Tuesday, March 31, 2015
The Wordle World of Words
Have you heard of Wordle? It is a word cloud creator which takes any text you put into the input box, rates the words according to the number of times they appear in the text, and puts all/most of them into a visual grouping. The rating system makes the most common words the largest (you can choose to exclude common English words like conjunctions and article adjectives).
For a Learning 2.0 assignment (just in case some of you are not my classmates or teacher and would like further explanation about the impetus for this post), I have been asked to use Wordle to create word clouds of school library related topics.
When I saw this assignment, the first thing I thought was (despite the weeks of training about all of the other roles of a school library media teacher) BOOKS. And that led to the question about which of the books in my personal library mention or deal with books in any major form. Major, I mean. Lots of books utilize mini-inception in which there is a single book or a classroom or whatever, but there are only a few books which have a moment of Major Discovery involving libraries and books.
I did not select all of the pertinent books in my library (where I to do so, I would also include Anne of Green Gables and Princess Academy and any number of beautiful, fabulous books that I dearly love) but, alas, it takes me a while to type out passages from books, so I picked the four most obvious books on my shelves and am content to leave the rest of the task to you, my dear readers.
Which books did I choose, you may ask? Well, for starters, one novel that deals with books as a major symbol is Robin McKinley's Beauty, which is a lyrical retelling of Beauty and the Beast. For this Wordle cloud, I typed out two passages: Beauty's first encounter with her room, which has hundreds of books, and her discovery of the castle library, which is larger than she can even comprehend because it contains books that have not even been published yet. (Mind. Blown.)
The second book I selected is The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It features a young orphan girl in Germany during the Holocaust, and is a beautifully portrayed narrative of the way that the Holocaust affected German (non-Jewish) citizens who did not identify with Hitler's wicked regime. It is a book of beauty, bravery, and danger--and everything revolves around Liesel Meminger, who loves words and books yet recognizes their danger. The passage for this Wordle cloud is from Liesel's encounter with the Mayor's wife's library. 
This next word cloud is from The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo. It is a children's book about a highly unusual mouse who cares nothing for mousy ways but strives for higher ideals. This is his first encounter with a book and the written word, and occurs when his siblings are trying to teach him to scurry and to eat books. 
Sunday, March 29, 2015
The Chaconne: An Introduction to Holy Week
In case you don't know, we are entering into Holy Week today. Holy Week is the last week of Lent before Easter, and it is my favorite time of the year. As we begin this beautiful and eventful week of repentance, I would like to share my favorite piece of all time with you--Bach's Chaconne from Partita No. 2, performed by Hilary Hahn. It is a bit long at nearly eighteen minutes, but it is well worth it.
Whether you are Christian or not, this is one of the world's most enduring and profound musical masterpieces. It is also thought to have been written when Bach returned from a three-month journey to find his wife dead and buried. Chaconne is, among other things, a transcendent musical journey into and through grief.
Whether you are Christian or not, this is one of the world's most enduring and profound musical masterpieces. It is also thought to have been written when Bach returned from a three-month journey to find his wife dead and buried. Chaconne is, among other things, a transcendent musical journey into and through grief.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Podcasts and the Art of Marketing with Sensory Appeal
Within the last two days, I have been asked to find, listen to, and subscribe to some podcasts for a class. I was initially not overly enthusiastic because I have never really enjoyed audiobooks and expected that podcasts would be something like audiobooks. However, my vague ideas about podcasts were overturned when I actually went on iTunes and looked for podcasts about areas I am interested in. In particular, I searched for podcasts about book cover design (which I am passionately interested in), reading programs/teaching reading, Bach, violin, and logic. The two searches that most directly apply to school library media programs are, of course, reading programs/teaching reading and book cover design.
So far, of the 65 podcasts that I have downloaded onto my iPhone, I have listened to only one (I clearly have a ways to go). That one is "The art of the book cover," presented by Design Podcast: ABC Radio National. I have included the link below.
http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/booksandarts/the-art-of-the-book-cover/5897482
(the podcast is approximately 15 minutes)
What a wonderful way to wander into the world of podcasts! It is an absolutely delightful and thoroughly thoughtful interview between the presenter, Michael Cathcart, and the guest, Peter Mendelsund, about the importance of book jacket design and some of the things that Mendelsund does to make the books for which he designs stand out.
Now, you may be wondering how this relates to school library media. Well, students choose what they read based on the book's attractiveness. Do you want an example? Here you go:
These two books are currently on my to-read pile from the library. Weird, aren't they? But they are really attractive and striking in a kind of psychotic way. I have actually read Splintered before, and it is basically a modern and almost psychedelic Alice in Wonderland. It stuck with me, though--and a lot of that stickiness had to do with the striking book cover. Whoa! The vibrant colors, the girl's almost manic blue eye combined with her fuchsia lipstick, and the way that the wild green is enveloping her are all rather...memorable. Plus, all of those bugs are kind of creepy in a wild, weird way.
Contrast those covers with the covers of The Looking Glass Wars, though. Frankly, I didn't like this book as much. The cover is darker than that of Splintered...and so is the story. Other people might like it better, but I like the Spiderwick feel more than the steampunk feel.
Goodness. I go on all sorts of tangents, don't I? To go back to the podcast again, I learned about the value of getting to the root of what the author wants to say. Cover design is a matter of taking important symbols and ideas from the book and incorporating them into the cover in a way that is both interesting and honest, so that the intended audience finds the book.
By the way, that is exactly what this book doesn't quite manage to do. (It is a great book with a fabulous plot, but the cover is not at all suited to the story.)
As I said, I love the story, but the girl in the book, even though she is an elf, is not all sparkly, and the story isn't, either! The actual story is full of action, violence, and adventure--there is actually a lot of darkness (bloody death, poison, and monsters). Don't get me wrong; I love this book, and it deserves to have a devoted following, but THAT COVER. It's pretty, but it doesn't convey the true nature of the book! You would never guess from this that the story is more like The Lord of the Rings than Sleeping Beauty. The narrator is even a young decorated soldier who has retired from war because he has been gravely injured by magic. Does the cover communicate any of these important things? Does it attract the male audience that would most likely like the story? No. It doesn't. Instead, it has a fanciful, sparkly, gorgeous elf girl wearing a party dress that is not at all suited to adventures and action.
Well, after Mendelsund talks about the importance of designing book covers uniquely for the specific books, he and Cathcart go on a fascinating tangent about how they experience and judge books (and people) by sounds. Mendelsund starts off by saying that, when he reads books, he has an internal narrator that gives voice to the characters. He and Cathcart both agree that most readers probably have this [that lends an interesting perspective to the idea of teaching reading; perhaps poor readers do not have this internal narrating voice?]. They also talk about how someone's voice conveys an impression--an image, if you will. For instance, Cathcart explain how when people see him for the first time after listening to him for a long time, they are disappointed. Why? Because his voice comes with an image. If they have never seen him before, they will come up with an image of what he looks like because we do not interact with dislocated sounds. We engage with real people, and even when voices are projected over the radio, we don't really engage unless we think of those voices as belonging to real people.
Ick. All of my posts are so dreadfully long, so I'm going to wrap up. Basically, I thoroughly enjoyed the podcast that I listened to, and I learned a lot of interesting information. Mostly, I learned that we learn most effectively and interact best when we experience a variety of sensory appeals, such as sound and sight.
So far, of the 65 podcasts that I have downloaded onto my iPhone, I have listened to only one (I clearly have a ways to go). That one is "The art of the book cover," presented by Design Podcast: ABC Radio National. I have included the link below.
http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/booksandarts/the-art-of-the-book-cover/5897482
(the podcast is approximately 15 minutes)
What a wonderful way to wander into the world of podcasts! It is an absolutely delightful and thoroughly thoughtful interview between the presenter, Michael Cathcart, and the guest, Peter Mendelsund, about the importance of book jacket design and some of the things that Mendelsund does to make the books for which he designs stand out.
Now, you may be wondering how this relates to school library media. Well, students choose what they read based on the book's attractiveness. Do you want an example? Here you go:
These two books are currently on my to-read pile from the library. Weird, aren't they? But they are really attractive and striking in a kind of psychotic way. I have actually read Splintered before, and it is basically a modern and almost psychedelic Alice in Wonderland. It stuck with me, though--and a lot of that stickiness had to do with the striking book cover. Whoa! The vibrant colors, the girl's almost manic blue eye combined with her fuchsia lipstick, and the way that the wild green is enveloping her are all rather...memorable. Plus, all of those bugs are kind of creepy in a wild, weird way.
Contrast those covers with the covers of The Looking Glass Wars, though. Frankly, I didn't like this book as much. The cover is darker than that of Splintered...and so is the story. Other people might like it better, but I like the Spiderwick feel more than the steampunk feel.
Goodness. I go on all sorts of tangents, don't I? To go back to the podcast again, I learned about the value of getting to the root of what the author wants to say. Cover design is a matter of taking important symbols and ideas from the book and incorporating them into the cover in a way that is both interesting and honest, so that the intended audience finds the book.
By the way, that is exactly what this book doesn't quite manage to do. (It is a great book with a fabulous plot, but the cover is not at all suited to the story.)
As I said, I love the story, but the girl in the book, even though she is an elf, is not all sparkly, and the story isn't, either! The actual story is full of action, violence, and adventure--there is actually a lot of darkness (bloody death, poison, and monsters). Don't get me wrong; I love this book, and it deserves to have a devoted following, but THAT COVER. It's pretty, but it doesn't convey the true nature of the book! You would never guess from this that the story is more like The Lord of the Rings than Sleeping Beauty. The narrator is even a young decorated soldier who has retired from war because he has been gravely injured by magic. Does the cover communicate any of these important things? Does it attract the male audience that would most likely like the story? No. It doesn't. Instead, it has a fanciful, sparkly, gorgeous elf girl wearing a party dress that is not at all suited to adventures and action.
Well, after Mendelsund talks about the importance of designing book covers uniquely for the specific books, he and Cathcart go on a fascinating tangent about how they experience and judge books (and people) by sounds. Mendelsund starts off by saying that, when he reads books, he has an internal narrator that gives voice to the characters. He and Cathcart both agree that most readers probably have this [that lends an interesting perspective to the idea of teaching reading; perhaps poor readers do not have this internal narrating voice?]. They also talk about how someone's voice conveys an impression--an image, if you will. For instance, Cathcart explain how when people see him for the first time after listening to him for a long time, they are disappointed. Why? Because his voice comes with an image. If they have never seen him before, they will come up with an image of what he looks like because we do not interact with dislocated sounds. We engage with real people, and even when voices are projected over the radio, we don't really engage unless we think of those voices as belonging to real people.
Ick. All of my posts are so dreadfully long, so I'm going to wrap up. Basically, I thoroughly enjoyed the podcast that I listened to, and I learned a lot of interesting information. Mostly, I learned that we learn most effectively and interact best when we experience a variety of sensory appeals, such as sound and sight.
A World of Mirrors: Part I
Divergent: A World Without Mirrors
So in the last three weeks, I have been thinking about Divergent, Lent, and “Snow White” a lot. [Your probable reaction: Wait, what? What do they have in common?]
Self-reflection.
The human condition.
Sin.
Well, being a superficial person myself at times, I ended up fixating on the idea of mirrors as regards all of these concepts. My main questions are what mirrors mean to us, how we use them, and what they reflect about us—in the literal and figurative senses both. Also, because I am a literary nerd, I wanted to know how these ideas are reflected in literature. (See what I did there?) In this post, I will analyze the use of mirrors in Divergent.
If you have read Divergent, you might remember that mirrors play a fairly important part—specifically because they don’t. (Read on, and I promise that that sentence will make sense.) The main character, Tris, is originally from the Abnegation faction, which is generally characterized by selflessness. One of the things that is especially distinctive about her faction is that the members are only allowed to look in the mirror when they get their hair cut—about once every three months, I think.
This aspect of the book is really emphasized in the movie (which is extremely well done, by the way). In the movie, Tris’s simulations—induced hallucinations that create situations to which Tris must respond in order to learn to conquer her fears or behave in specific ways—are characterized by mirrors, and because she is from Abnegation, Tris always knows when she is in a simulation because she doesn’t like to look in mirrors. In fact, mirrors essentially don’t exist in her world because she has basically rejected the selfishness that her faction has associated with mirrors. Now, the book doesn’t connect mirrors and simulations in this way, but what it does emphasize is Tris’s selflessness. She is sometimes selfish, of course, but her defining characteristics are generally bravery and selflessness, and that is what the entire series builds up to. (That is, in fact, why I love the third book so much—but if you haven’t read it, you should do so, because I’m not giving the most epic spoiler of all time here!)
If you take both the book and the film interpretation of the book side by side, you get an interesting juxtaposition of mirror ideas. In the book, mirrors symbolize selfishness because the viewer is looking at himself or herself to the exclusion of others. A mirror’s reflection is simply a superficial reflection because it reflects one’s external appearance, which in Abnegation is worth much less than the strength and selflessness of one’s character. Abnegation’s purpose is to project outward give. In contrast, mirrors tempt us to compare ourselves with others or to lose ourselves in our own appearances.
In the movie, these same things are indicated, but in Tris’s simulations, the mirror triggers Tris’s recognition that “this isn’t real.” Now, if we take this phrase in the sense that her hallucination/simulation is not real, that is very true; the hallucination is induced by a serum which she has injected into her body. However, since the simulation reflects Tris’s mind truly, isn’t she basically saying that her fears and, by extension, her very mind and individuality are not real?
This idea of recognizing the simulation as “not real” brings up an interesting line of discussion about internal versus external appearances. For the Abnegation, external appearance means very little. Everyone tries to look the same (haircut, clothing, etc.), everyone tries to meld with the group, and everyone tries to be unselfish and giving at all times. This presents a sharp contrast with the Dauntless, who try to push the envelope with external appearances—hair dyes, clothing, and tattoos, among other things. They also tend to be cruel, though, because selfishness is encouraged—especially through the initiation process when initiates are ranked and the lowest-ranking initiates are made factionless (which basically means that they are forced into homelessness, hunger, and the worst jobs of the city).
But neither the Abnegation nor the Dauntless have the right idea, because the Abnegation reject any external differences while the Dauntless reject any internal differences (as evidenced by the way that the Divergent are mysteriously killed once they are discovered). Ideally, the mind and the body should both be important, but in different ways. After all, one of the things that makes Tris special—Divergent, actually—is that she is able to embrace more than one quality out of the five major qualities in the book (honesty, bravery, selflessness, intelligence, and kindness). So in essence her fundamental rejection of mirrors in the movie reflects her ability and even eagerness to look outward toward others and to become virtuous, even when she makes major mistakes.
Thus, one of the things that Divergent teaches is the contrast between external and internal reflection, especially as regards how we see ourselves and others because of the different kinds of reflection, and the book/movie also encourages discussion about values and priorities. The way that we reflect—whether we use self-reflection by dint of soul-searching or whether we use mirrors to show us our external appearances—shapes how we see others as well as how we see ourselves. Abnegation was the only faction of the five to forgo the use of mirrors most of the time, and all of the others were characterized by pride and selfishness next to their particular strengths/virtues.
Such an analysis of a world in which some characters try to live their lives without mirrors also prompts the question of what happens in a world that is essentially ruled by a mirror, though—such as the world of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which I will discuss in next week’s post.
So in the last three weeks, I have been thinking about Divergent, Lent, and “Snow White” a lot. [Your probable reaction: Wait, what? What do they have in common?]
Self-reflection.
The human condition.
Sin.
Well, being a superficial person myself at times, I ended up fixating on the idea of mirrors as regards all of these concepts. My main questions are what mirrors mean to us, how we use them, and what they reflect about us—in the literal and figurative senses both. Also, because I am a literary nerd, I wanted to know how these ideas are reflected in literature. (See what I did there?) In this post, I will analyze the use of mirrors in Divergent.
If you have read Divergent, you might remember that mirrors play a fairly important part—specifically because they don’t. (Read on, and I promise that that sentence will make sense.) The main character, Tris, is originally from the Abnegation faction, which is generally characterized by selflessness. One of the things that is especially distinctive about her faction is that the members are only allowed to look in the mirror when they get their hair cut—about once every three months, I think.
This aspect of the book is really emphasized in the movie (which is extremely well done, by the way). In the movie, Tris’s simulations—induced hallucinations that create situations to which Tris must respond in order to learn to conquer her fears or behave in specific ways—are characterized by mirrors, and because she is from Abnegation, Tris always knows when she is in a simulation because she doesn’t like to look in mirrors. In fact, mirrors essentially don’t exist in her world because she has basically rejected the selfishness that her faction has associated with mirrors. Now, the book doesn’t connect mirrors and simulations in this way, but what it does emphasize is Tris’s selflessness. She is sometimes selfish, of course, but her defining characteristics are generally bravery and selflessness, and that is what the entire series builds up to. (That is, in fact, why I love the third book so much—but if you haven’t read it, you should do so, because I’m not giving the most epic spoiler of all time here!)
If you take both the book and the film interpretation of the book side by side, you get an interesting juxtaposition of mirror ideas. In the book, mirrors symbolize selfishness because the viewer is looking at himself or herself to the exclusion of others. A mirror’s reflection is simply a superficial reflection because it reflects one’s external appearance, which in Abnegation is worth much less than the strength and selflessness of one’s character. Abnegation’s purpose is to project outward give. In contrast, mirrors tempt us to compare ourselves with others or to lose ourselves in our own appearances.
In the movie, these same things are indicated, but in Tris’s simulations, the mirror triggers Tris’s recognition that “this isn’t real.” Now, if we take this phrase in the sense that her hallucination/simulation is not real, that is very true; the hallucination is induced by a serum which she has injected into her body. However, since the simulation reflects Tris’s mind truly, isn’t she basically saying that her fears and, by extension, her very mind and individuality are not real?
 |
| "This isn't real..." Retrieved from http://www.divergentfans.com/profiles/blogs/final-chance-for-divergent-empathy-study Originally from the 2014 film Divergent |
This idea of recognizing the simulation as “not real” brings up an interesting line of discussion about internal versus external appearances. For the Abnegation, external appearance means very little. Everyone tries to look the same (haircut, clothing, etc.), everyone tries to meld with the group, and everyone tries to be unselfish and giving at all times. This presents a sharp contrast with the Dauntless, who try to push the envelope with external appearances—hair dyes, clothing, and tattoos, among other things. They also tend to be cruel, though, because selfishness is encouraged—especially through the initiation process when initiates are ranked and the lowest-ranking initiates are made factionless (which basically means that they are forced into homelessness, hunger, and the worst jobs of the city).
But neither the Abnegation nor the Dauntless have the right idea, because the Abnegation reject any external differences while the Dauntless reject any internal differences (as evidenced by the way that the Divergent are mysteriously killed once they are discovered). Ideally, the mind and the body should both be important, but in different ways. After all, one of the things that makes Tris special—Divergent, actually—is that she is able to embrace more than one quality out of the five major qualities in the book (honesty, bravery, selflessness, intelligence, and kindness). So in essence her fundamental rejection of mirrors in the movie reflects her ability and even eagerness to look outward toward others and to become virtuous, even when she makes major mistakes.
Thus, one of the things that Divergent teaches is the contrast between external and internal reflection, especially as regards how we see ourselves and others because of the different kinds of reflection, and the book/movie also encourages discussion about values and priorities. The way that we reflect—whether we use self-reflection by dint of soul-searching or whether we use mirrors to show us our external appearances—shapes how we see others as well as how we see ourselves. Abnegation was the only faction of the five to forgo the use of mirrors most of the time, and all of the others were characterized by pride and selfishness next to their particular strengths/virtues.
Such an analysis of a world in which some characters try to live their lives without mirrors also prompts the question of what happens in a world that is essentially ruled by a mirror, though—such as the world of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which I will discuss in next week’s post.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Snow White: A Brief Humorous Retelling
The queen is sitting by a window one snowy winter day, sewing with the window open and letting in the shrieking winter wind. In a sudden fit of clumsiness brought on by the inexplicable cold, she jabs her finger with the needle and three drops of blood fall onto the glittering snow that has drifted onto the black windowsill. Admiring the color combination that is the same as the cover of many frightening YA books today, she wishes she could have a child with skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony. Snow White is born, the queen dies, and the king remarries. The new queen, alas, is a vain woman who owns a magic mirror that tells her who the fairest in the land is whenever she asks nicely in poetry (“Flower, gleam and grow”—wait, wrong song). This is a certain recipe for disaster, for when Snow White reaches the age of seven, the mirror begins to say that Snow White is more beautiful than the queen. Oops.
Consumed by jealousy and turning all sorts of green (I’m sure that goes nicely with red, black, and white, wouldn’t you agree?), the queen orders her personal huntsman to take Snow White out to the forest, kill her, and take the girl’s lungs and liver to the queen as proof that the queen’s rival has been eliminated from the secret universal beauty pageant of death. The huntsman takes Snow White to the forest, Snow White begs for her life, and the huntsman lets her run into the forest. He then kills a boar and gives its lungs and liver to the queen, who promptly eats the vital organs with relish and mustard. In the meantime, the girl has found the dwarfs’ house, eaten their vegetarian suppers, and fallen asleep. When the dwarfs come home, they find her and make a deal with her that she will take care of the house (including knitting, sewing, cooking, and cleaning) in return for shelter and protection. (Kids, that’s the difference between bears and dwarfs.)
Consumed by jealousy and turning all sorts of green (I’m sure that goes nicely with red, black, and white, wouldn’t you agree?), the queen orders her personal huntsman to take Snow White out to the forest, kill her, and take the girl’s lungs and liver to the queen as proof that the queen’s rival has been eliminated from the secret universal beauty pageant of death. The huntsman takes Snow White to the forest, Snow White begs for her life, and the huntsman lets her run into the forest. He then kills a boar and gives its lungs and liver to the queen, who promptly eats the vital organs with relish and mustard. In the meantime, the girl has found the dwarfs’ house, eaten their vegetarian suppers, and fallen asleep. When the dwarfs come home, they find her and make a deal with her that she will take care of the house (including knitting, sewing, cooking, and cleaning) in return for shelter and protection. (Kids, that’s the difference between bears and dwarfs.)
Meanwhile, the queen looks in her mirror again and asks it all about how pretty she is—and it tells her that, lo and behold, Snow White is a thousand times fairer than she. Well, the queen can’t have that! So she dresses up as a peddler (where’s all that queenly beauty now?) and takes a hike over the river and through the woods to the dwarfs’ house. Now, the queen is rather cunning, so she has decided to appeal to Snow White’s vanity by giving free samples of pretty laced bodices. Snow White oohs and aahs and tries on the bodice, which the queen immediately laces up so tightly that Snow White can’t breathe and falls over in a dead faint. (Kids, that is also why it is a bad idea to take the free samples from salesmen.) The queen cackles and skips away gleefully, thinking that she has succeeded in killing her preteen rival.
Fortunately for Snow White, the dwarfs come home before she has entirely expired. They quickly notice that she has acquired new garb and decide to take it off because, after all, Snow White is even whiter than normal and is kind of collapsed on the floor. Maybe the bodice has something to do with it. They have to use a dagger to cut the laces, but as soon as they do, Snow White gasps and coughs and starts breathing again. The dwarfs help her finish her chores and decide that, now that she is okay again, they will go to work again the next day because RESPONSIBLE PARENTING.
Naturally, the definitely diabolical queen decides to preen in front of her mirror again, but is immediately informed that a certain little girl is still winning her secret beauty pageant. The queen grinds her teeth, puts on comb seller [peddler] garb, and heads out with a basket of poisoned combs. When she gets to the dwarfs’ cottage, Snow White still doesn’t notice that the comb seller is the same creepy queen that she grew up with for seven years, submits to the peddler’s flattery and offers of free comb samples, and lets the queen comb her hair. Remember, though, that the combs are poisoned, so as soon as one touches Snow White’s skin, the girl goes into anaphylactic shock and collapses on the floor. The queen makes her dramatic super-villain getaway, complete with terrifying evil chuckles and a victory dance. Again, though, the dwarfs come home, discover Snow White’s new hair decoration, take the comb out, and give Snow White some epinephrine. The next day, they still go to work because Snow White is still alive and obviously isn’t in any danger whatsoever.
The mirror keeps telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and the queen characteristically still can’t believe that Snow White is still alive! Panting just a little bit (she has, after all, trekked over the river and through the woods to the dwarfs’ house and back twice in recent days), she mixes up some super-powerful poison, puts it on half of an apple, puts on her a farmer’s wife outfit, and heads right back to the dwarfs’ house. This time, she eats half of the apple with Snow White, who is by now understandably a teensy bit skeptical about free samples. However, the queen eats the good-for-you half and feeds the gullible Snow White the poisoned half. A chunk of apple lodges in Snow White’s throat and she collapses. After the gloating queen has ridden off on her figurative broomstick, the dwarfs come home—but they don’t notice any new accoutrements on the girl, so they make the lovely Snow White a glass coffin and hold an elaborate funeral in which she is placed aboveground for display because RESPONSIBLE PARENTING.
A prince comes by. He sees the lovely girl, who is probably not much older than seven years old right now (remember that Disney made her a more romantically-appropriate 14-year-old), and instantly falls in love. He has to do some bargaining to get this new and attractive exhibit, but eventually the dwarfs allow him to take the girl in the glass coffin with him to his castle. While they are carrying the coffin, though, someone trips and jostles the coffin, and the apple piece is dislodged from Snow White’s throat. She awakens, hacks, and vomits the apple out. The prince and the dwarfs are delighted that the sleeping beauty is awake and the prince asks her to marry him. He somehow takes the little girl's gagging for a hearty "yes." For wedding entertainment, the prince invites the evil queen to the wedding, gives her red-hot shoes, and forces her to dance herself to death in them. Everyone lives happily ever after except for the evil queen, who still ends up losing her beauty pageant.
The End.
Fortunately for Snow White, the dwarfs come home before she has entirely expired. They quickly notice that she has acquired new garb and decide to take it off because, after all, Snow White is even whiter than normal and is kind of collapsed on the floor. Maybe the bodice has something to do with it. They have to use a dagger to cut the laces, but as soon as they do, Snow White gasps and coughs and starts breathing again. The dwarfs help her finish her chores and decide that, now that she is okay again, they will go to work again the next day because RESPONSIBLE PARENTING.
Naturally, the definitely diabolical queen decides to preen in front of her mirror again, but is immediately informed that a certain little girl is still winning her secret beauty pageant. The queen grinds her teeth, puts on comb seller [peddler] garb, and heads out with a basket of poisoned combs. When she gets to the dwarfs’ cottage, Snow White still doesn’t notice that the comb seller is the same creepy queen that she grew up with for seven years, submits to the peddler’s flattery and offers of free comb samples, and lets the queen comb her hair. Remember, though, that the combs are poisoned, so as soon as one touches Snow White’s skin, the girl goes into anaphylactic shock and collapses on the floor. The queen makes her dramatic super-villain getaway, complete with terrifying evil chuckles and a victory dance. Again, though, the dwarfs come home, discover Snow White’s new hair decoration, take the comb out, and give Snow White some epinephrine. The next day, they still go to work because Snow White is still alive and obviously isn’t in any danger whatsoever.
The mirror keeps telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and the queen characteristically still can’t believe that Snow White is still alive! Panting just a little bit (she has, after all, trekked over the river and through the woods to the dwarfs’ house and back twice in recent days), she mixes up some super-powerful poison, puts it on half of an apple, puts on her a farmer’s wife outfit, and heads right back to the dwarfs’ house. This time, she eats half of the apple with Snow White, who is by now understandably a teensy bit skeptical about free samples. However, the queen eats the good-for-you half and feeds the gullible Snow White the poisoned half. A chunk of apple lodges in Snow White’s throat and she collapses. After the gloating queen has ridden off on her figurative broomstick, the dwarfs come home—but they don’t notice any new accoutrements on the girl, so they make the lovely Snow White a glass coffin and hold an elaborate funeral in which she is placed aboveground for display because RESPONSIBLE PARENTING.
A prince comes by. He sees the lovely girl, who is probably not much older than seven years old right now (remember that Disney made her a more romantically-appropriate 14-year-old), and instantly falls in love. He has to do some bargaining to get this new and attractive exhibit, but eventually the dwarfs allow him to take the girl in the glass coffin with him to his castle. While they are carrying the coffin, though, someone trips and jostles the coffin, and the apple piece is dislodged from Snow White’s throat. She awakens, hacks, and vomits the apple out. The prince and the dwarfs are delighted that the sleeping beauty is awake and the prince asks her to marry him. He somehow takes the little girl's gagging for a hearty "yes." For wedding entertainment, the prince invites the evil queen to the wedding, gives her red-hot shoes, and forces her to dance herself to death in them. Everyone lives happily ever after except for the evil queen, who still ends up losing her beauty pageant.
The End.
YouTube and Booktalks
Guess what? I made and uploaded a YouTube video for the first time a few weeks ago!
This is a booktalk that I created for a school library media class a few weeks ago. I used PowerPoint to make it and experimented with recording music clips and voice. I will be the first to admit that it is by no means a perfect presentation, but I had a lot of fun with it and hope it might be interesting to watch.
This booktalk is centered focused on books that take old ideas and twist them in new ways, such as Howl's Moving Castle (also see the spontaneous conversational review I posted on this blog a few weeks ago!), Everything I Know About Pirates, William Shakespeare's Star Wars, The False Prince, and The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales. I was most interested in combining musical selections with books--you would not believe how long I spent on iTunes choosing just the right song for each book! (I mean, some were obvious--but others were so difficult!).
I honestly think that booktalks are so flexible--we can do so much with them. The original assignment was to just do a booktalk and to have fun with it, but I love PowerPoint (probably too much) and wanted to experiment with matching books and music, as I said. After all, I have been playing the violin for seventeen years now and adore music and books both, so why not match them? And while we're at it, why not add visual imagery to the mix?
Saturday, March 7, 2015
G.K. Chesterton, Twitter, and the Lost Art of the Story
Twitter. It's all the rage. #tweetyourheartout #quickiebutgoodie #hashtagsgetoldfast
I'm new to this. Before now, I have used hashtags only on Facebook and only rarely.
VERY rarely. In fact, I have viewed hashtags and their ilk with a certain amount of disgust and skepticism.
I am increasingly realizing that I am not a "techie" but am actually a bit technophobic. I don't jump on the technological bandwagons very fast. This year, in fact, is the first time I have ever bought a brand-new computer. It figures that it would need repairs less than five months after I bought it when EVERY OTHER USED COMPUTER I have EVER used has lasted approximately 2+ years with no major issues.
Sorry. Tangent.
Alright. Let me approach this from a different angle. It is a seemingly unrelated angle, but I promise that I do have a point.
I just finished reading The Blatchford Controversies and all of the Father Brown mysteries by G.K. Chesterton this week. At first, they seem hugely different: The Blatchford Controversies are four essays about Christianity as opposed to Rationalism, while the Father Brown mysteries are short stories about a short, round priest who solves mysteries in his spare time--and quite a varied arrangement of mysteries they are! In total, I have read 993 pages about murders, thefts, vendettas, lies, peculiar puzzles, and oddities in the last three weeks.
It seems like there is quite a difference between The Blatchford Controversies and the Father Brown mysteries, correct? Well, on the surface, yes--but I can name two major similarities that tie them together. First, they are short works (essays/short stories). Second, they are about mankind and the Fall into sin, which fundamentally links them together and practically makes them into a series about the same thing. Brilliant.
But, then again, G.K. Chesterton was indeed brilliant.
However, the fact that I am being asked to use Twitter for a college class right on the heels of reading G.K. Chesterton, of all people, brings the very nature of writing into question. What is information and what is worth sharing with the world? I think that brilliant thinkers of the past and the modern man would have very different definitions of these concepts--and I am not convinced that we have the right of it today.
One thing that I was thinking the entire time that I was reading the Father Brown mysteries--all in as quick a succession as I could--was that the very nature of short stories is disjointed. You see, I like novels. I love novels because I get an in-depth understanding of a world, of the setting, of the structural setup of the government or moral system, and, of course, of the characters. Often, novels deal with the growth and maturation of characters and the development of conflicts. I love that. Everything feels seamless, and if a novel is really well-written, I feel like I am being gifted not with an entire story or entire life, but a section of a time in a far-off place. The length of the story only adds to my enjoyment of and investment in the story [if it is done well].
I have, of course, read books and series which are clearly too long. Christopher Paolini's Inheritance series is an example. By the end, I felt that we were given far too much information and too much ending so that everything was wrapped up so well that even the reader couldn't imagine anything important happening in the future. Either that, or we are too bored and overloaded to care.
But short stories are a different breed entirely. To go back to the Father Brown mysteries, I struggled mightily with the format of the short story form for quite a while. I would read a story, finish it, and then--move on to something different. I realized this pretty early on, and it is easy to find out what caused the disjointedness: the short story itself. I might start reading on page 1, the story finishes on page 23, and there is a new short story that begins on page 24. Guess where I am likely to stop reading for the evening? Page 23, of course. I am generally a speed-reader and can read a 400-page YA novel in a day. However, I have found it nearly impossible to read Chesterton short stories at the same rate because the everlasting tendency is to read in chunks, and when the chunks are laid out so easily in the form of story endings, it's hard to read a bunch of beginnings and endings seamlessly.
Now, I initially thought that that was a bad thing. I don't like feeling like I can't keep my train of thought. However, after thinking more about the novelty of being unable to read short stories like the Father Brown mysteries back to back, I realized that perhaps this disjointedness may possibly be a good thing--in some situations. For instance, G.K. Chesterton was incredibly gifted at putting profound concepts into little bits of information, and he structured his stories so that a reader could get a certain bit of information in about 20 pages and then would (very naturally) stop, do something else, and ruminate about the story in the meantime. To read the stories back-to-back like I tried to do would actually destroy the impact of the story.
Of course, being an unwise college student, I had checked out the Father Brown Omnibus from the library, which meant that I had a due date to which I had to adhere. Furthermore, I am rather peculiar in that I like to keep a book journal and am rather obsessed with finishing nearly EVERYTHING that I start to read, so it was a point of personal pride to finish reading 993 pages of short stories in less than three weeks. As such, I finished doing so, even continuing to read as much as possible while struggling with the influenza--but, on the other hand, I did blatantly disregard the point of the short story structure.
Let's focus a little more. The short story, with all its faults (it does necessarily eliminate the fluidity and comprehensive approach that a novel has, after all), is still a mostly coherent and comprehensible whole story. I may require 993 pages of short stories about the same character to even come close to understanding him and his world, but the short story may still be a self-contained story.
On the other hand, we are moving with ever-increasing speed toward a full acceptance of incomplete story structures. (See, I told you I had a point!) To get back to the topic on hand, I have been a relatively frequent user of Facebook for the last several years and have just gotten onto Twitter last week. What I have noticed, though, is that neither one of these social media sites is even capable of creating a coherent story. We have lost the story in our lives.
Let me say that again: WE HAVE LOST THE STORY IN OUR LIVES.
This is not a new thought, and it is not unique to me. I have heard of it from others and have read about it. But it is still true. If you look with a discerning eye at social media like Facebook and Twitter, what will you notice? Well, that despite the fact that we seem to be posting every inconsequential detail of our lives for the whole world to see, there is no element of a story. We do not often see even simple stories on social media websites.
So what DO we see? Well, we learn that Jane went to the store and got milk, Peter stayed at home and played video games, John went to work and was bored, George was sick, Anne got a new cat, and Susan read a good book. We also learn that Jake went to class, that Ellie was sad, that Pam broke up with her boyfriend, and that Lewis slept until 10:30 and missed his bus.
Do you see what I am getting at? There is no sense of a story. All of these bits of detail are just that--bits. On a news feed, we read these bits of information and barely spare a thought to them because, even if Anne writes three posts about her new cat and comes even marginally close to actually telling a story (horrors!), chances are that these posts will be split up by the totally unrelated facts about Jane's trip to the store and Lewis's missed class. And we don't really notice because we don't really care a whole lot, do we?
So what that means is that even if we read two hundred posts about our ten closest friends' private lives, chances are that we won't actually get to know them much better. We don't know The Story of their lives (those words are not capitalized in vain), so we don't really know our friends at all. That can only come from actual contact with them, right? So maybe social media really doesn't have much of a point at all, or, at the very least, it doesn't fulfill its original purpose--to help us tell our stories. And how much can we really know our own stories without understanding others' stories as well? Doesn't the very idea of story come from relationship?
Well, I'm finally back to Twitter. Twitter, in my mind, exacerbates the problem. Even Facebook doesn't create a sense of disjointedness quite as deliberately as Twitter does. How dare I say that? Well, Twitter imposes a strict restriction of 140 characters per post, if memory serves rightly. 140 characters. You can't tell a story in 140 characters, and you sure can't tell it in a set of posts of 140 characters each. Good luck if you try--because you are not the only person your audience is following. If you try telling the story of your life on Twitter, you will probably end up being benignly interrupted by a host of other posts about others' lives. Of course, most people have probably figured this out already, which is why what I have seen of Twitter is filled with links and hashtags and things that attempt to create a greater story. But you know what? I think that even these measures are doomed to failure. If you are inundated with 20 brand new Twitter posts in the last two hours and each one has links and hashtags, you ARE NOT going to follow all of those links to figure out what the overall story being told is. We may be lazy as a human race, but we are also beset by the demands and limits of Time.
Oh, and even if you try to tell your life story with Twitter--even with Facebook--you will be pressured to make it short, quick, and to the point. The emphasis in our information-inundated world is on quick communication (140 characters, remember?). Make it snappy! No one has the time for you! Make it short and fast, and while you're at it, DON'T make us think too hard! The more inconsequential your posts are, the better--because we can read them and then ignore them. Thinking takes time, and we don't have that. That's why we have txtspk--LOL, JK, :), etc. Because not only don't we have the time to read and digest, we don't have the time to write and communicate.
Given all this depressing information, what are social media websites good for? In particular, what is Twitter good for--especially in the world of libraries and school libraries? Well, what I highly recommend is that we encourage our community members to reclaim narrative in their lives by creating strong personal relationships. And, of course, we can help do this by encouraging our social media followers to visit our libraries and learn about Story from books, essays, and short stories, to name just a few. We can begin by advertising--within 140 characters, of course!--our new materials and the events we host at our libraries. Because once people venture into our libraries, the world is THEIRS. The world is the oyster of each and every library patron who realizes the impossible preciousness of relationship and narrative...and we can use even story-crushing social media websites to share the world with our drowning community.
Because that is the reason we are here.
I'm new to this. Before now, I have used hashtags only on Facebook and only rarely.
VERY rarely. In fact, I have viewed hashtags and their ilk with a certain amount of disgust and skepticism.
I am increasingly realizing that I am not a "techie" but am actually a bit technophobic. I don't jump on the technological bandwagons very fast. This year, in fact, is the first time I have ever bought a brand-new computer. It figures that it would need repairs less than five months after I bought it when EVERY OTHER USED COMPUTER I have EVER used has lasted approximately 2+ years with no major issues.
Sorry. Tangent.
Alright. Let me approach this from a different angle. It is a seemingly unrelated angle, but I promise that I do have a point.
I just finished reading The Blatchford Controversies and all of the Father Brown mysteries by G.K. Chesterton this week. At first, they seem hugely different: The Blatchford Controversies are four essays about Christianity as opposed to Rationalism, while the Father Brown mysteries are short stories about a short, round priest who solves mysteries in his spare time--and quite a varied arrangement of mysteries they are! In total, I have read 993 pages about murders, thefts, vendettas, lies, peculiar puzzles, and oddities in the last three weeks.
It seems like there is quite a difference between The Blatchford Controversies and the Father Brown mysteries, correct? Well, on the surface, yes--but I can name two major similarities that tie them together. First, they are short works (essays/short stories). Second, they are about mankind and the Fall into sin, which fundamentally links them together and practically makes them into a series about the same thing. Brilliant.
But, then again, G.K. Chesterton was indeed brilliant.
However, the fact that I am being asked to use Twitter for a college class right on the heels of reading G.K. Chesterton, of all people, brings the very nature of writing into question. What is information and what is worth sharing with the world? I think that brilliant thinkers of the past and the modern man would have very different definitions of these concepts--and I am not convinced that we have the right of it today.
One thing that I was thinking the entire time that I was reading the Father Brown mysteries--all in as quick a succession as I could--was that the very nature of short stories is disjointed. You see, I like novels. I love novels because I get an in-depth understanding of a world, of the setting, of the structural setup of the government or moral system, and, of course, of the characters. Often, novels deal with the growth and maturation of characters and the development of conflicts. I love that. Everything feels seamless, and if a novel is really well-written, I feel like I am being gifted not with an entire story or entire life, but a section of a time in a far-off place. The length of the story only adds to my enjoyment of and investment in the story [if it is done well].
I have, of course, read books and series which are clearly too long. Christopher Paolini's Inheritance series is an example. By the end, I felt that we were given far too much information and too much ending so that everything was wrapped up so well that even the reader couldn't imagine anything important happening in the future. Either that, or we are too bored and overloaded to care.
But short stories are a different breed entirely. To go back to the Father Brown mysteries, I struggled mightily with the format of the short story form for quite a while. I would read a story, finish it, and then--move on to something different. I realized this pretty early on, and it is easy to find out what caused the disjointedness: the short story itself. I might start reading on page 1, the story finishes on page 23, and there is a new short story that begins on page 24. Guess where I am likely to stop reading for the evening? Page 23, of course. I am generally a speed-reader and can read a 400-page YA novel in a day. However, I have found it nearly impossible to read Chesterton short stories at the same rate because the everlasting tendency is to read in chunks, and when the chunks are laid out so easily in the form of story endings, it's hard to read a bunch of beginnings and endings seamlessly.
Now, I initially thought that that was a bad thing. I don't like feeling like I can't keep my train of thought. However, after thinking more about the novelty of being unable to read short stories like the Father Brown mysteries back to back, I realized that perhaps this disjointedness may possibly be a good thing--in some situations. For instance, G.K. Chesterton was incredibly gifted at putting profound concepts into little bits of information, and he structured his stories so that a reader could get a certain bit of information in about 20 pages and then would (very naturally) stop, do something else, and ruminate about the story in the meantime. To read the stories back-to-back like I tried to do would actually destroy the impact of the story.
Of course, being an unwise college student, I had checked out the Father Brown Omnibus from the library, which meant that I had a due date to which I had to adhere. Furthermore, I am rather peculiar in that I like to keep a book journal and am rather obsessed with finishing nearly EVERYTHING that I start to read, so it was a point of personal pride to finish reading 993 pages of short stories in less than three weeks. As such, I finished doing so, even continuing to read as much as possible while struggling with the influenza--but, on the other hand, I did blatantly disregard the point of the short story structure.
Let's focus a little more. The short story, with all its faults (it does necessarily eliminate the fluidity and comprehensive approach that a novel has, after all), is still a mostly coherent and comprehensible whole story. I may require 993 pages of short stories about the same character to even come close to understanding him and his world, but the short story may still be a self-contained story.
On the other hand, we are moving with ever-increasing speed toward a full acceptance of incomplete story structures. (See, I told you I had a point!) To get back to the topic on hand, I have been a relatively frequent user of Facebook for the last several years and have just gotten onto Twitter last week. What I have noticed, though, is that neither one of these social media sites is even capable of creating a coherent story. We have lost the story in our lives.
Let me say that again: WE HAVE LOST THE STORY IN OUR LIVES.
This is not a new thought, and it is not unique to me. I have heard of it from others and have read about it. But it is still true. If you look with a discerning eye at social media like Facebook and Twitter, what will you notice? Well, that despite the fact that we seem to be posting every inconsequential detail of our lives for the whole world to see, there is no element of a story. We do not often see even simple stories on social media websites.
So what DO we see? Well, we learn that Jane went to the store and got milk, Peter stayed at home and played video games, John went to work and was bored, George was sick, Anne got a new cat, and Susan read a good book. We also learn that Jake went to class, that Ellie was sad, that Pam broke up with her boyfriend, and that Lewis slept until 10:30 and missed his bus.
Do you see what I am getting at? There is no sense of a story. All of these bits of detail are just that--bits. On a news feed, we read these bits of information and barely spare a thought to them because, even if Anne writes three posts about her new cat and comes even marginally close to actually telling a story (horrors!), chances are that these posts will be split up by the totally unrelated facts about Jane's trip to the store and Lewis's missed class. And we don't really notice because we don't really care a whole lot, do we?
So what that means is that even if we read two hundred posts about our ten closest friends' private lives, chances are that we won't actually get to know them much better. We don't know The Story of their lives (those words are not capitalized in vain), so we don't really know our friends at all. That can only come from actual contact with them, right? So maybe social media really doesn't have much of a point at all, or, at the very least, it doesn't fulfill its original purpose--to help us tell our stories. And how much can we really know our own stories without understanding others' stories as well? Doesn't the very idea of story come from relationship?
Well, I'm finally back to Twitter. Twitter, in my mind, exacerbates the problem. Even Facebook doesn't create a sense of disjointedness quite as deliberately as Twitter does. How dare I say that? Well, Twitter imposes a strict restriction of 140 characters per post, if memory serves rightly. 140 characters. You can't tell a story in 140 characters, and you sure can't tell it in a set of posts of 140 characters each. Good luck if you try--because you are not the only person your audience is following. If you try telling the story of your life on Twitter, you will probably end up being benignly interrupted by a host of other posts about others' lives. Of course, most people have probably figured this out already, which is why what I have seen of Twitter is filled with links and hashtags and things that attempt to create a greater story. But you know what? I think that even these measures are doomed to failure. If you are inundated with 20 brand new Twitter posts in the last two hours and each one has links and hashtags, you ARE NOT going to follow all of those links to figure out what the overall story being told is. We may be lazy as a human race, but we are also beset by the demands and limits of Time.
Oh, and even if you try to tell your life story with Twitter--even with Facebook--you will be pressured to make it short, quick, and to the point. The emphasis in our information-inundated world is on quick communication (140 characters, remember?). Make it snappy! No one has the time for you! Make it short and fast, and while you're at it, DON'T make us think too hard! The more inconsequential your posts are, the better--because we can read them and then ignore them. Thinking takes time, and we don't have that. That's why we have txtspk--LOL, JK, :), etc. Because not only don't we have the time to read and digest, we don't have the time to write and communicate.
:'(
Given all this depressing information, what are social media websites good for? In particular, what is Twitter good for--especially in the world of libraries and school libraries? Well, what I highly recommend is that we encourage our community members to reclaim narrative in their lives by creating strong personal relationships. And, of course, we can help do this by encouraging our social media followers to visit our libraries and learn about Story from books, essays, and short stories, to name just a few. We can begin by advertising--within 140 characters, of course!--our new materials and the events we host at our libraries. Because once people venture into our libraries, the world is THEIRS. The world is the oyster of each and every library patron who realizes the impossible preciousness of relationship and narrative...and we can use even story-crushing social media websites to share the world with our drowning community.
Because that is the reason we are here.
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