Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The Catcher in the Rye

Here we go again. I have assigned The Catcher in the Rye for my students to read over the winter break and have just started with it this week. Most of them love it. A few don't. That's okay. As I prepare to teach it again, I need to muster up the enthusiasm. It's great, but I feel a little burnt out. So here I pause, as I often need to when prepping, and look over notes and lesson plans to recall exactly why I picked up this book in the first place.

Why am I choosing to teach this text? Catcher still has enormous resonance with teenagers. The response to the novel the past few years has been hugely positive—many students call it their favorite read of the year. I have also found my own response to the text deepen after teaching it. One thing that I have taken from this text is how subtleties are employed despite the quite unsubtle voice of the protagonist. Voice, too, is a good reason to teach this text—since Holden isn’t subtle at all, and has a distinctive voice, it is easy to identify and discuss.

What objectives/goals do I have? The big goals of appreciation for literature and enjoyment in reading are primary here. Close, analytical reading is another. What’s nice about teaching the skill of analytical reading with this text is that it is a departure from the other, mostly non-fiction texts we have worked with. In other words, same skill set, but with a slightly different application. What is the author doing? Why? How? These are the question we can still ask, but clearly the purpose is going to be so different with this text, and our answers will be too.

How is Catcher relevant and in what ways? The answer to this is found above, in part, with the first question. But this is also a question that I’d like the students to answer. What universal realities does this novel illuminate? Why do people still relate to Holden? What does Holden/the novel have to say about contemporary society? The themes of isolation, of disillusionment, of the end of innocence have not disappeared over time. I would like to ask my students these questions, and ask them when or how or why they lost their innocence--if indeed they have. What are the things that contributed to Holden’s loss of innocence? Essentially, this is a novel about a very young man who is grieving And most of us have, at one time or another, been sick at heart, been sad to our very core, if we haven't experienced the very close loss, as Holden does. Holden tries to ward off this utter sadness through drinking, smoking, swearing, staying awake or reaching out and then pushing away (none of which work). It is clear that his parents aren’t accessible to him, aren’t there as a source of comfort.

One of the remarkable things about this text is the ease of the reading experience. It is accessible, and quick. Yet in that quickness, that ease, much is revealed. As I mentioned, Holden's voice isn't subtle, but the revelations are. This is where the close reading comes into play. One of the most terrible scenes is Holden recalling the death of James Castle. This revelation comes during another scene, one that relates in no clear way to Castle's death. Through Holden's reverie, though, we discover that Holden both identifies with Castle, (who has either jumped to his death, or was pushed) and is horrified by his death and the events leading up to his death. These are referred to obliquely, and are often only revealed to the reader upon close examination.

All this sadness doesn't obliterate the humor. There are so many passages in which Holden contradicts himself, says absurd things, does absurd things and lies his way into ridiculous conversations. It is all thematic, and I hope to help the students see this. I will also indulge myself and have the class read aloud the section in which Holden explains for the reader, for no apparent purpose, the naming of Ossenburger Hall at Pencey Prep. Juvenile humor in the deft hands of J. D. Salinger. Good fun.

Monday, November 14, 2011

The Buddha in the Attic

Julie Otsuka's The Buddha in the Attic, listed as one of the year's "notable" books in the NY Times, is a tiny work of fiction that is based on straight-up fact. Written in a plural voice, this collection depiction of the life of the "picture brides" from Japan in the 1920's is an impressionistic yet vivid portrayal of lives lived, in both broad and small strokes.

"On the boat, we carried our husband's pictures in tiny oval lockets that hung on long chains from our necks. We carried them in silk purses and old tea tins and red lacquer boxes and in the thick brown envelopes from America in which they had originally been sent."

Otsuka mixes the general with the specific, puts together speech with memory in this compact, effective narrative that takes us from the boat ride over to California through the forced internment of these immigrants during World War II. The perspective (oddly? interestingly?) departs when the Japanese do, switching to that of the non-Japanese population left behind. "Our mayor has assured us there is no need for alarm. The Japanese are in a safe place." It is still effective, but why do this? Is it to elicit from us the idea of a silenced voice? I found this to be a strange way to end this book, a book that was, otherwise, a very satisfying and illuminating read.

The book is beautifully written. The critics, therefore have bestowed the usual plethora of adjectives: "spare, incisive"; "exceptional"; "incantory";"resonant";elegiac"; "nuanced"; "crystalline". The descriptors are never ending and never-endingly trite. Unfortunately, when I first perused the back cover, I was put off by these overloaded blurbs. What I found out, though, is that they were all true. Well, mostly. There is this on the back cover, from Kate Washington of the San Francisco Chronicle: "Her spare prose is complemented by precise details, vivid characterization, and a refusal to either flinch or sentimentalize." Other than the "vivid characterization" part, this is pretty much dead on, but all this leads me to what I hate about book reviews: the bullshit. The idea is to pile on the adjectives so that someone can pull out a good excerpt to use on the book's cover. In this instance, "characterization" is an interesting choice, since the characterization is collective, so this phrase is a problematic one---Otsuka's concern is not character, though the writing is certainly vivid. Perhaps the reviewer is lumping all those brides together? Or maybe she didn't read the whole thing and wrote the review anyway---something I suspect happens more often than not. Yet the rest of the praise from the back cover certainly applies to this book: "Stunning economy"; "unsentimental prose"; and on and on. While I feel all this praise to be accurate, it isn't any different from all the blurbs on a thousand other book covers. Reading the back of Otsuka's cover, I realized that there is no way to tell if any of those reviewers actually read the book, or read it all the way through. Otsuka's book is surely worthy of praise. But are all those other books really "stunning" or "incantory" or "resonant" or otherwise "remarkable"?