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It’s all Greek and Roman

We get a lot from Ancient Rome and Greece: language, architecture, art, and more. But we also get some of our medical practices and technology from the ancient Romans and Greeks as well, specifically in three areas: emotional health, nerve technology, and animal testing. Emotional health is really big nowadays. Have you ever been stressed out because of a big test coming up? Furthermore, has anyone told you to stay calm and take a deep breath while you were stressing out for the aforementioned big test? Their advice comes straight from the Romans, who were big on virtue. See, the Romans believed that if you didn’t live a virtuous life, your body would punish you. One sin could lead to bronchitis or an ingrown toenail. This emphasis on a mind/body connection is supported by doctors today. Many agree that emotional balance is important. High-stress situations and intense, unchecked emotions can lead to very real, physical symptoms: stomach ulcers, which are painful, and high blood pressure, which is just as worrying. The bottom line: stay calm! Doctors suggest listening to music, meditating, or doing yoga to maintain an emotional balance. Second, let’s talk about nerves. Most people today know what nerves are—they carry signals and information straight to your brain. Back in Roman times, people knew nerves existed. They just hadn’t quite figured out what they could do. Along comes this man named Claudius Galen, a Roman physician—fairly well known, wrote a lot of essays, did a lot of experiments. One day, Galen was experimenting on a pig. He cut it open and wanted to see if the pig would stop breathing if he cut one of its nerves. The pig, thankfully, continued to breathe, but after the experiment, the pig couldn’t squeal. Galen realized that this nerve was responsible for speech, both in animals and humans. Today, we call this nerve the recurrent laryngeal nerve—but since that’s a bit of a mouthful, people call it Galen’s nerve for short. But the reason why this is relevant to our modern lives is because Galen’s breakthrough led to people treating nerves more cautiously. Once Galen realized that this one nerve controlled an important human function, he and others logically came to the conclusion that nerves as a whole were important and shouldn’t be cut. That’s why doctors began to avoid cutting nerves during surgery—because they weren’t just random fibers just hanging out anymore, but actual body parts that needed to be treated carefully. Ever since Galen’s breakthrough, doctors have tried their best to not cut open nerves during surgery. In fact, they’re taking pains to avoid even the most camouflaged ones: scientists are developing technology that uses a polarized beam of light to illuminate nerves that may be hiding in a patient’s lumps of tissue. Imagine waking up the day after a surgery and not being able to talk—scary thought, especially for me, who has an opinion on everything! Have you ever picked up a bottle of makeup or shampoo and seen the label “NOT TESTED ON ANIMALS”? These days, there’s been an increasing number of voices affirming that testing products on animals is unethical. In fact, there have been laws put in place to ensure the animal safety. However, while testing products on animals may sound cruel, doctors do use animals for a different kind of research: they use animals in experiments. The practice began in Roman times, when people didn’t have as deep a knowledge of the human body as we do today. The ancient Romans didn’t have today’s fancy technology and X-rays to figure out human anatomy, so their logical solution to the problem, you may think, would be to simply cut open a human and see what was inside. Even today, that may be considered a bit strange, but in Roman times it was absolutely taboo. Cutting open humans was considered wicked, immoral, and a heinous crime—yes, it was actually illegal to study a human body by opening it. Roman physicians reasoned that the best alternative was simply to test on the next best thing: animals closely related to humans, namely apes. And this practice is continued even today: we still perform experiments (although not all of them may involve cutting open the live animal) on species of apes; chimpanzees in particular. We acknowledge today that apes do share a whopping 98% of DNA with human. The phrase “lab rats” may be familiar to you; it’s common knowledge that we also perform a lot of experiments on mice, which share an even more incredible 99% of DNA with us. So maybe the Romans were onto something after all. Having a surgery today may be nerve-racking, but it’s fairly painless. Besides from not being able to eat for a while before surgery, the patient doesn’t really have much to worry about. Surgeons administer anesthesia to a patient before surgery; sometimes, it may be local anesthesia, which simply numbs the area of operation, but in larger surgeries it’s more likely they will receive general anesthesia. Breathe in some bubble gum-flavored gas, and off you go to Dreamland . . . to wake up from a peaceful sleep only after the operation is over. However, in the ancient Greek and Roman times, general anesthesia didn’t exist. How patients handled surgery I don’t know—maybe they passed out from the pain? Anyway, Greek and Roman doctors did try to help: they gave the patient a combination painkiller and sedative. To make this, they mixed the plant scopolamine (which is a sedative) with the juice of the wild poppy (which you all know from Health class contains opium, the powerful painkiller). This combination made the patient feel drowsy, and they didn’t feel as much pain during surgery. And boom! The first step toward modern anesthetics had been taken. Another fun fact: flu shots are unpleasant thanks to the Romans. Who likes it when someone sticks a needle in their arm, am I right? Well, if not for the pioneering engineer Ksetibios (you can try to pronounce that, good luck), the syringe would not have been invented. To be totally honest, people don’t really know if Ksetibios’ syringe, invented in Roman Egypt in 280 BCE, was the first ever, but it certainly was the first time use of the syringe was documented. Back then, it was used to extract fluids from the body—namely, pus from boils and pimples. However, today, we use it not only to extract substances (such as blood for a blood test) but also the inject substances (such as that flu shot). However, the idea of vaccination itself didn’t come from the ancient Romans alone—nearly every civilization came up with this idea at some point. The next time you either use a syringe, or someone uses a syringe on you, thank the ancient Romans and Greeks for this handy invention. And let’s be honest here—flu shots may be dreaded, but they’re really not bad. The Romans! The Greeks! They were two very innovative civilizations, and we owe many of our medical practices to them. Of course, other civilizations contributed as well (for example, plastic surgery comes from ancient India), but in this post I hope I shed some light for you on the how Roman and Greek ideas surround you in something as everyday as listening to music or getting a flu shot. I hope you enjoyed this post and, above all, learned something! Peace out until next time.

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Nigeria

Hello again, readers! I hope that you all enjoyed and were informed by my post back in January about Kosovo, the birthplace of one of my favorite musicians (Dua Lipa). I’m ready to put on my “Political analyst” hat again, and am excited to shift focus from Europe to Africa. Let’s go from very small (Kosovo) to fairly big—in this post, I’ll be profiling Nigeria, a country near the Sahara and is in the sphere of influence of Ghana, Togo, Benin, Niger, and more. Nigeria is part of MINT—the up-and-coming version of BRICS (an acronym for Britain, Russia, India, China, and South Africa, which are all countries at roughly the same developmental stage in their economies and such). MINT stands for Mexico, Indonesia, Nigeria, and Turkey, the next four countries that are promising. In this post, I also hope to explain why many think Nigeria is set to be Africa’s only global superpower by perhaps as early as 2050. Nigeria, like some other modern-day African countries, was colonized by the British in the 19th century. It finally gained independence in 1960 and is now known for many landmarks. Its predominant source of income is oil. Its foremost trading partners are the US (which buys two-fifths of Nigeria’s crude oil) and the UK. You could say that Nigeria is an oil giant. It’s also the Giant of Africa, because it has a giant population and an equally large economy. Currently, 20% of Africans are Nigerian, and Nigerians account for 3 whole percent of the world’s 7 billion people. Right now, a little less than 200 million people live in Nigeria, but give it 20 years—Nigeria is projecting to house over 400 million people; if you’re doing the math, that’s double the amount! It’s widely agreed upon that Nigeria is the richest country in Africa, but it’s still ranked as a middle income country. In 2017, it raked in almost 376 billion US dollars in revenue. Holy GDP, that’s large, you’re probably thinking. While it’s definitely one of the better-to-do countries in Africa, the average Nigerian has an annual income of maybe $2,500 US dollars, if we’re rounding up. This brings us to a problem. A growing economy is great for a country, but a growing population is less so. India is dealing with a major issue now: how to use the world’s fastest growing economy to provide for the world’s fastest growing population (over 1.1 billion people and counting). Soon Nigeria will face the same struggle. More people can generate more revenue, but the flip side is that natural resources will be stretched thinner to provide basic human rights for all. Nigeria’s farmland is already being strained. On top of that, more people means more of everybody’s favorite issue: healthcare! The HIV epidemic is unfortunately alive and well in Nigeria, which has the second-highest number of afflicted people in the world with around 3 million. The country also has a problem with electricity, and faces a number of blackouts that would seem abnormal to people in the US. At Fashion Week in the capital, Lagos, last year, makeup artists had to do their work by the light of their phones’ flashlights after the power went out. Nigeria’s efforts against corrupt politics are admirable. Its abundant natural resources—cough cough, oil—lead to low taxes, which is good, but maybe also a lack of transparency between the Senate—well, government—and people of Rome—whoops, um, Nigeria. This, as you can guess leads to corruption, which leads to less interest from foreign investors. Luckily, these anti-corruption efforts have led to more interest from many, such as American companies: General Electric (that may help with the power outages), Walmart, and Proctor and Gamble (the company that makes mouthwash and the Crest toothpaste in your bathroom). This leads to a better, more stable economy, which leads to a more stable everything, which is a wonderfully happy cycle. The country is also definitely the leading one in its sphere of influence (sub-Saharan Africa). It was one of the founding members of the African Union, the counterpart to the more well-known EU in Europe, for starters. That’s a good sign—it means that Nigeria is open-minded and interested in preserving peace. And speaking of peace, it also funds Pax Nigeriana, a military effort that sends peacekeeping missions to other neighboring countries. So far, missions have been sent to Sierra Leone, Liberia, and Cote d’Ivoire. Yay peace! And lastly but most importantly, Nigeria is ethnically diverse and culturally rich. It’s home to many indigenous peoples, such as the Igbo, Edo, and Ogoni, and is also admired for its culture. Nigerian literature, for example, includes the famous Things Fall Apart (does it ring a bell? Maybe from an AP English class?), which discusses colonialism in Nigeria. The bottom line is that Nigeria = ↑ people, ↑ economy and investors, and ↑ respect from other African countries, particularly those surrounding it and on the receiving end of the peace missions. And while it has its fair share of issues, like that popular girl at school with as many friends as enemies, the country is promising, intriguing, and has a bright future. (And also . . . popularity isn’t everything, so hang in there, middle schoolers!)

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Argan Oil

Morocco is a country characterized by mixtures. It touches both the sparkling, bubbly Mediterranean Sea, and the sweeping, powerful Atlantic Ocean. The people speak an overwhelming, confusing jumble of French and Arabic. Its people fall into roughly two ethnic groups: the Berbers, the native people, built on tradition; the Arabs, who now call Africa—not the Arabian Peninsula—their home. H i g h in the country, there is none of this confusion. The rural village, Built into the hillside and surrounded by lush foliage, is Berber through and through. r e h g Climbing i h I reach The pharmacy, surrounded By carefully nurtured plants, that houses All the natural, ancient, Berber remedies. Inside, I find The ultimate remedy: argan oil, produced only in Morocco. Argan oil, which can cure acne, mend skin, vitalize hair. I see A woman grinding The seeds of argan fruit, pressing out The rare and treasured oil. Her long brown fingers grasp A wheel that, when turned, presses The caramel-colored, fingernail-sized seeds beneath it. I try working the wheel. I feel The solid wood of it. I sense The gritty rubbing between the seeds and the wood. I watch As nothing is produced—wait! There it is, something— that drips Into the pan below. The raw oil is a chocolate brown. My effort only produces A tiny drop, that slithers stealthily away. All those seeds, all that grinding, all that time—and the result is Barely visible. How can the Berber woman have such patience? To work diligently? To wait? To see few results? The woman smiles. Her face sags With age, a reminder of how many years She has performed This task. Her eyes twinkle, As if trying To tell me a secret. And then I realize: Maybe patience is Not necessary, But faith: The promise to oneself that all will end well, And that all effort Or deeds Or good thoughts Will come to fruition. Eventually.

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100% Genuine

In Morocco Atlantic breezes blow. Women cover their heads. Argan trees grow. Drive west and you’ll find: a small seaside town where Africa meets the Atlantic. Drive east on dirt roads, through puddles, up steep hills, down winding rocks, chasing the Atlas mountains: blue and white snow-capped guardians of the horizon. You will find a village of Morocco’s indigenous people, the Berber people, who eke out an existence daily through following their ancestors’ footsteps: Respect the land Follow the recipes Tell the stories Teach the knowledge Of the ancestors. In the city, you can find the souks: small stalls, tucked into alleyways, selling goods such as Aladdin’s shoes and pottery. All the shopkeepers proclaim: “High quality!”, and “100% Berber made!”, and inevitably: “Good price . . .” But here in the countryside: breathe the sharp cold mountain air feel the sun’s smile on your face discover the curative plants that grow here. And more importantly Smell the sweat of hard work in the Berbers’ goods. Hear the ancestors’ whispers in their goods. See the echoes of an older people in their goods. Sense the peace that comes with honoring a heritage. When a Berber creates goods, his ancestors make it with him . . . Here in the shadows of the mountains, no shopkeeper declares the high quality, or fine value, or the genuinity of the craftsmanship because It does not need to be said.

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Home Sweet Home (poem)

An orange: the perfect fruit. Peel one and feel the texture: A soft, bumpy skin that easily comes off with a press of the thumbnail, A fuzzy, smooth interior decorated with ropes of thick white fiber. A solid weight in your hand that begs to be eaten. Smell one and smile: A mild nuttiness that hides inside the peel, A penetrating zest that clears the sinuses. A promise of good times to come. Bite into one and taste the flavors: A sweetness that delights your tongue, A tanginess that pricks at the roof of your mouth. A perfect balance of yin and yang, refusing to be not just one flavor or the other but a third option: both. Some might argue that the orange’s greatest innovation is the wedge, That Nature in a moment of inspiration pre-sliced the juicy, nutritious ball to provide us a convenient snack With no preparation necessary. But I think differently. The pieces of an orange nestle around a fiber core. Even without the protection of a peel, they stay In place, stick Together, defy Gravity through their bonds of fiber and pith. Having slices is an innovative example of evolution, but it is a party trick, a warm-up act for the real talent: The fact that wherever they go, the slices stay together, and make their own home.

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So, where is Dua Lipa originally from?

I love world history. I especially love world politics. I have loved it ever since I took a Model United Nations camp last summer, and had the opportunity to represent a country’s problems in front of a mock General Assembly. This truly gave me the chance to deeply examine where a country’s problems may stem from, be it a certain ideology, geographical issues, or the threat of an enemy. For such a complex subject, world history should frankly have a larger textbook that can contain all the different mishaps/conflicts/victories that have occurred ever since mankind realized that certain people wielding power over others was called politics. Today I’d like to share with you a conflict that has occurred fairly recently. Please keep in mind that my aim is to inform, not slander. If I seem to skip over parts of history, it’s simply because I don’t know that part of the story. I will also try my best to give the most objective account of the story and do my best not to incorporate my own political biases. Whew! Okay. Disclaimers are over. Let’s talk about Kosovo. Do you know where Kosovo is? You can find it on a map of Europe. But you may have to do a little searching—Europe is fairly big and Kosovo is fairly small. It’s no Vatican City or Andorra, but it could easily fit inside of, say, Austria or even Macedonia. It’s located a ways north of Greece and is surrounded by Serbia, Macedonia, Albania, Bulgaria, and Montenegro. A fairly reasonable conclusion to draw about Kosovo from this information is that it’s a country—albeit a fairly small country, but then again, aren’t most European countries? Surprise! It’s not a country. Wikipedia classifies it as a state of disputed status—a fancy term for when people can’t decide if a parcel of land is a country or not. Some countries, like the United States, argue that it is. India, among others, argues that Kosovo is not a country. Well, if it isn’t, you might be wondering, what is it then? Close your eyes. I’m taking you back to the end of World War 1. It’s 1918 and the world is reeling in the aftermath of a brutally bloody war. Austria-Hungary has just split up, and one of the countries formed from the remnants is christened Yugoslavia. This country encompasses modern-day Montenegro, Macedonia, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Serbia. As you can imagine, it’s a mishmash of a few different ethnicities, such as Croats (from Croatia) and Serbs (from Serbia). However, it’s important to note that Serbs weren’t the majority in Serbia but in fact the minority; most of the country was ethnic Albanian. A country with a mishmash of different ethnicities is usually fine, but not in Yugoslavia, which eventually fractured along its ethnic lines into various countries that I’ve already mentioned before. This happened in part because of Serbia. In the rough 1980s or 90s, a Serbian man named Slobodan Milosevic became president. For the ethnic Albanians, he was bad news. Milosevic focused on increasing Serbian nationalism and ethnic pride. Everything was fine until this nationalism turned somehow into a persecution of the majority ethnicity, the Albanians. The Albanians pulled a Mahatma Gandhi and tried a non-violent separation, which formed the Republic of Kosova. Unfortunately, Kosova was only recognized as a country by Albania. Some of the Albanians formed the Kosovo Liberation Army, a guerrilla group whose friction with the Serbian police escalated into the Kosovo War. The bloody war has, thankfully, since ended, but the discussion continues today. Kosovo officially stated its independence from Serbia in 2008. The argument over this statement’s legitimacy is fairly cut-and-dry: Kosovo’s and NATO’s (the North Atlantic Treaty Organization) allies recognize Kosovo as a country, while Serbia’s allies don’t and argue it is still part of Serbia. European countries that do not recognize Kosovo include Cyprus, Romania, Spain, and Slovakia. However, Albania, Turkey, France, Denmark, and many more do As long as a few powerful countries protest Kosovo’s independence, it can never be accepted as a Member State of the UN. But that was nearly twenty years ago; maybe a new, more peaceful generation will extend friendship on both sides. Either way, an American map will show Kosovo as a tiny smudge on the European map. It looks so tiny that the country’s label has to be abbreviated ‘KOS’. But I think that for some Kosovars, that may be enough.

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The Belles

“The Belles” by Dhonielle Clayton as an intriguing read. The premise (and the vibrant, colorful cover) are what immediately drew me in. Orleans is a world where beauty is prized above all else. According to the people’s mythology, the Sky God became jealous of how his wife, the Goddess of Beauty, spent more time with their children—humans—than him. As revenge, he turned all humans red-eyed, gray-skinned, and doomed to one day go crazy. These “ugly” humans, called Grises, had no hope until the Goddess of Beauty bestowed upon them a gift: the Belles. The Belles are young women born beautiful and with the power to turn others beautiful (albeit temporarily). When all Belles turn sixteen, they are presented at the palace, where the queen will assign different places to live and work for each of them. Camellia Beauregard and her five sisters are the only Belles in her generation, and each one wants to be chosen as favorite—the most powerful Belle, who lives at court and advises the queen and princess on beauty and fashion decisions. Camille loves her sister, but harbors a fierce desire to become the favorite. After navigating through disappointment, anger, and confusing secrets, she becomes the favorite—only to find out that life is not as rosy as she thinks. The princess slowly demands that she do more and more horrifying things. The queen begs Camille to use her powers in unintended ways to heal her other, comatose, daughter. And through all of this, Camille fights to figure out the mysteries of court—and of the Belles, where they come from, and what their real use is.

Let’s first talk about the premise for this book. The author encloses a letter to the reader at the back of the book talking about why she wrote the book. It’s obvious from the cover and the blurb on the inner jacket flap that the book is going to be focusing a lot on beauty. I think that the questions the author tried to explore in this book were “What is beauty?” and “Who defines what is beautiful?” These elements do come through in her writing; the societal and cultural background of the story clearly reveals to the reader that that the people of Orleans believe that beauty is the opposite of what they are born as. The whole premise of the book revolves around people who are born thinking of themselves as ugly, and are practically addicted to constantly undergoing plastic surgery to be accepted as beautiful by others. When put like that, the whole idea seems absurd and unnecessary. I feel like in this book, the author intended to mirror and exaggerate the faith people in our modern-day world have in the fact that if they try just a little bit harder—or spend a little more money paying for another surgery—they will be just as beautiful as the celebrities they see in the media. It’s a theme that’s being talked about in real life as well; I think the author hoped that by exaggerating our reality just a bit more until it seemed crazy, readers would realize how flawed our perception of beauty is, and how each person has a different way of being beautiful. I feel like the main theme, while powerful and relevant to readers today, doesn’t really successfully come through in the book. The book describes the twists and turns of Camille’s court life and her relationships with her sisters after being split up. Later, her main problems include whether to help cure the unconscious princess, how to obey the awake princess’s demands to make those she is jealous of less beautiful, and her troubling feelings for a boy. The idea of beauty’s excessively important role in Orleans—and even our own society—comes through well when describing the setting. It’s all in the small things, such as how women completely change their body types and physiques every few months to keep up with the trends, or how beauty tokens to pay for treatments are extremely hard to procure, or even how the Belles have had to formulate a tea to serve as a painkiller for patients during surgery (yes, beauty IS pain, and a lot of pain at that). The details are subtle. The plot subtly suggests this theme, but readers have to be astute to pick up on this hidden message. I suppose this might be for the better; after all, there is some pride that comes with figuring out the theme of a complex story. Overall, I wasn’t quite satisfied with how well the message came through. While the main ideas are well conveyed in the backdrop, the actual story doesn’t seem to completely revolve around the idea of how beauty is given too much importance. I may have ranted about the message of the story, but my other problem with this book is how passive the narrator is. She witnesses and is forced to perform many of horrible events—changing a woman’s face to make her look like a pig, for example—in this story. Camellia understandably tries to protect herself from the full force of the princess’s wrath; still, it’s hard not to judge her for letting other people make her do things and try to make amends later, even if she knows the demands aren’t ethical or the right thing to do. When her best friend is selected as the original favorite, Camellia wanted the position so badly that she can’t feel any happiness for Amber; instead, she’s angry and jealous. Thankfully, she moves past this phase. The ending is satisfying mainly because Camellia realizes the error in her ways and seeks to fix her mistake. It provides a hint of a promise that she’s changed, as most good protagonists are supposed to do. Although the plot arch is well constructed and the conclusion is intriguing but fulfilling, I still feel a little annoyed that Camellia was an indecisive narrator for so much of the book. What I truly have to commend Dhonielle Clayton for is her world-building. Lately, I’ve been interested mostly in dystopian fiction, and setting is SO important there: is there a corrupt government? Is there a geographical reason why things are so bad? Is the world about to end? Although I wouldn’t quite classify this book as dystopian—the premise is a little less blatant and a little more magical than a post-apocalyptic wasteland, for instance—the world that this book is set in really affects how and why each character acts the way they do. I feel like one of the most important questions in a dystopian novel is whether there are cultural and social obligations driving each character’s actions. Ms. Clayton effectively presents Orleans as a vibrant society of people who are motivated by the attainment of their society’s idea of beauty, and how everyone—even the young Grises who haven’t had their first beautifying surgery yet—is affected by the compulsive need to be on trend and possess beauty. Without all of the subtle details I mentioned before that the author tucks in here and there, it would be much harder to understand the characters, and the plot arch of the story would be much less logical. Although I wish the plot had been more centered on Ms. Clayton’s beliefs, the way she paints the backdrop of a sparkling yet greedy Orleans is well done. She doesn’t force the idea of beauty’s idea on us too much because she knows that most readers were raised that way, surrounded by icons and media that encouraged going through any length to look perfect. I think that she balances how much detail to add and how much to leave to imagination really well. All in all, an intriguing story. I have some minor issues with how the book was constructed, but it was on the most part a satisfying read with a surprising ending. And who doesn’t like a surprise?

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Red Queen

Red Queen is set in the kingdom of Norta, a world where the color of your blood determines your future. Reds have red blood and are the working class; they are the peasants that toil all day and never know what it’s like to be full. Silvers are superior in every way: the nobles of Norta belong to different houses with each house boasting a special ability: you could be a whisper who can read minds, a magnetron with the ability to manipulate metal, or a singer whose voice can charm others into doing your bidding. Silvers are taught to value power and strength above all. Their oppressive regime ensures that the gap between the Silvers and Reds ever widens. Mare Barrow is a Red living in this harsh reality. She hails from the Stilts, a small village of poorly made houses and destitute people. Her only living is made from pickpocketing, so when she’s caught lifting a coin from a Silver’s purse, she expects the worst that the law can bring down upon her: jail? Death? Instead, she finds herself with a new job at the palace, and within a few short hours turns her world on her head. When Mare suddenly reveals herself to have special powers—powers that she shouldn’t have—she becomes something different. Not Red, not Silver, but stronger than both. The king attempts to hide what she is by declaring her a long-lost Silver daughter of a respected house, and she is immediately betrothed to the younger son of the royal family, Prince Maven. While trying to convince the kingdom that she has what it takes to be a true Silver, Mare becomes involved in the work of a revolutionary group called the Scarlet Guard. Who will she choose: the people with her same color blood, or the people with the same special abilities? Will she submit to the will of the tyrannical Queen Elara forever or help orchestrate an overthrowing of the Silver regime? And in a world where anyone can betray anyone, who can she trust?

First of all, let’s talk about Mare. As a main character, her morals seemed fairly flimsy to me: she’s a criminal even before she’s crowned a princess-to-be and begins to scheme to overthrow the throne.The Scarlet Guard seem at first like a mere bunch of troublemakers who may be justified in wanting a change of government. The narrator shared the ideology of the Scarlet Guard and felt so deeply that they were doing the right thing—that’s the only thing that prevented me from immediately being suspicious. Part of the reason why I was so intrigued by this book is because I feel like I would never make the decisions Mare did, but I still speculated what I might have to do if I were in her circumstances—being shamed and forced into generational poverty and an early death in the military, simply because her blood was red and she didn’t have any power. For the most part, though, I liked her as a main character. She’s tough. If she isn’t given something she wants, she takes it. At times she can be indecisive and bitter, and at others surprisingly compassionate. I could best describe her as a cross between Ella of Frell from Ella Enchanted and America Singer from The Selection. One of my favorite things about dystopian literature is the world building. I was interested to see how Silvers’ prejudices of the Reds manifest in their everyday lives. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, really: a set of strict, slightly biased laws that seem to punish Reds more often but equally severely as they do Silvers; quite a bit of hate-speech used to describe how Reds are inferior to Silvers; and a sharp contrast between the Reds’ low-paying manual labor and perpetually empty stomachs and the Silvers’ lifestyles of luxury, excess, and power. A few nice details jump out at the reader, though: the slight feud between noble houses to have the best ability; Mare having to paint herself so that she blushes silver instead red once becoming a princess-to-be; and Reds having to face conscription at age eighteen if they don’t have a job or apprenticeship by then. Overall, the effect is a satisfyingly diverse and conflicted world. The author got creative with some of the Silver-Red differences that completely didn’t occur to me. I was pleasantly surprised. Some of the other minor characters were fun to read about and watch Mare interact with. For example, Captain Farley, captain of the Scarlet Guard, reminds me of Mare: strong-willed, confident, and able to take care of herself. At first, she and Mare clash because of their different ideas on the same topic; however, they learn to respect each other. Kilorn Warren is Mare’s childhood best friend who barely avoids the conscription and soon joins the Scarlet Guard. They exchange a substantial amount of banter and argue just as much. Being a whisper, Queen Elara is used to having her way with everybody, but she isn’t as satisfied with Mare, who takes every opportunity to fight her will. The queen is established from the beginning to be rotten, but watching Mare squirm out from under her thumb is delightful. Various other minor characters add color to the backdrop of the story. All in all, Red Queen was a well-paced, vivid read that was alternately heart-wrenching and triumphant. The ending was more bitter than I’d liked, but the suspense of the whole story was great and had me eagerly anticipating the sequel. All in all, 4 out 5 stars.

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Homework on Halloween Day

Do your teachers assign homework on Halloween? Fortunately, my teachers don't, but yours might. So if you'd rather spend an hour's worth of homework trick-or-treating in your neighborhood, join the revolution! Here's a hypothetical letter I wrote to an anonymous principal in honor of the occasion. Feel free to insert your school's name and use it. Dear [Insert name of principal], On one day each year, people who dare to peek out their windows will see a strange but familiar sight: goblins, ghouls, princesses, and characters from “Stranger Things” flood the streets. Halloween is a time of joy for both adults and kids—a surge of adrenaline every time another piece candy plunks into the outstretched bag, a grin of contentment as the bag of candy you bought at Target a few hours ago has dwindled to nothing. Every year, though, the number of kids that swarm the streets decreases. I believe that the heads of the [Insert School Name here] should implement a no-homework policy on Halloween so that kids have more free time after school so that they have the opportunity to go trick-or-treating. On any other day, the idea of a young adult knocking on doors to beg for candy—or any kind of food—may seem wholly unorthodox, but Halloween creates a culture that strips all inhibitions away. It offers something special and tantalizing: an opportunity to bring home candy from strange people’s houses, no questions asked, and to meet new people you might not otherwise meet. There’s a chance that those strange people in your neighborhood become more familiar. This special holiday is an immediate way for a child to connect with his or her community and get to know their neighbors as people beyond the hands that drop Snickers and Milky Ways into pumpkin baskets. I know at least two old ladies in my neighborhood who live all by themselves. But for one day each year, they are surrounded by youth again when children come knocking at their door. If those same children were confined inside their houses to do homework, these lonely women’s one joy would be taken away. On any given school day, homework builds up slowly, gradually. A student begins first period with no homework, but each teacher adds on one assignment until that student’s planner is weighted down with obligations and worry. Many teachers at [Insert School Namer] are understanding—they have children themselves and understand the joy of Halloween. They mean well when they assign small, less-time-consuming assignments. However, if at least four teachers assign homework, the students can count on at least one hour of solid work. On Halloween, students are anxious to hit the streets for candy, and this homework morphs into an hour’s worth of stress and impatience. If students feel that homework on Halloween is merely an obligation, a chore, they will put in less effort—and as of such, the quality of work will not be up to par. I understand that stalling homework for a day disrupts a teacher’s curriculum—the purpose of homework is to provide practice to reinforce the concepts a student learns at school. If the teacher can’t assign homework on Halloween, then there is no way to ensure that students grasp and fully understand what was taught. And since students are already jumpy with excitement during the day to go trick-or-treating, it may be a viable option for teachers to assign homework to essentially force the students to pay attention in class so they can complete the assignment successfully. Once students reach the middle school, they understand that a higher level of maturity and understanding is required with age. If teachers are transparent with their students about their concerns on Halloween, there is a high chance that students will understand. Being rational and mature, we are capable of compromising with teachers: paying attention in class in exchange for no homework. If each students put in effort and pays enough attention, they can grasp the concepts in class. Homework then won’t be necessary—just for this day—to provide reinforcement. [Insert Principal’s name], if you make the decision to implement a no-homework policy on Halloween, you will offer more than 500 students the chance to be a kid again by collecting candy, bonding with their community, and as a result, living a happier, more balanced lifestyle.

[chatterbreath-blog]

Book Review - Shoe Dog

Look down at your feet. No, seriously. If you’re wearing sneakers, what brand are they? For me, the go-to brand is Nike. I don’t know why; it could as easily been New Balance or Puma, but maybe my subconscious self was attracted to the trademark swoosh. Before I picked up Shoe Dog by Phil Knight, I thought that Nike was a staple. Instead of the staple crop in a diet, it was the staple shoe in a lifestyle for me. I thought it would always be around, and always had been, too. This memoir by the cofounder of Nike proved me wrong. And although I usually dislike being wrong, I made an exception for this book. It was simply too engaging to put down, and although that may seem cliche, I actually had to sit down and finish the thing in one sitting. Curse you and your underdog struggles, Phil Knight! I may or may not have stolen this book from my dad’s library bin. I may have judged it by its cover: it’s colorful, it’s by an entrepreneur who founded a successful company, it’s thick enough to temporarily satiate my eternal quest for a good book. After Pride and Prejudice, this book was a piece of cake, length-wise. By the cofounder of Nike? Now that was a story I wanted to hear about. Although everything has a beginning, it had never occurred to me that my favorite shoe company had a rough beginning and a few hurdles in the journey to becoming a staple shoe and a gold standard for factory conditions. This book was a heartfelt depiction of Nike’s humble beginnings while also becoming the reflections of a man on his mistakes and decisions. The story begins with a twentysomething Phil out on a morning run, pondering what to do with his life and the degree he has obtained from Stanford. Head back to school? Live out his days as the guy who never left home and mooch off his father’s financial support? Or . . . make something? Something that could make you feel, all the time, the way an athlete feels: to always be at play, not winning, not losing, but playing the game for the joy of it. From this quest to recreate that exuberant feeling of energy, Nike was born. Mr. Knight reasoned that he should start small with something that he, a runner, was confident all athletes needed: good-quality shoes.

The memoir spans from 1962 to the present. It shows a before, before Nike, when all Phil Knight had was fifty dollars from his dad and a Crazy Idea. It shows an after, after the worst struggles were over, and Nike was secure as a successful shoe company. But the middle is what takes up most of the book. Year by year, Phil Knight chronicles how his life changed as his company—his third son, he calls it in the book—grew from an idea to a reality. Readers watch Nike’s evolution. The entire book reads like a story—the story of an underdog—and certain struggle-rife and pivotal moments pop out in Nike’s history: Knight visiting Japan for the first time and placing his first order of Tiger shoes at Onitsuka, Ltd. on behalf of Blue Ribbon Sports of Portland, Oregon; as his power is slowly usurped by other United States sellers Onitsuka has underhandedly signed with; as he recruits Jeff Johnson, the aggressive salesman, Bob Woodell, the ultimate right-hand man, and many more to his dedicated team; as he faces a legal battle with Onitsuka, and finds a bank to provide financial support; and more. But this rawly honest book doesn’t shy away from the limelight as Knight himself is known for doing, it openly reveals all the decisions in which Knight toed the boundary between right and wrong for the survival of his company, like underhandedly signing a shoe deal with a Mexican factory and making up a company when placing the first order of Tiger shoes. This riveting memoir shares heartwarming moments, too: how Knight met his wife while teaching at Portland State University; the fierce dedication of Knight’s former coach and cofounder, Bill Bowerman to creating a better anti-slip sole, inspired by a waffle iron; the pure pride in Knight’s father’s voice as he describes a cameraperson zooming in on the swoosh on an athlete’s sneakers; the almost paternal affection between Knight and Steve Prefontaine, track and field athlete and the ultimate Nike spokesperson; and many more. Most importantly, this memoir describes the formation of Nike in a way no one other than the creator could. Knight’s tone throughout the book is that of playful humor, exemplified as he describes his fear of a several hundred-page book being only Part 1 of a series and how its title could be abbreviated fittingly as WASP. Knight can poke fun at his team of original employees (and himself) in a way no one else could get away with. How did the swoosh come to be created?: When Knight offered a broke art student a job designing a logo for his shoe company. How was the name Nike chosen?: When the intrepid Jeff Johnson, salesperson extraordinaire, woke up in the middle of the night, the name having come to him in a dream. No biographer could portray Knight as accurately as he portrays himself in this book, and no biographer could describe so well all the painstaking internal deliberation that preceded each decision, such as going public or choosing a brand name. What makes this memoir so special is the insight Knight offers at every turn in this journey. Knight’s favorite saying is about Oregon: on the Oregon trail, the cowards never started, and the weak died along the way, leaving the people of Oregon, some special breed of human built to persevere and persist. Phil Knight has ridden on a roller coaster whle trying to make Nike everything it is today: some extremely high moments have occurred as well as some severely low points. In this deliciously intriguing, informative memoir, he allows step into the coaster car with him and experience his version of the events. Like the creators of real roller coasters, he doesn’t spare you the adversity because he knows you can handle it; all emotion is laid out in the open for readers to experience with him. From the story behind the swoosh and the reason for orange shoe boxes to the competition with German giants Puma and Adidas and the belief behind the brand, Phil Knight reveals all in the poignant tale of strength and sacrifice,all for the sake of all those people—maybe adults, but children at heart—who don’t want to win so much as long as they get to play the game. Shoe Dog opened my eyes to the struggles of creating a thriving business and deepened my respect for those who fight to make what they believe in a reality. Nike was always my go-to shoe brand, but this book has given me a more in-depth reason for supporting it. If Phil Knight had been one of those people who never started, or maybe even quit along the way, there wouldn’t be a shoe company so dedicated to creating a lifestyle of play. This memoir was a riveting, eye-opening page-turner that’s a worthy addition to any shelf.

[chatterbreath-blog]

Book Review - A School for Unusual Girls

This month, A School for Unusual Girls by Kathleen Baldwin appeared in my library bin. As a friend remarked when she saw me reading the book, the title reminds the reader of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs. Although I confess I’ve never actually read the book, I’ve gathered that it’s a school for children with unusual abilities. And as I read the book, the premise was similar and yet wholly different. It’s 1814. While England fights to keep Napoleon in Elba and safely of the French throne, Georgiana Fitzwilliam is fighting a battle of her own, trying to convince her parents not to banish her to a boarding school after having set fire to her father’s stables while conducting a . . . wait for it . . . science experiment. Oh, great: she’s being forced to attend Stranje House, where she will be at the mercy of uniquely horrifying torture devices and a uniquely intimidating headmistress, Emma Stranje, until she has been molded into a proper young lady—and she didn’t even finish developing her special invisible ink! But what her parents don’t know is that the girls at Miss Stranje’s school are involved in the war effort, using each of their different talents and knowledge to help keep Napoleon out of power. Georgiana isn’t spending her days there at etiquette lessons; she’s spending them in a lab, where, with the help of the insufferably rude Sebastian Wyatt, she’s perfecting her ink recipe.

I liked the idea of an alternate history in which Louis XVIII was assassinated instead of restored to the throne after Napoleon was banished to Elba. It showed me a glimpse of a period of history—the turmoil in Europe left behind after Napoleon was removed from the throne—I’d never really pondered or learned about before. Sure, I knew who Napoleon was, but I didn’t know the effect of his reign and overthrowing on the rest of Europe, and how sides would have to be taken in this conflict. This story does a really nice job showing the mood and culture of the period, and I really enjoyed how the conflict between pro- and anti- Napoleon proponents tied into the story; although something as drastic as the kidnapping of Captain Wyatt by the Order of the Iron Crown (in this novel, a group of Napoleon supporters; while in real life, an order of merit established by him in Italy, interestingly enough) is expected in a novel like this and seemed a bit fantasized, the basis of the plot itself seemed like it actually could have occurred during that time period. I also liked how the author described the tension between the Stranje House girls and a former pupil, Daneska, who now worked for the Order of the Iron Cross, and how they felt like she had betrayed them; it seemed like a more mature interpretation of the cliched rivalry between girls in modern-day cliques. The idea of a girl rebelling against society’s expectations of her is not particularly new, but it is explored satisfactorily in this plot. Georgiana’s pain at being rejected by her family for loving science is deeply felt at the beginning of the story, and helps introduce her character to us. Sebastian Wyatt is a character who looks down on the opposite gender, believing that their heads are filled with frivolities, and their banter as Georgiana defied his expectations explores the feminism theme a little more subtly throughout the book. Also, Captain Wyatt and Georgiana fall in love. Umm . . . mixed feelings about this. The romance seemed like a nice facet of the storyline at first, but I didn’t really like how big a role it played in the plot. Sure, I understand that without the romance the book would be about fifty pages thinner, but I wished that Georgiana’s actions and decisions had taken up a lot of the plot. I’ve read books that are great adventure stories with a teensy bit of romance at the end, and I feel that this book could have been more enjoyable for me that way. I felt a little bit betrayed that she fell for him so quickly: what happened to feminism, and smart girls not needing a man to be happy, and being independent? . . . I suppose I’m judging her a little too harshly, but I was hoping for a story with a strong woman who doesn’t need to marry or fall in love to be important. All in all, I’d give this read four out of five stars. The writing was descriptive and satisfying, all the themes were deftly explored, and the ending is a nice little cliffhanger where—never mind, I won’t spoil it. I hear there’s another book in the series; if I find it, I’ll try it, but I don’t know if the sequel is a must read. I prefer to leave the characters in their own little (war-stricken) world, having found their home in Stranje House.

[chatterbreath-blog]

Book Review - The Train to Impossible Places

This book just may be the best book I've read all April. It's perfect fare for a warm evening in the backyard, and an unorthodox way to learn all of those otherwise slightly mundane physics equations and laws. Indeed, The Train to Impossible Places: The Cursed Delivery serves up a five-star meal of fantasy, with a little fact for dessert. What struck me right away was Suzy, our dear physics-loving, spunky, inquisitive protagonist. She has it all: a big brain, a big heart, a love of physics, and a need to help others. Driven and determined, Suzy is everything I would like to think I am. She isn't arrogant, isn't shy to speak her mind, and she certainly isn't afraid of jumping on a train that shouldn't exist that is en route to places where magic is possible and gravity is optional. She may a little too perfect, but other than the fact that she doesn't seem to have a crippling fatal flaw of some sort, she seems like an ordinary eleven-year-old girl. She's relatable. All of the science nerds, all of the unpopular kids, all of the children who feel they don't quite belong, all of the people (both over and under eighteen) who have taken a risk and reaped rewards because of it, all of them can relate to Suzy. This raises the subconscious question: Who is Suzy? The truthful answer would be, the readers themselves. There are two main kinds of protagonists: those who readers are given so many details that they feel like a living, breathing person with his or her own flaws and quirks; and those who are slightly . . . vague. P. G. Bell has chosen the latter for this story because Suzy isn't just one unique person: she's all of us, in a way, and the author has purposely left many loose ends and unanswered questions about Suzy's background. That way, Suzy isn't a parcel that's been rolled up and tied off, ready to be received by the reader; she's an open vase which readers can fill with their own passions and details.

However, the other characters featured in this book stand in stark contrast with Suzy: they are fully developed, each given their own interests, habits, and personalities. Each is described in clear detail, and are quite authentic. Many readers' hearts will be touched by nervous, eager Wilmot and will be shocked to learn of smiling Lord Meridian's treachery. And because this book is called The Train to Impossible Places, the author takes great care to create an authentic, vividly imagined world complemented by quirky little details such as the residential district of Trollville being located under a bridge in a nod to common fairytales such as The Three Billy Goats Gruff. The worlds are as full of vivid details as Kali Wallace's City of Islands. A train powered by unstable nuclear fusion bananas . . . an inherent love of building and engineering in all trolls . . . powerful telescopes able to see anywhere in the Impossible Places . . . a boy named Frederick trapped in a snow globe . . . and most importantly, two towers to symbolize knowledge and strength. I especially think this last concept is beautiful because it echoes the thinking of many philosophers from many different cultures: that knowledge and strength should be regarded as the most potent magic of all, which in turn should be used to help weaker, less educated individuals. The Lady Crepuscula of the Obsidian Tower (of Strength) and the Lord Meridian of the Ivory Tower (of Knowledge) are rivals. Both have questionable intentions, those of one more questionable than the those of the other: With the help of Frederick, Suzy learns that Lord Meridian's research project is actually an excuse to spy on all of the positions of power in the independently governed Impossible Places with plans to usurp the leaders one by one. The only thing standing in Lord Meridian's takeover is Suzy and Frederick--and, apparently, the Lady Crepuscula, who doesn't seem friendly but doesn't want to see the Impossible Places fall to her misfit brother. What really fascinated me was the fact that P. G. Bell didn't depict Lady Crepuscula as a hero. She may have more of an honor code than her brother, Suzy realizes, but she still is ruthless in achieving her goals. I find this nuanced depiction of flaws and strengths in Lady Crepuscula reminiscent somewhat of John Steinbeck's writing style, who, as Peter Shaw said, neither made out the Californian valley where he set some of his fiction "a fanciful Eden" nor merely a force of destruction. This interesting use of non-stock characters adds a layer of mystery to the literature. Lastly, I think the author does an excellent job of adding a twist to the story by combining fact and fiction. This novel, while bursting to the brim with magic and spells, also features the physics equations. The heroine uses her brain and knowledge of physics multiple times to get The Impossible Express out of a tight spot or to increase the train's speed. It's an intriguing blend of magic and physics, and it almost shouldn't work, yet it does. If I had to make one suggestion to improve the plot, I would wish that Ursel and Suzy interacted more with each other and more evidently became friends. With a fun science twist, this combination of The Chronicles of Narnia, The Land of Stories, and Septimus Heap is a fun romp through a world of oddball characters and magic. A lighthearted, humorous read, The Train to Impossible Places: A Cursed Delivery is warm, satisfying fare for any age, any time of the year.

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Book Review - Carnival Magic

Magic, music, and heart flow through Carnival Magic, the sequel to Amy Ephron's The Castle in the Mist. Siblings Tess and Max Barnes are staying with their aunt for a short vacation in Devon-by-the-Sea, a quaint seaside town in England. When Tess and Max decide to visit the local carnival, they are trapped inside the carnival and unable to escape. They befriend the Baranova twins, stunning aerial acrobats who miss their family, and attempt to figure out a method to return home. Carnival Magic has it all: a malicious carnival owner, a magical House of Mirrors, breathtaking oceans, reunited family, and best of all, adorable baby tigers! Ms. Ephron does a job well done in making this story engaging with her remarkably clear voice. Reminiscent somewhat of Edgar Eager's Seven-day Magic, this story follows the adventures of two children trying to find their way home with the help of their friends and remembered advice from their father. The two main characters will often throughout the book recall a saying or quote from their dad, which influences the choices they make. When they have the opportunity to possibly return home in a convoluted plan involving riding a horse against a high tide, the siblings choose to turn back rather than leave their friends, and attempt to find another way to return home. Their father's advice is what improves their outlook on their predicament at the end of the book; Tess says that she isn't lost, but merely has found her way home again, just like her father had advised her to do long ago. Ms. Ephron's descriptions are also vivid. When the Barnes siblings travel to what they call a "ghost carnival" full of colorless and strange scenery and people, they notice that the colors of various objects are . . . faded. Not altered or unnatural, but simply not completely there. However, when Tess and Max await the tide on horseback in anticipation of going home, they realize that the beach transforms from mostly monochrome, with black and white hues, to full of color as the sun rises and they gallop away from the ocean. I like that particular image in the book: the two siblings turn back from the ocean, having changed their minds and decided to not leave for home without their friends; as they do this, they realize they have made the right decision and the world isn't black and white anymore, and that the sunrise (symbolizing transformation and impending change) has brought color back into their lives. As color returns to the world for the siblings, something else also returns: their confidence. Instead of worrying for long hours about how to get home and whether their parents are looking for them, Tess and Max know they have done the right thing by not turning their backs on the people they care about. Without anxiety, they are allowed to live life to the fullest again; with the release of stress comes a liberation of sorts: a freedom to enjoy what could go right in life instead of stressing about what could go wrong. Tess, the Barnes sister, also discovers a magical needle that not only seems to reflect but also radiate light in all colors of the visible spectrum: magical blues and greens, dancing purples, animate reds. Just like a needle in a compass points unwaveringly north, Tess's needle serves as a comfort, a source of magic and encouragement to continue with her journey, and maybe--just maybe--a pointing in the right direction. Tess and Max flee the ghost carnivals and the cruel demands of the carnival owners, in the process reuniting an avuncular figure with his long-time companion and horse, and reuniting the eldest Baranova sibling with her younger brother and sister. Although it isn't explicitly revealed in the book, the feelings of the two main characters--we know both, seeing as the story is told in 3rd person omniscient--reflect the hidden meaning that the emotional arc of the plot hides: that in the end, the Barnes siblings have realized that since they were given the opportunity to help others, grow out of their shells, and try new experiences, the journey home itself was more important than home.

Ms. Ephron's language has a poetic and rhythmic aesthetic not unlike that common in free verse. Her prose is fluid and delicate, albeit suppressed by the fact she has written her book for young audiences. In an attempt to make her writing more "kid-friendly", she has employed several colloquialisms and pieces of slang, like "pretty cool" and "kind of". If she had not felt the need to write in the style of informal sixth-grade speech, her book would have appealed to wider range of audiences, not just ten and under. When it comes to writing a book or other important work, Ms. Ephron, let's please resist the need to pretend to be an elementary-school student. Readers like me appreciate a sophisticated vocabulary more than an attempt to talk like a child. All in all, I rate Amy Ephron's Carnival Magic 3.5/4 stars for beautiful, thought-provoking descriptions, riveting, fast-paced action, and poetic yet unsophisticated writing style. And, of course, it never hurts to have an adorable baby tiger or three, either.

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Book Review - The Night Diary

The Night Diary by Veera Hiranandani is the heart-wrenching, poignant story of one girl's struggle to find an equilibrium in a world where Muslims and Hindus are divided. My grandfather was four when the partition and freeing of India happened. This put some events of the story into perspective for me: India was a different place before the Partition. When India was separated into Pakistan and India--one home for Muslims and another for Hindus--many Muslims and Hindus had to make their way over the border to reach their new home. Communities were divided, friendships had to be broken, and even family members were separated: I am sure there were many families in which there both Muslims and Hindus. Like the protagonist of The Night Diary, many children would have been forced to make the choice between one religion. And this time of internal conflict and hard, life-changing decisions in India served as a perfect backdrop for a girl to realize who she really was and to find her voice. At its heart, The Night Diary is a story in which the main character realizes she doesn't have to choose between two different aspects of who she is. Reminiscent of Shannon Hale's Princess Academy: Palace of Stone, Nisha learns that she has both her Muslim mother and Hindu father in her. The author's choice to tell the story through letters from twelve-year-old Nisha to her deceased mother is questionable. The letters make it easy to keep track of the passing of days while also tapping into Nisha's wealth of emotions about her predicament: worry, fear, hope, sadness. Veera Hiranandani is excellent at blending the real-life events of the Partition in 1947 and Nisha's feelings together, provide a unique outlook on a newly divided India. Nisha's plaintive, shy voice inspires empathy of the reader. The problem is that Nisha's letters to her mother only describe what she remembers, how she remembers the events. There's little room for discussion: Nisha tells it like it is, and the readers are forced to listen. Ther's no way to know that the facts are objective. When Nisha narrates to her mother what happened from her perspective, readers do not have the chance to develop their own opinions. This takes away a certain layer of enjoyment that comes from living in the protagonist's head and creating a strong link with the characters. On the other hand, Ms. Hiranandani's writing is excellent. Her facts are accurate and her descriptions vivid: Nisha's fictional diary could be mistaken for an actual historical account of the partition. The author includes rich details that interact with the senses--the smell of a crowded train car, the sight of a marble mortar and pestle, stained with memories of ground spices, the delicious taste of that first lukewarm mouthful of lentils after nearly starving.

What I find most interesting is the author's omission of a climax: I usually prefer my books to have one particular scene where the main character comes into his or her own through an emotional battle. One powerful scene, the crux of the book, the height of all the tension--but that's not there in The Night Diary. Instead, the change in Nisha is gradual and almost slips under readers' radar. I paused at times throughout the book and thought to myself: "Is that really Nisha? She's so different from the beginning of the story!" The Nisha at the beginning of the story is shy. She doesn't really interact that much with other people except for her Muslim best friend. She holds a fierce love for her twin brother--that doesn't change throughout the book; the love only grows stronger--but she comes to be more proactive when she sees her brother struggling. By the end of the book, she's confident and independent enough to efficiently get medical help for her avuncular Muslim cook, Kazi, who she found living on the streets after the partition. She befriends a Muslim girl on her journey across the border to the new India--until she's harshly scolded by her father for endangering them. She sympathizes with a Muslim whose entire family was killed by Hindus. I, like other readers surely will, can relate to the quiet but definite transformation from weak to strong, dependent to independent, shy to courageous. Indians annually celebrate Independence Day on August 15th. Months after India celebrated Independence Day for the first time and gained independence from the British, Nisha had gained her own independence. From what? From her worries. Her fears. She was finally ready to open her mouth. She was no longer afraid of her words and their power. She was ready to use her voice. In a way, Nisha's subtle metamorphosis is more satisfying than a climax because readers will compare the Nisha at the end of the story to the Nisha at the beginning--in this shy Hindu-Muslim girl, we will all find ourselves and our shortcomings. By reading Nisha's story, we give a voice to the quiet parts of ourselves that hide away and are afraid to speak up for what they want. And we also give a voice to those whose stories need to be told: those who struggled after Britain left India in a state of chaos and confusion, those who unnecessarily died because two religions wouldn't believe they could coexist. The tension between India and Pakistan that lasts even today is a reminder of the problems that still need to be solved, the stories that still need to be told, the brave civilians who still need to be remembered. Veera Hiranandani's achingly beautiful, deeply felt depiction of a time of loss and being lost is the story of India's independence, the story of how Pakistan came to be, and the story of brave Hindus and Muslims who didn't have to die. This luminescent novel shines an objective, honest light on the events that occurred after August 15, 1947. This story shines. Bravo, Ms. Hiranandani, you've done it again!

[chatterbreath-blog]

Book Review- City Of Islands

City of Islands by Kali Wallace was a rollicking adventure, albeit one lacking slightly in meaning.    This story follows a girl growing up in a foggy, mystical archipelago, where magic is sung and the aquatic founders of the city are long lost. Mara lost her parents, lost the sorceress who took her in and barely escaped a cruel fishmonger. Now she works for the Lady of the Tides, diving daily in hopes of finding a treasure that might please the Lady. When Mara finds strange bones underwater one day, she is charged with finding the origins of strange bones instead of being given a reward. Mara ventures into a formidable fortress, discovers a magician's plots to harness the founders' magic, and stops the evil man with the help of her brave friends. On the way home from their grand escape, Mara and her friends meet the founders, who have treated the "air people" as much as mythical creatures as the land-dwellers have the founders. The founders are alive and well, and have surfaced from their underwater dwelling to interact with the "air people" again, with Mara as their embassy.    Emotions are Kali Wallace's playhouse. Wallace toys with Mara's roiling, turbulent feelings to spin a storyline. Mara's hopes of learning the magic that her former mistress--the sorceress--practiced are raw and naive, yet the ache is familiar to readers who have previously longed for something that is unfeasible. Hope aside, Mara's blissfully carefree childhood days with her stonemason parents are flashed back to multiple times in the book. This sadness, dulled over a time, is still sharp mixed with the fresh sting of Bindy the sorceress's death. These emotions play a large role in the story: when it's found that Bindy is actually alive and well, Mara's spirits raise high above reason. Mara's emotions are achingly oh-so-human, especially when reality--that Bindy was never kind, never sweet, never wanted Mara: she only wanted the stone spell-songs Mara unwittingly learned from her parents. Freshly renewed heartbreak hits the protagonist acutely, and these emotions are so realistic because so many can relate. Mara shows that she has a better heart than Bindy when she compassionately attempts to save the mage from a curse that inevitably turned Bindy to stone. Truly, Wallace's master hand with twisting and manipulating human emotions come through in this suspenseful novel. This gentle metamorphosis of emotions, from loss to betrayal to courage to compassion, shapes the storyline and adds a layer to the plot. Although Ms. Wallace is a dab hand at depicting her characters' emotional struggles, the story is lacking depth: the previous books I have reviewed have largely had a central message at the core: believing in oneself, or finding true magic, or finding a place of one's own in society. This story does not offer much in the ways of a deep, profound lesson for readers. City of Islands instead makes use, at first glance, of what is now becoming a cliche: "magic comes from within".     Mara learns that her parents' silly songs were actually magic: magic embedded in stone, apparently. She uses this magic to her advantage to turn a great magician from a stone statue back to a man. Mara admirably uses her magic only for good, unlike others with fewer powers than her who have turned corrupt. Although some deep thought is required at first to go deeper than face value with the message of this book, City of Islands tells readers in a way reminiscent of Peter Parker's uncle: "with great power comes great responsibility". And while this lesson is pleasant, I was not deeply impressed by the book. Although Kali Wallace makes her main character's emotions realistic and relatable, the story is lacking pizzaz somehow. It lacks heart, which is the greatest impetus for a writer to write. I can sense no tangible passion in this book, no breathtaking climax where the protagonist makes a life-changing decision in a moment of mental strength and emotional vulnerability. City of Islands is a very nice story, with a very nicely pictured world (what with its own set of mythology on the founders, special dishes, and varying languages). The book is warm and filling like the spicy fish curry Mara enjoys in the story, but I would view it more as a snack than the kind of wholesome, satisfyingly poignant I require as my three squares a day.    Light and airy, this book is perfect for those who are hungering for a quick adventure without a helping of philosophical advice: the perfect in-between on a rainy day in this frigid January weather!

[chatterbreath-blog]

I am a writer

I am a writer, trying always to teach through my words.

I wonder how to tell the stories of the silent silhouettes in my heart.

I hear whispering, unsung voices, waiting to be expressed.

I see brightly costumed possibilities and ideas dancing before me.

I want to move the hearts of my readers to a place of understanding and enlightenment.

I yearn to teach a better way of life through my writing.

I feel the tides of hope swell in my chest.

I touch the thoughts of the stubborn with a gentle hand.

I cry with the heroes living in my head.

My tears become a beacon illuminating their struggles and dreams

through swirling, shining lyrics

that glisten black like the night sky

soaring

on white paper doves.

I laugh for the figures that need my pen to nurture their joy.

I understand that others may scoff at my tales.

I say that I’ll try to share my mind anyway.

I give a voice to the words in my head whispering soft promises of a poem or story.

I dream of cherry-sweet success when readers are influenced by my work.

I try to show a better, more enlightened way.

I hope to touch just one heart with my writing.

I know a trying yet rewarding path I will gladly show, with my golden lamp leading the way.

The way will be long, the road treacherous—but

my pen will illuminate the path out of the darkness.

My pen, a tool to share my words.

Journey from the shadows with me—the sun beams brightly and welcomes all with open arms

on the other side.

I am a writer, trying always to teach through my words.

[chatterbreath-blog]

Seeing the true sea

One more step

I take it –

and conquer Hawk Hill.

I feel the sun

on my neck.

My legs ache to rest, but

 Instead, I look down. This is what I have been waiting for.

The view spreads out below:

The orange

Golden Gate Bridge, the great black

boulders, the clear blue

sky, and –

 the sea.

A great, shining, mass of water.

Sky blue fading to cerulean, then to light purple.

The rocks are outlined

by white.

 The sea

glitters in the sunlight.

A shining jewel, it winks at me.

It says, “See?

Not everything is as you thought.”

 I remember my fear of the sea,

gray and dark, purely white foam as it

crashed down in great arcs on a shore.

Angry and violent, it threatened to

swallow me up.

 As I look at the sea now, I see

it is more than, larger than, better than

angry water coming down

on a shore.

 Anger is a mood of the sea,

but

not its entire character.

The sea and I, we both

change moods, but remain the same

deep inside. The sea is

alive,

inhaling

as it recedes on the beach, gathers all its water,

then

exhaling

as the water floods back,

crashing down on the beach in waves with pure force.

 We are both

living things,

changing our moods.

 I see

the vast, shining,

gentle ocean

below me, but

 I also see

the furious sea.

I see

myself, angry

and then gentle, peaceful.

I know

the sea is

a living thing itself,

just

like

me.

I cannot fear my own kind.

 Finally,

I see

The sea

As it truly is:

alive,

just

like

me.