Children's Book Group Topic: April 2006
Biography
There is a natural nosiness in even the youngest of us, a wish to know all the crazy details about other people's lives. Left to itself, this can fizzle into a subscription to National Enquirer; tended carefully, it can be an important part of education. History, after all, is nothing more than a great tangled tapestry of lives. Reading the life story of a historical figure leads inevitably and easily to learning something about the context of that life. I learned about the Protestant Reformation not because I cared but because I'd become interested in the first Elizabeth; and I knew nothing about Poland under the rule of the Russians until I went through my prolonged I-want-to-be-Madame-Curie-when-I-grow-up stage and read everything I could about her, starting with Eve Curie's moving biography of her famous mother. (For those interested in such things, there is a new book out about the entire Curie family, including Eve, who was a battlefield reporter as well as biographer, and Irene Curie, the older daughter, who with her husband won a Nobel Prize much in the manner that her parents took one together. Look for The Curies: A Biography of the Most Controversial Family in Science by Denis Brian at your local library. If they don't have a copy, throw a hissy fit right there at the check-out desk until they agree to order one. They'll never let you in the place again, but you'll have performed a good deed for your community and I'm sure they'll thank you for it. Really.)
Anyway. Our little group was extremely enthusiastic about this month's topic. Well, it is a winner. Everyone is interested in someone, after all.
To get the ball rolling, our wonderful librarian read a terrific picture-book biography called Thank You, Sarah: The Woman Who Saved Thanksgiving. Sarah is Sarah Hale, one of those people you don't know that you know until you learn a little about them and hit yourself on the head in a fond and comic gesture of exasperation (use an open hand, please, and put down the soda can first -- we don't want to pass from comic to tragic here) and say "She's the one who did that? How come I've never heard of her?" In this case, Sarah Hale is the author of "Mary Had a Little Lamb." I'm willing to bet you didn't know that poem had an author. I sure didn't. It seems like one of those things that just happened, doesn't it?
Thank You, Sarah, which was written by one of Hale's descendants, focuses on her other achievements. Hale fought for equal education opportunities for girls and women, and against corporal punishment, corsets, and slavery. She was the first female magazine editor in America, and published some of the most famous authors of her time -- Longfellow, Poe, Dickens, Hawthorne -- as well as doing a great deal of writing of her own. All while rearing her children single-handedly after being widowed during her fifth pregnancy.
Interestingly, this superwoman didn't consider herself a feminist. Like many intelligent and accomplished women of the nineteenth-century, including Virginia Woolf's mother, Sarah Hale disagreed strongly with the growing women's movement. How ironic that this woman who considered herself a traditionalist was one of the most influential people of her time.
Other than the little lamb poem, probably her most memorable work was her tireless campaign to make Thanksgiving a national holiday. Many states celebrated the holiday, but many didn't, and those that did didn't all agree on the date. Hale loved the holiday, and wrote editorials and letters to politicians about why it ought to be a holiday the whole country could share. Many of her readers agreed, and started writing letters of their own. More states began adopting Thanksgiving as a holiday, but Sarah didn't stop pushing until, after thirty-eight years of writing and four presidents telling her forget it, Lincoln declared the fourth Thursday in November a national Thanksgiving holiday. Regardless of the mixed feelings some may have about Thanksgiving and what it symbolizes, you have to admire the hard work, unfailing determination, and faith that brought it into (official) being. This book is a fun and lively read for all ages, with gorgeous illustrations and a few small-print pages in the back packed with information about Hale and her life and times that older readers (and educators) will enjoy. Also, check the copyright page for a lovely note from the illustrator.
After a terrific beginning like that, the kids were wild to talk about the biographies they'd enjoyed on their own. Olivia had read Victoria Sherrow's Benjamin Franklin, an excellent junior biography in the Barnes & Noble "History Maker Bios" series. Olivia liked the fact that Franklin was so many different things -- writer, inventor, scientist, politician -- and that he accomplished so much in spite of humble beginnings. We all applauded when she mentioned that he started America's first lending library. My son demonstrated an interest in also reading this book by subtly snatching it out of her hands the second she stopped talking. Fortunately, they're friends, so she knows she'll see it again. After we got home, he read the first chapter or two by himself (his first foray into silent biography reading), and then we read it together to the end. He hasn't lost enthusiasm for the subject, and we're now halfway through Robert Lawson's Ben and Me. (The story is sweet and funny, and the illustrations endearing, but the language is slightly archaic, so I have to do a fair amount of translating.)
Then it was James' turn to read. We knew, because he told us. James' participation in the book group reminds me of when I was a nanny and insisted that the little sister of the family, then three years old, should be allowed to play Uno with big brother and me if she wanted to, which she always did. She couldn't follow the play very well, so we'd indicate when it was her turn and she'd just put down whatever card caught her fancy. Her brother strenuously objected to this at first, but in time we all came to enjoy the wild card aspect of having her in the game. James lends a similar element of unpredictability to our meetings, since he's old enough to get up and talk about a book -- in fact, he insists -- but a little too young to feel married to any particular topic. We are usually treated to a brief discussion of whatever he read just before leaving the house, or occasionally a title he picked up from a library shelf while waiting for the book group meeting to begin.
In this case, it was a picture book about whales. I think that's perfectly within the boundaries of this month's chosen subject. Whales are people too, you know. And I learned a great deal about them at this meeting. I learned that blue whales swim in the Arctic Ocean, and eat krill. I learned that there are two kinds of whales: toothed and baleen. Toothed are like Shamu -- one big smile and everyone runs away screaming (hey, they're called killer whales for a reason); baleen are the ones that are huge and harmless and might at any moment figure out that they could swallow any human swimmer whole, but for now are content to strain seawater through their brush-like dental equipment and survive on the tiny, shrimp-like creatures that get stuck in there. I also heard about how the man whale found the lady one. Then there was a baby whale. "And what does he eat?" his ever-patient mother asked, wanting to make the point that baby mammals nurse even when they live in chill arctic waters. "Krill," James responded promptly. His mother looked surprised. "Really? Does the baby eat krill?" James waxed indignant at this. "I was talking about when he grows up to be a man," he said. I know it's always useless to try to explain after the fact how hilarious something a kid said was, since what's screamingly funny in person is only faintly amusing at best in print, but for that one I had to try. James is a very respectful kid, but his eyes were just flashing when his mother seemed to be accusing him of making a mistake. I mean, come on! He wasn't talking about now! He was talking about when the whale...oh, all right, I'm stopping. I've stopped.
Andrew, James' older brother, spoke about George Washington. He gave a good brief overview of his life -- born in the colony of Virginia; French & Indian war; Continental Congress; crossing the Delaware river; people wanted him to be king but he refused. (No, he said more than that. Those were just some major points he touched on. I'm abbreviating for your sake. You can thank me later.) I was most impressed by the fact that he'd carefully marked his biography with index cards at the pages where he wanted to show a picture, and written concise notes on the cards so that there was no danger of his either forgetting what he'd wanted to say or just reading the whole page he'd stopped on (always a temptation, especially to the younger set).
Mara was next, and we were all very proud of her. Mara gets very excited about any subject she decides to learn about, and when she's excited she wants to teach everyone present everything she's learned. As a biographer in miniature, I sympathize with how difficult it is not to tell everything when you've done all that research and learned a lot of really cool stuff. Mara is a born leader, teacher, and public speaker, and it's been really hard for her to edit down to the five-minute marker we're all struggling to abide by. One thing that made it easier for her was knowing that although we needed her to keep it brief when she was giving her oral report, there's a table set aside for the children to put any pictures or essays or other work related to their subject, and people could (and would) come and look at her more detailed report after the talking was all done.
So. Mara gave a beautifully concise report on her book, Girls Who Looked Under Rocks, which is about six women naturalists. One of those is Mara's all-time favorite, Jane Goodall. Mara and I have been screaming swooning Goodall fans ever since we were lucky enough to see Dr. Jane give a talk at the Huntington Museum a while back. Let me just say really quickly here that if you ever have a similar chance to hear Jane Goodall speak, take it. Drive five hours if you have to. Camp out in a sleeping bag all night to get tickets. Do whatever it takes. You will never regret it. As much as you think you admire her now (and unless you're some kind of sicko creep, you do admire Jane Goodall -- some things in life are just a given), that's nothing to how you'll feel after you've had the in-person Dr. J. experience. She is a goddess. Some people throw that kind of phrase around lightly. I don't. She will never remember who I am, and I will never be the same after seeing her. When she looks at you even just to say a word or two (and she will take the time to do that if it's at all physically possible, because that's the kind of person she is), she could be surrounded by five hundred screaming maniacs (and generally is) but she looks at you as if you're the only person in the world. I was delighted to learn from her own writing that part of the reason for that intent gaze is that Dr. Jane has a neurological condition that renders it difficult-to-impossible for her to remember faces. It's always nice to know you have a little something in common with someone you admire. Provided it's not, you know, fin rot or something.
Anyway. Mara was brief and to the point, and we all applauded, and then Philip got up to talk about Daniel Boone. He had an amazing stand-up display of photos and drawings, because Philip comes from one of those uber-homeschooling families that routinely does things like visit the childhood home of Daniel Boone. So he (Philip) really knew his stuff. I'm rather annoyed just this second, because I was jotting down notes as he spoke about Boone, and I have something here about a girl and a torn apron. I know I thought at the time that those words would be enough to remind me later what he was talking about, and maybe if I'd run straight home and turned these notes into this report, I might actually know what the heck I was referring to. As it is, days later, I have no idea. So if there are any Daniel Boone experts out there, I'd appreciate your dropping me a line and explaining what the deal is. Thank you.
It was a small group and Philip was the last speaker, so we adjourned to admire Mara's 500-page treatise on primatology and to gather books for next month's topic, which is: science.
Science? Hey! Madame Curie, here I come!
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