Our Crazy Language

This handy little tool has been making the FaceBook rounds for a while, and each time it pops up, I shake my head, smile a bit (or perhaps it's a grimace) wondering how many English teachers are, at that very moment, beating their heads on their desk, against a chalkboard or Smart board after once more failing to pound these words into confused students.  I wouldn't say that I gave up on that goal while I was teaching, but rather embraced the idea that some kids were just never going to get it.  After all, I have a math-proof head, so why it it not possible that there are native English speakers whose minds deem the memorization of rules governing an oft irrational language unimportant?  Whether that decision was a conscious one doesn't matter.  All that matters is that some people just aren't going to get it, evidenced by the FB chart above. And, that chart doesn't even begin to address the magnitude of complexities we face each day when it comes to written, oral, and non-verbal communication.  

Some of you might be winding up for a hard toss saying, "Hey, I read your blog.  If I were to keep track of your spelling errors, I would run out of fingers and toes."  Maybe so, but the reality is that I type like a crazy woman, and hate proofreading.  More than unit tests, my students feared that I might sit at my computer and type while they were were trying to develop a revolutionary new theory of the meaning of Beckett's Waiting for Godot.  "How can we possibly focus with all  that clicking going on?" they would protest.  Must be my piano playing years that cause me to word process with a vengeance, and I do like the sound.  It is the sound of industry - the sound of something coming into being that did not exist the moment before.

I am not a big Mark Twain fan; however his sardonic commentaries on language are fun.  I especially like his wisdom on spelling

 I don't see any use in having a uniform and arbitrary way of spelling words.  We might as well make all clothing alike and cook all the same dishes.  Sameness is tiresome; variety is pleasure.  KOW spelled with large K is just as good as with a small c.  It is better.  It gives the imagination a broader field." 

 Amen brother.  Methinks Twain would be OK w/txtng.

What am I reading?  After the Brady Udall love fest, I have turned to lighter matters.   I received an advance copy of a cozy mystery call Death of an Irish Diva.  Wow!  These cozies have little substance, and less craft.  A book that should take me 45 minutes to breeze through is taking me twice that.  The author is in love with pronouns and I have to keep checking three of four sentences back to see who the pronoun is referencing.  But the Irish dance competition coach was found dead and the town ballet teacher is the prime suspect.  Gotta get to the truth.

Thanks for stopping by.

Call It Courage

In 1941, Armstrong Sperry won a Newbery medal for excellence in children's literature.   Call It Courage is the story of physical and spiritual survival.  10 year-old Mafatu fears the sea, something that brings shame to him and to his father, the leader of a Polynesian island.   The sea gods claimed Mafatu's mother years earlier, and as result, he refuses to man up and fish with the other boys his age.  Instead, he stays ashore and weaves nets with the women.  

Mafatu eventually decides he must face his fear and sets off for the adventure of his life, taking a small canoe out onto the unpredictable waters.  He is accompanied by his dog, Uri, and Kivi, an injured albatross.  What Mafatu encounters, fights and overcomes would put contestants on "Survivor" to shame.  

I don't know why I picked this book up.  My fourth grade teacher read it to us which I suspect she did in a sort of underground maneuver since no other teacher grades 1-8 ever read to us.  I wonder what subject she stole minutes from each day to share this wonderful story.  So many of us chocked back sobs when she read the closing lines.  We sided with Mafatu.  We wanted him to return to the island a hero - to show everyone who laughed at him that he was courageous,  but the ambivalent ending was far too hazy for us.  Reading it on my own last weekend left me with the same sense.  Did Mafatu win?  Try as I might, I could find no clues within the text to lead me to a definite answer as to what the final paragraphs meant. 

As 9 year olds, were we really equipped to handle the ending, I wonder?  We didn't talk about the story.  It was enough that our teacher sneak-read it to us.  Heaven forbid that we should actually discuss anything.  

Call It Courage is poetic rather than prosaic.    There is little dialogue.  How can there be when it's just a boy, a dog and an albatross?  The more I think about it, the more the book resembles The Life of Pi in tone, theme, and style.  If you liked that book, take an hour and read this one.

Book group news?  No one (except for me) will be joining the Brady Udall fan club any time soon.  Sigh. Despite the venom, we had a lengthy discussion.  We're moving on to Tom Maltman's Little Wolves...another arty, moody piece.  We'll see how that goes.  In general, as long as there is chocolate, Cheetos, and wine to go along with the discussion, we're all happy.

Letter to My Best Friend, Brady Udall

Hey Brady, 

What goes on in that mind of yours?  How does it work?  What kind of twisted, loopy, roundabout, underpass, overpass, detour routing drives the creation of these stream of consciousness semantic maps that result in novels?  A number of obstacles drew me away from hitting the book - so to speak - earlier, even though it is my discussion book for this coming Friday.  Knowing this weekend would be the only dedicated time I would have with your 600 pages, I committed to the challenge.  By the end of Sunday afternoon, you had exhausted me, yet I felt strangely happy.

Yes, oddly happy...since I didn't really care for any of the characters you created.  But, like The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint, your artistry gripped me, and I found myself drawn deeper and deeper into the complex world of style and nuance.   I did feel some compassion for the sister wives and a couple of the kids, but for the most part, the stories layered upon stories were, at their core, grim pictures of pathetic people who either created their own circumstances, or chose not to change the circumstance they were in.  

Your timing is impeccable.  Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, you'd toss in a phrase, a small comment or just the right word to soften the edges.  Indeed!   I laughed often despite the dysfunction filling each page.  The ostrich.  The "La Cucaracha" cantata, the Eisenhower pinata.  Where does this stuff come from?  

Thanks for the little family tree in the front of the book.  At first, I referred to it often, and then realized, that for me, it didn't really matter who was who.  I don't think you really want us to focus on a linear plot.  If you did, you wouldn't  take us on the fascinating day trips.  I'm not implying, Brady, that your characters weren't well developed.  In fact, because you provide so much back story, tender details, and crisp visuals, that were your entire cast to walk into my space right now, I am sure I could name them with a decent percentage  of  precision.  

I know Mike Magnuson.  I know that you and Mike wrote together at Breadloaf.  So, in one of those convoluted logic puzzle ways, I want to say that I know you. I want to be able to flash  this book around and say "Look what my friend Brady wrote.  It's art.  It's not Jody Picoult socio- pseudo intellectual silliness, it's not a lot of stuff.  It's my friend, Brady and he wrote this book that doesn't suck. I am so proud of him."  But, I know that being proud of you, my friend, boils down to bragging rights, and that ain't worth much.  So I will be happy to share my thoughts with my book group and hope they liked it better than they like "Edgar".  By the way, brilliant call making Presley his middle name.

Your pretend friend and sincere admirer

B