A Dream Deferred: Brown Girl Dreaming

I was a voracious reader as a child, but I realize now as an adult that my exposure to books was extremely white-washed. All of my favorite novels were about white children, written by white authors. James and the Giant Peach, A Wrinkle in Time, Where the Red Fern Grows... you get the idea.

And while I may have learned a lot from those books, as a teacher and librarian, I strongly believe that it is not only important for minority students to see themselves in the books they read, but also that white students read stories about diverse characters.

So I am on a personal journey to diversify my reading of children's and young adult literature. This is how I came upon Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson, and all I can say is...WOW.

I'm not the first person to recognize this book as extraordinary. It is the winner of a Newbery Honor Award, the National Book Award, and the Coretta Scott King Award. So it's a wonder that I had not heard of it before. Once I started reading, I couldn't put it down. I think it's one of the best young adult novels I have ever read, and I believe it should be added to every 9th grade English curriculum in the country.

Brown Girl Dreaming is autobiographical and tells the story of Jacqueline's childhood, growing up in South Carolina and then Brooklyn, with her single mother and siblings in the 1960s. Each chapter is a free-verse poem, gorgeously written like snapshot photographs of her childhood.

One minute you're eating lemon ice cream with her grandfather, the next you're eavesdropping on the grown-ups talking about Dr. King and nonviolent protests, and the next you're feeling her grandmother straightening her hair with a hot comb while her older sister reads to her, trying to distract her from the burn.

Why is it that we teach students about segregation and racism through the eyes of a white child in To Kill a Mockingbird? Why do we place so much glory on the head of Atticus Finch when he doesn't even invite Calpurnia (the woman who is raising his children), to eat at the table with the family?

What if we taught students about this same era through the eyes of a black child? What if we listened to her parents instruct her how to behave around white people, eyes down, "yes sir, no sir"---but also reminding her, "we're as good as anybody"? What if we read about the conflicting feelings of fear and anger and pride that led some people to protest, others to stay home and pray?

Wouldn't that be more powerful?

Wouldn't that be a better way to instill empathy in our white students?

Wouldn't that be more inspirational and affirming for our black students?

Brown Girl Dreaming is also the perfect companion for any study of Langston Hughes. The novel begins with one of his many poems about dreams: "Hold fast to dreams/For if dreams die/Life is a broken-winged bird/That cannot fly. / Hold fast to dreams/For when dreams go/Life is a barren field/Frozen with snow."

Hold fast to dreams. It is those dreams that created great change during the Civil Rights Movement. Today, we see the Black Lives Matter movement demanding justice, the dream still deferred. Jacqueline's grandmother says, "We all have the same dream.../To live equal in a country that's suppose to be/the land of the free" (89).

Jacqueline's grandfather says, "First they brought us here./Then we worked for free. Then it was 1863,/ and we were supposed to be free but we weren't./And that's why people are so mad" (72).  It's been over 150 years since slavery ended, yet the struggle continues.

In my experience, efforts to include "multiculturalism" in schools are well-intentioned, but misguided and incomplete. For example, studying ancient Native American myths while ignoring the reality of modern reservation life; or studying the Harlem Renaissance, while failing to discuss the appropriation of black culture in music and film today.

Truly diversifying our school curricula and libraries is only a small step toward empowering black and brown children, and teaching white children about how to recognize their privilege and use it for positive change. Perhaps if more students are exposed to diverse ideas, perspectives, and stories, then we won't need movements like Black Lives Matter in the future. Educators have a responsibility to take a hard look at the texts they are using, and ask if there are better options available. For me, Brown Girl Dreaming is an obvious choice, and I look forward to using it in my classroom or library soon.

Evolution: The Signature of All Things

I finally finished Elizabeth Gilbert's novel, The Signature of All Things. With 500 pages (and quite a few real life distractions), it has taken me much longer than usual to finish this book, but it was worth the wait!

Gilbert is most famous for her memoir Eat Pray Love, and on the surface this novel couldn't be more different. Set between the years 1760 and 1883, the story follows Alma Whittaker, the daughter of a world-renowned botanist and heiress to a great fortune. She grows up with every advantage in life, but her lack of beauty and the fact that she lives on a secluded estate cause her to be painfully anti-social. She is incapable of truly connecting with nearly everyone in her life, including her adopted sister and her only friend, not to mention potential suitors. Alma's story includes love and lust, but it is filled with disappointments. In the end, it is only her love of science that prevails.

I admired Gilbert's ability to use the backdrop of the industrial revolution for her story; from the rise of modern medicine to the emancipation of American slaves, historical events shape the  characters but never take center stage. The novel also has a few "mature audiences only" scenes that I found surprising, but ultimately they added an honesty and vulnerability to the overall narrative that I appreciated.

While much of the novel centers around Alma's pursuit of human connection, her study of botany--specifically, moss--is a constant for nearly her entire adult life. It leads her into the daring discovery of evolution, an idea that (in reality as well as the book) made waves when Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species in 1859. Alma and most of the other characters are practicing Christians, and each find different ways to reconcile these new ideas with their faith.

The title of the novel comes from a theory of Jacob Boehme, a real-life philosopher and mystic, who "believed in something he called 'the signature of all things'--namely, that God had hidden clues for humanity's betterment inside the design of every flower, leaf, fruit, and tree on earth. All the natural world was a divine code, Boehme claimed, containing proof of our Creator's love" (229).

As a botanist, one might think that Alma would be drawn to this theory. However, we find out much later that Alma is basically an atheist, although she never uses that term: "You see, I have never felt the need to invent a world beyond this world, for this world has always seemed large and beautiful enough for me. [...] All I ever wanted was to know this world. I can say now, as I reach my end, that I know quite a bit more of it than I knew when I arrived" (497).

I love the idea of focusing on the beauty of the world right in front of us rather than worrying about the next one. Certainly this is easier for someone privileged like myself, or Alma Whittaker, to do. I would not be the first to point out that people in lives marked by poverty, violence, and death are often the most devout; the promise of an eternal reward is too compelling when the life in front of you is filled with sadness. Alma's life, too, is marked by sadness. She out-lives everyone she loves, never finds a true partner, and fails to publish the scientific breakthrough that would have made her famous. Yet her admiration of the natural world never falters.

The novel made me think about how interesting it is that some people find evidence of God in the natural world, while others find evidence against. I will be leaving soon for a trip to the mountains, where I always feel a sense of insignificance as well as purpose. It's an odd paradox; to realize that you are just a tiny speck in a vast universe of experience, while also feeling that the beauty before you is undeniable proof of some greater design.

Alma grows up being told that love and marriage and children give one's life meaning, which causes her great pain and resentment. Yet, despite her misfortunes, Alma is grateful at the end of her long life that she had the chance to explore and discover the world, showing that her own personal evolution is the true heart of the story.