Recommend, our occasional feature that means 1) someone wrote to us and asked for a book recommendation, 2) we came up with an idea, 3) you wonderful readers will chime in with many fabulous recommendations in the comments. Are you looking for a recommendation for your child (or yourself)? Just write to us at thediamondinthewindow (at) gmail (dot) com, and we will happily ponder until we find the perfect book for you. And truly, look in the comments, it's where to find all the best picks.

Hooray, we got a request for a picture book! See here:

"He is 3 and loves almost everything.  Particular faves:  Where the Wild things Are, Amos and Boris, Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, the Mother Goose illustrated by Rosemary Wells. More importantly, what I like: fabulous illustrations and poetic language.

We would love some recommendations."

He is 3 and loves almost everything! Oh how far this is from my current life with a 13 and 15 year old. Not that they aren't awesome—they are. But loves almost everything? Not exactly.

This list makes me want to reread all these books again. They're just so good and crazy and wonderful. And boy do we hear the "More importantly, what I like...."

So let's think. Or really, let's be honest (or at least, I will try to be honest) and admit that for me this isn't about thinking at all, but about a heartfelt ache, because with great art I don't really think (which is maybe something I should worry about), I just react. And here is the book that I love, with fabulous illustrations and, as far as I'm concerned, poetic language.

This book is awesome. It's strange and dark and sweet and bizarre, and I could (and have) read it over and over and over. 

But I put this here, knowing that other people have a different definition of poetic language, and likely different choices. What are they—would you put them in the comments for this enthusiastic 3-year-old and his mother?

Cultural Reality. Or Something.

Chestnut wanted me to read this, because she loved it:

So I did. And here's the thing: all the cultural references are to my generation.

Now I know no one who is 13 is writing a YA book (or at least, they're not publishing what they write), so the author is no doubt being true to her own cultural reality. I mean,  Matt Dillon clearly resonates for her. And her introduction describes the book as a record of what happened in her own teens so: OK. Acknowledged.

But—it happens a lot. It actually drives me a lot crazier when the author makes up some weak justification for it. You know, "I stole my mom's tapes and listened to Jethro Tull all the way home and it turns out it's really awesome...." Or whatever. OK, it's not usually Jethro Tull, but you know what I'm getting at.

The weird thing is, I try to remember what books I read as a kid talked about in terms of music, movie stars, etc, and I can't remember. No one was talking about Matt Dillon—how could they? He was a freshman at a nearby high school (how cool!) and it would have seemed weird and creepy. But not much creepier than Guardians of the Galaxy presenting songs from the 1970s as universally beloved.

It gets me confused in terms of time and reality and whose culture is whose. 

Am I overthinking this? I do that a lot. Help?

In Which We Link Elsewhere

I always feel vaguely cheated when I go to someone's blog and the post is just a slew of links. It's not that I don't click on the links and end up liking them. It's that I'm...insatiable? Judgmental? Take your pick!

But today, I must do as I would have others not do, because one of my favorite blogs has a children's literature themed post! Oh the joy!

My only wish (unlikely to be granted) is that you tell me which children's story is your favorite. You'll see what I mean if you click above. I'm going with Wee Willie Twinkie.

Also? A tip from Chestnut: Anatomy of a Misfit is amazing. As good as Eleanor and Park, she says. I will read it and report back.

Why Isn't Everyone Reading These?

I mentioned (does mentioned make sense in a blog? Maybe) that I'd read Life After Life, and found it lovely and moving and strange. But what I didn't mention was that the "about the author" section noted that Kate Atkinson also writes detective novels.

I love detective novels. Not all of them—I'm not the hugest fan of the gritty tough guy aspects of the genre, and for some reason the two Jack Reacher novels I've read I figured out the mystery halfway through, which is really not my way—but the form itself is appealing to me. I like puzzles, and what is a better puzzle than a novel puzzle? It's two delightful things in one.

As a special treat, I went to the bookstore and bought the first one, Case Histories.

It was fun. I mean, a lot of fun. And textured and rich and deep, and I really loved it. And then I bought the other two I could find, and I read them too. And then I thought to myself: why isn't everyone talking about these? These are some of the most unbelievably pleasurable books I've read in a dog's age. How is it that people went on at length about The Goldfinch, but I haven't stumbled across these sooner? Have I been hanging with the wrong crowd?

All of which is to say, dear reader, are you ready for some fun? For wanting to leave the dinner table so you can get back to your book? For looking forward to your subway commute? Here you go.

Happy September.