Up for Discussion- Starting the Conversation

What makes a book notable to children? Why do children read and reread some books? Why do they pass some on to their peers and keep others strictly for their personal edification? What makes a book worth talking about with children and by children? Working with young people as well as with their literature has prompted me to consider again and again what intrigues and engages readers as well as what keeps them reading. Of all the books published, which ones have been or should be talked about with or by young readers?

These questions are now even more personal. Our car pool has become an informal book-discussion group; it's a rolling booktalk. The six kids range from kindergarten to seventh grade; my own son is in second grade. I always enjoy the drive. It provides a chance to hear what the kids are thinking about as well as a relatively peaceful, generally uninterrupted time to talk with them.

Like the world we live in, our drive-time talks have changed since school started in September. Current events and their ramifications still creep into the conversation, but the talk often returns to books, not surprisingly since we are all readers. The children want to talk about books that provide insight into what happened on and since September 11th. But also, I believe they read to affirm that they are not powerless, that they have the inner resources to handle the uncertainties that continue to impact them either directly or indirectly. They seem to recognize instinctively the power of literature to introduce, to clarify, and to illuminate; they know that books sometimes provide information, and other times escape. And children seem to return to the books that work on several levels, those that are well written and illustrated, those that demonstrate a respect for the form and for readers.

The kids were immediately intrigued when I told them about a deliciously scary book I'd read. It was Joseph Bruchac's Skeleton Man (HarperCollins, 2001). In it, 11-year-old Molly must find her inner strength when her parents suddenly disappear and a tall, thin man who alleges to be her uncle appears and is given custody of her. Her Mohawk father's story of the skeleton monster continues to recur to Molly, especially in her dreams. She narrates her story as it happens, in the present tense, to create and sustain an amazing level of tension as the plot unfolds at breakneck speed. Traditional Indian beliefs are blended into the narrative to shape a compelling, modern tale with a deeply satisfying conclusion.

As I talked about this book, I could tell from the children's questions that I'd stumbled onto something. There were strong parallels between Molly's story and what these children were living. When Molly found herself suddenly alone, without the protection of her parents, she was-just like these kids-confronted by a mysterious threat. She was victorious, however, because of her own resolve and the ability to find an internal strength.

'What else have you read that you like?' asked the seventh grader. I had just read Mildred Taylor's The Land (Phyllis Fogelman, 2001) and was struck by the tenacity and wisdom of Paul-Edward Logan in this prequel to Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry (Dial, 1976). Like Molly, Paul-Edward was a memorable character with enormous resolve and strength. Son of a white plantation owner and a former slave, he was 14 years old when he ran away from home to build his own life. He learned a trade and worked undeterred so that he could ultimately buy land. Paul-Edward's story, based on the author's family history, reveals details of post-Civil War life-backbreaking work in an untouched land, the hurt of hatred, the triumph of a dream realized-all of which are rooted in what contemporary children need: individual strength amid the strength of family and community.

Soon after, this same seventh grader recommended to me Robin McKinley's Spindle's End (Putnam, 2000), which led her to McKinley's Beauty (HarperCollins, 1978) (and she was surprised that I had read them). These novelizations of familiar, romantic tales ('Sleeping Beauty' and 'Beauty and the Beast,' respectively) provided her with an opportunity to see strong protagonists in a fantastic but recognizable context. I then suggested that she read Jennifer L. Holm's Boston Jane: An Adventure (HarperCollins, 2001) to meet another heroine in a very different setting and distant time. Jane also had to rely on her intellect and determination to survive the difficult 19th-century voyage from Philadelphia and find her new life in the rugged Washington territory on the other side of the country.

From fantasy and historical fiction, my young readers made the leap to nonfiction, through some sterling biographical presentations. Sue Macy's Bull's-Eye: A Photobiography of Annie Oakley (National Geographic, 2001) separates truth from legend in this fascinating story of the larger-than-life sharpshooter who has been the subject of television shows, plays, and movies. Fortunately, there are increasing numbers of informational books that are visually exciting, using carefully researched primary-source materials, handsomely presented in fluid texts. Candid presentations allow children to become eyewitnesses to events, getting acquainted with people, places, and times that initially may have seemed distant or alien to them.

My seventh-grade reader was enthralled by Jane Goodall's The Chimpanzees I Love: Saving Their World and Ours (Scholastic, 2001). This striking book not only takes a look at Goodall's chimpanzee studies, but also presents her concerns for the planet through a readable text and expressive, insightful photographs. It is truly a case of the power of the individual and the power of the medium to introduce a figure whom young people can relate to and admire. Another contemporary account is Walter Dean Myers's Bad Boy: A Memoir (HarperCollins, 2001), in which the author provides insight into his early influences and what he would later publish. His recollections also paint a revealing and sometimes painful portrait of growing up in a segregated United States.

At home, my second grader continues to return to old favorites; much-loved books are like comfort food. He has read Steven Kellogg's A Rose for Pinkerton (Dial, 1981, 2002) and Peter Glassman's The Wizard Next Door (Morrow, 1993), with Kellogg's animated illustrations, at least a million times. The slapstick humor and vivacity in story and illustration continue to delight. My son's latest passion is reading in tandem, inspired by Mary Ann Hoberman's You Read to Me, I'll Read to You: Very Short Stories to Read Together (Little, Brown/Megan Tingley Bks., 2001). The easy, rhyming text in different colors is carefully placed on each page with Michael Emberley's lively, comical illustrations. The humor is silly and broad and very appealing, ideal for sharing or 'performing' at home.

Broad, silly, and appealing humor-along with the warmth of a family celebration-is used effectively in Pam Muñoz Ryan's Mice and Beans (Scholastic, 2001), with Joe Cepeda's vivid, effervescent illustrations. As Rosa María's preparations for her granddaughter's birthday celebration progress, she gets unexpected help. The text, sprinkled with Spanish, has the cadence, repetition, and charm of a folktale but with a contemporary zest.

It seems possible that the humor in these books gives readers a degree of control over their lives-how they feel, the situation in which they put themselves-at least for the time it takes to read through the pages. Humor may be as empowering as the ability to read independently. Books also allow children to control spooky things. And spooky stuff comes in many forms.

What is scarier than playing ball in front of a loud crowd? How does a kid do his best with everyone shouting at him on the court? Sometimes it's by turning it off as Gus learns to do when he takes his grandfather's advice in Gus and Grandpa at Basketball (Farrar, 2001). Claudia Mills convincingly presents a real-life concern with a plausible solution that draws on the child's own resources and does so in the context of a loving intergenerational relationship.

Less real but no less scary things are presented in older books that continue to engage readers. Both Brinton Turkle's Do Not Open (Puffin, 1993) and Jill Wright's The Old Woman and the Willy Nilly Man (Putnam, 1987; o.p.), illustrated by Glen Rounds, have elements of traditional tales. Both books use sly humor in text and illustration. In both, independent old women (with whom children can empathize) overcome a menacing antagonist through quick thinking, courage, and their own wits.

I continue to read with a slightly different sensibility now, looking for books in which the characters draw on their own resources convincingly and, of course, works with genuine humor. Polly Horvath's Everything on a Waffle (Farrar, 2001) is a prime example. Eleven-year-old Primrose Squarp maintains that her parents, who are lost at sea, will return. The quirky, unforgettable characters, introduced through Primrose's wise, droll, and ultimately triumphant voice, create a satisfying, often funny novel. Avi's The Secret School (Harcourt, 2001), which presents another ultimately triumphant heroine in 14-year-old Ida Bidson, is another obvious choice. The characters are likable and plausible, especially plucky Ida, as she struggles with being teacher and student as well as part of a farming family in Colorado in the 1920s.

Books of all types provide a way to empower kids and allow adults to connect with them. They also allow children to connect with one another. I'm tickled when a book read by one of the rolling booktalk kids becomes popular among their peers, when I cannot get it back because so-and-so has passed it on to another friend and another. These books do come back eventually, often dog-eared, well loved, and read hard. This suggests to me that children are reading, responding, and recommending books to other youngsters perhaps for many different reasons, but most importantly, to extend the pleasure in what they have read and have come to love. These are the books that they consider notable.

Talk may be cheap but exchanging ideas and opinions about books can start a conversation between and across years and experiences. I hope that the rolling booktalks continue long after the kids in our car pool have their own driver's permits.