"The Red Pyramid" by: Rick Riordan
"The Penderwicks on Gardam Street" by: Jeanne Birdsall
"What If You Met a Pirate?" by: Jan Adkins
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Module 15 - Draw Me a Star by: Eric Carle
Summary:
Draw me a Star starts with a very young artist who is asked to draw a star, as the artist ages each drawing asks for yet another until at the end the artist leaves with his final drawing- a star.
Bibliographic Citation:
Carle, E. (1992). Draw me a star. New York, NY: Philomel Books.
My Impression:
Like of all Eric Carle's books Draw Me a Star has remarkable illustrations that take the words of the story to an entire new level. The story based on a poem that his Oma (grandmother in German) taught him when he was a young boy is charming beyond common creativity. The interesting thing about this book is its place on the ALA's banned book list. Challenged for nudity, despite Carle's abstract illustrations, and the idea of the main character as "The Creator" this book ranked 61 on the list. I was absolutely shocked by this and actually found an article regarding Carle's story:
http://businessclarksville.com/2010/09/09/banned-books-draw-me-a-star/
I would absolutely include this book in any collection and find the challenge of this piece of art absolutely ridiculous.
Reviews:
When the artist as a child draws a star, the star tells him to draw a sun, the sun tells him to draw a tree, the tree tells him to draw a man and woman, and so on until the night asks him to draw a star again and hold on to it as they fly through the sky. At each stage, the artist appears older, so this is a fable about passage through life and its fullness of possibilities. Children won't get the full impact of that message, but they'll like the cumulative effects of the tale, the creation of a world through paints, and Carle's collages flaring with rainbow hues. They'll also like drawing the stars, which change subtly from five-pointers to eight-pointers, with instructions on making the lines and a note from Carle about his German grandmother, who taught him to draw stars while chanting a nonsense rhyme. R--Recommended. (c) Copyright 1992, The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois. 1992, Philomel, 32p, $15.95. Ages 4-7 yrs.
Betsy Hearne (The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books, December 1992 (Vol. 46, No. 4))
How to use this book in your library:
I am definitely under the impression that Eric Carle's stories are excellent for art projects and his style of overlapping tissue paper is a great and inexpensive free art time to do at your library! Here is an excellent website with ideas and instructions:
http://www.ehow.com/how_4719162_tissue-paper-collage-art.html
Draw me a Star starts with a very young artist who is asked to draw a star, as the artist ages each drawing asks for yet another until at the end the artist leaves with his final drawing- a star.
Bibliographic Citation:
Carle, E. (1992). Draw me a star. New York, NY: Philomel Books.
My Impression:
Like of all Eric Carle's books Draw Me a Star has remarkable illustrations that take the words of the story to an entire new level. The story based on a poem that his Oma (grandmother in German) taught him when he was a young boy is charming beyond common creativity. The interesting thing about this book is its place on the ALA's banned book list. Challenged for nudity, despite Carle's abstract illustrations, and the idea of the main character as "The Creator" this book ranked 61 on the list. I was absolutely shocked by this and actually found an article regarding Carle's story:
http://businessclarksville.com/2010/09/09/banned-books-draw-me-a-star/
I would absolutely include this book in any collection and find the challenge of this piece of art absolutely ridiculous.
Reviews:
When the artist as a child draws a star, the star tells him to draw a sun, the sun tells him to draw a tree, the tree tells him to draw a man and woman, and so on until the night asks him to draw a star again and hold on to it as they fly through the sky. At each stage, the artist appears older, so this is a fable about passage through life and its fullness of possibilities. Children won't get the full impact of that message, but they'll like the cumulative effects of the tale, the creation of a world through paints, and Carle's collages flaring with rainbow hues. They'll also like drawing the stars, which change subtly from five-pointers to eight-pointers, with instructions on making the lines and a note from Carle about his German grandmother, who taught him to draw stars while chanting a nonsense rhyme. R--Recommended. (c) Copyright 1992, The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois. 1992, Philomel, 32p, $15.95. Ages 4-7 yrs.
Betsy Hearne (The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books, December 1992 (Vol. 46, No. 4))
How to use this book in your library:
I am definitely under the impression that Eric Carle's stories are excellent for art projects and his style of overlapping tissue paper is a great and inexpensive free art time to do at your library! Here is an excellent website with ideas and instructions:
http://www.ehow.com/how_4719162_tissue-paper-collage-art.html
Monday, May 2, 2011
Module 14 - Birmingham, 1963 by: Carole Boston Weatherford
Summary:
1963 was the year that a young girl, the narrator of this story, turned ten. We are taken through the events of her year, events that no ten year old girl should ever have to experience, until finally on her tenth birthday a day she was excited to sing a solo in church violence was the only thing heard.
Bibliographic Citation:
Boston Weatherford, C. (2007). Birmingham, 1963. Honesdale, PA: WordSong.
My Impression:
This verse style book was a difficult read because I knew where the plot was going. The words flowed smoothly through my head as I read it to myself and then off my tongue as I read it aloud later. Accompanied by black and white photographs streaked with red on each page of text everything about Birmingham, 1963 is powerful. The event in history is well known and has been written about frequently but this short version, a poem, finishes in a unique way I have never seen before. At the end there are four separate poems- one for each of the four girls who were killed in the church bombing that day along with a picture. Birmingham, 1963 personalizes an event that I have only learned about and by doing so reminds me that our country's history however tragic it may be must be remembered.
Reviews:
Exquisitely understated design lends visual potency to a searing poetic evocation of the Birmingham church bombing of 1963. The unnamed fictional narrator relates the events of "[t]he year I turned ten," this refrain introducing such domestic commonplaces as her first sip of coffee and "doz[ing] on Mama's shoulder" at church. She juxtaposes these against the momentous events of the year: the Children's March in Birmingham for which the narrator missed school, the March on Washington and the mass meetings at church that she found so soporific. The same matter-of-fact tone continues to relate what happened "[t]he day I turned ten:" "10:22 a.m. The clock stopped, and Jesus' face / Was blown out of the only stained-glass window / Left standing. . . . " Documentary gray dominates the palette, the only color angry streaks of red that evoke shattered window frames. The poems appear on recto accompanied by images of childhood—patent-leather shoes, pencils, bobby socks—while full-bleed archival photographs face them on verso. It's a gorgeous memorial to the four killed on that horrible day, and to the thousands of children who braved violence to help change the world. 2007, Wordsong/Boyds Mills, 40p, $17.95. Category: Poetry. Ages 10 to 14. Starred Review. © 2007 Kirkus Reviews/VNU eMedia, Inc. All rights reserved.
Kirkus (Kirkus Reviews, August 15, 2007 (Vol. 75, No. 16))
How to use this book in your library:
As generations keep progressing the parts of American history that are studied and learned about are continuing to change- it is important that the Civil Rights period and the events that occurred throughout those trying years are learned about. Birmingham, 1963 would be an excellent book to read aloud. The verse and photographs included would keep a captive audience.
1963 was the year that a young girl, the narrator of this story, turned ten. We are taken through the events of her year, events that no ten year old girl should ever have to experience, until finally on her tenth birthday a day she was excited to sing a solo in church violence was the only thing heard.
Bibliographic Citation:
Boston Weatherford, C. (2007). Birmingham, 1963. Honesdale, PA: WordSong.
My Impression:
This verse style book was a difficult read because I knew where the plot was going. The words flowed smoothly through my head as I read it to myself and then off my tongue as I read it aloud later. Accompanied by black and white photographs streaked with red on each page of text everything about Birmingham, 1963 is powerful. The event in history is well known and has been written about frequently but this short version, a poem, finishes in a unique way I have never seen before. At the end there are four separate poems- one for each of the four girls who were killed in the church bombing that day along with a picture. Birmingham, 1963 personalizes an event that I have only learned about and by doing so reminds me that our country's history however tragic it may be must be remembered.
Reviews:
Exquisitely understated design lends visual potency to a searing poetic evocation of the Birmingham church bombing of 1963. The unnamed fictional narrator relates the events of "[t]he year I turned ten," this refrain introducing such domestic commonplaces as her first sip of coffee and "doz[ing] on Mama's shoulder" at church. She juxtaposes these against the momentous events of the year: the Children's March in Birmingham for which the narrator missed school, the March on Washington and the mass meetings at church that she found so soporific. The same matter-of-fact tone continues to relate what happened "[t]he day I turned ten:" "10:22 a.m. The clock stopped, and Jesus' face / Was blown out of the only stained-glass window / Left standing. . . . " Documentary gray dominates the palette, the only color angry streaks of red that evoke shattered window frames. The poems appear on recto accompanied by images of childhood—patent-leather shoes, pencils, bobby socks—while full-bleed archival photographs face them on verso. It's a gorgeous memorial to the four killed on that horrible day, and to the thousands of children who braved violence to help change the world. 2007, Wordsong/Boyds Mills, 40p, $17.95. Category: Poetry. Ages 10 to 14. Starred Review. © 2007 Kirkus Reviews/VNU eMedia, Inc. All rights reserved.
Kirkus (Kirkus Reviews, August 15, 2007 (Vol. 75, No. 16))
How to use this book in your library:
As generations keep progressing the parts of American history that are studied and learned about are continuing to change- it is important that the Civil Rights period and the events that occurred throughout those trying years are learned about. Birmingham, 1963 would be an excellent book to read aloud. The verse and photographs included would keep a captive audience.
Module 13 - Nancy Drew Graphic Novel: The Demon of River Heights by: Stefan Petrucha (Carolyn Keene)
Summary:
Nancy and her friends Bess and George take part in the filming of a movie by a couple of film students from the nearby university. When rumors that her father looses and client and those two film students turn up missing suspicions arise. From an incident with a wild animal and an incident with people who should be considered wild animals Nancy Drew is kept on her toes in this mystery, but, true to form she always catches her criminals.
Bibliographic Citation:
Petrucha, S. (2005). Nancy Drew graphic novel: The demon of river heights. New York, NY: Papercutz.
My Impression:
I chose to read this book because growing up I loved all Nancy Drew books. That being said, because this was one of my first graphic novels this book was a little different to me. There were things I liked and didn't like, but I need to say up front that I am somewhat of a traditionalist. The format of the story was hard for me to follow and it took at least ten pages for me to figure out which bubble to read first. I got lost in the images and while I could somewhat follow by just the illustrations the words were absolutely necessary for me as a reader. The mystery and the characters (for the most part) were very similar to the original characters and I appreciated that as a Nancy Drew fan. I would only recommend this book to a graphic novel fan or a reader who wasn't a fan of the Nancy Drew series because I think my loyalty to the original got in the way of my enjoyment.
Reviews:
Reviewed with Scott Lobdell's The Ocean of Osyria. These graphic-novel-style versions of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew adventures will appeal to young graphic-novel fans as well as readers new to the venerable amateur sleuths. The pocket-size books, first in their respective series, are appealingly presented. The manga-influenced art is very colorful, and the brisk pacing, with just a few frames per page, makes for an easy read--perfect for reluctant readers. In The Ocean, those well-mannered Hardy boys, Joe and Frank (reimagined as tech-savvy crime solvers), return to fight a new generation of foes, the majority of whom appear to be Middle Eastern and French. Here, the young sleuths travel around the world in an attempt to recover a stolen artifact and save their best friend, who has been framed for the theft. Although this is a modernized version of the classic capers, with the Internet and cell phones playing key roles, the wholesomeness of the boys' principles remains the same. In The Demon, Nancy, the classic American teenage heroine, manages to solve cases that baffle local police. This time she becomes involved in a student film about a local monster legend, which may turn out to be real, and a suspicious stranger arrives in town. For the most part, the artwork is crisp enough, but several pages appear to be substandard reproductions of original art. Category: Books for Middle Readers--Fiction. 2005, Papercutz, $7.95. Gr. 4-6.
Carlos Orellana (Booklist, May 15, 2005 (Vol. 101, No. 18))
How to use this book in your library:
Graphic novels are an excellent way to get kids reading but they are also an excellent way to get kids writing and drawing. Mysteries are always exciting and I would pair this graphic novel mystery with an introduction on the art of comics and making your own graphic novels. There is a great site produced by Scholastic with instructions on making your own graphic novel and what fun it would be with students!
http://www.scholastic.com/amulet/makeyourown/
Nancy and her friends Bess and George take part in the filming of a movie by a couple of film students from the nearby university. When rumors that her father looses and client and those two film students turn up missing suspicions arise. From an incident with a wild animal and an incident with people who should be considered wild animals Nancy Drew is kept on her toes in this mystery, but, true to form she always catches her criminals.
Bibliographic Citation:
Petrucha, S. (2005). Nancy Drew graphic novel: The demon of river heights. New York, NY: Papercutz.
My Impression:
I chose to read this book because growing up I loved all Nancy Drew books. That being said, because this was one of my first graphic novels this book was a little different to me. There were things I liked and didn't like, but I need to say up front that I am somewhat of a traditionalist. The format of the story was hard for me to follow and it took at least ten pages for me to figure out which bubble to read first. I got lost in the images and while I could somewhat follow by just the illustrations the words were absolutely necessary for me as a reader. The mystery and the characters (for the most part) were very similar to the original characters and I appreciated that as a Nancy Drew fan. I would only recommend this book to a graphic novel fan or a reader who wasn't a fan of the Nancy Drew series because I think my loyalty to the original got in the way of my enjoyment.
Reviews:
Reviewed with Scott Lobdell's The Ocean of Osyria. These graphic-novel-style versions of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew adventures will appeal to young graphic-novel fans as well as readers new to the venerable amateur sleuths. The pocket-size books, first in their respective series, are appealingly presented. The manga-influenced art is very colorful, and the brisk pacing, with just a few frames per page, makes for an easy read--perfect for reluctant readers. In The Ocean, those well-mannered Hardy boys, Joe and Frank (reimagined as tech-savvy crime solvers), return to fight a new generation of foes, the majority of whom appear to be Middle Eastern and French. Here, the young sleuths travel around the world in an attempt to recover a stolen artifact and save their best friend, who has been framed for the theft. Although this is a modernized version of the classic capers, with the Internet and cell phones playing key roles, the wholesomeness of the boys' principles remains the same. In The Demon, Nancy, the classic American teenage heroine, manages to solve cases that baffle local police. This time she becomes involved in a student film about a local monster legend, which may turn out to be real, and a suspicious stranger arrives in town. For the most part, the artwork is crisp enough, but several pages appear to be substandard reproductions of original art. Category: Books for Middle Readers--Fiction. 2005, Papercutz, $7.95. Gr. 4-6.
Carlos Orellana (Booklist, May 15, 2005 (Vol. 101, No. 18))
How to use this book in your library:
Graphic novels are an excellent way to get kids reading but they are also an excellent way to get kids writing and drawing. Mysteries are always exciting and I would pair this graphic novel mystery with an introduction on the art of comics and making your own graphic novels. There is a great site produced by Scholastic with instructions on making your own graphic novel and what fun it would be with students!
http://www.scholastic.com/amulet/makeyourown/
Module 12 - The Road to Oz by: Kathleen Krull
Summary:
This biography teaches about the life of L.Frank Baum beginning with his privileged childhood. The biography takes us through Baum's life showing us his creativity, willingness to take risks, and his immense priority in family. All of these things and more led Baum to publish the story that made him famous, "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz".
Bibliographic Citation:
Krull, K. (2008). The road to Oz: Twists, turns, bumps, and triumphs in the life of L. Frank Baum. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf.
My Impression:
This biography was written very well, with detailed illustrations. The story showcases both positive and negative times in Baum's life, but does so in a way that is appropriate for the intended the audience. I enjoyed the illustrations a lot which were done by Kevin Hawkes, each drawing subtly featured an image from the story we all know so well as the text explained the relationship to Baum's life that each character had. I would say this biography is an excellent recommendation for younger readers, the text pages are primarily short blocks of writing with full pages of pictures to compare to and overall the biography is very thorough.
Reviews:
L. Frank Baum hated his first name--Layman--and let anybody who dared call him that know how much he disliked it. He was born into a wealthy and loving family, which led him to be a good husband and father, but not a practical man. He always had an interest in writing and started a family newsletter with his brother Harry. He tried his hand at many trades, but constantly was stolen from and duped by colleagues or employees. Always he came back to writing. Although he published a number of books, he had little success as a writer until he wrote and self-published The Wizard of Oz, with the financial help of the illustrator, William Wallace Denslow. But before “Oz” came out, he honed his writing skills by observing everything around him and telling bedtime stories to his children and their friends. He poured all this skill into the telling of Dorothy’s trip to Oz and became a grand success. But his long-suffering wife had learned to keep a tight hold on the family’s purse strings. The family eventually ended up with a mansion on many acres in California, where children flocked to hear Frank tell his stories. He wrote 13 “Oz” books, all with strong girls as main characters; true to his family’s belief in equal rights for women. The writing is upbeat and playful, making this biography fun to read, and the illustrations add to the playfulness. 2008, Borzoi Book/Alfred A. Knopf/Random House Children, $ 17.99. Ages 7 to 10.
Sarah Maury Swan (Children's Literature)
How to use this book in your library:
There are few people who don't know what "The Wizard of Oz" is, but there are many who have never read the story that the famous movie was based on. This biography would be a great bridge from the iconic movie the magical story behind it. Read this book allowed and then introduce the book.
This biography teaches about the life of L.Frank Baum beginning with his privileged childhood. The biography takes us through Baum's life showing us his creativity, willingness to take risks, and his immense priority in family. All of these things and more led Baum to publish the story that made him famous, "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz".
Bibliographic Citation:
Krull, K. (2008). The road to Oz: Twists, turns, bumps, and triumphs in the life of L. Frank Baum. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf.
My Impression:
This biography was written very well, with detailed illustrations. The story showcases both positive and negative times in Baum's life, but does so in a way that is appropriate for the intended the audience. I enjoyed the illustrations a lot which were done by Kevin Hawkes, each drawing subtly featured an image from the story we all know so well as the text explained the relationship to Baum's life that each character had. I would say this biography is an excellent recommendation for younger readers, the text pages are primarily short blocks of writing with full pages of pictures to compare to and overall the biography is very thorough.
Reviews:
L. Frank Baum hated his first name--Layman--and let anybody who dared call him that know how much he disliked it. He was born into a wealthy and loving family, which led him to be a good husband and father, but not a practical man. He always had an interest in writing and started a family newsletter with his brother Harry. He tried his hand at many trades, but constantly was stolen from and duped by colleagues or employees. Always he came back to writing. Although he published a number of books, he had little success as a writer until he wrote and self-published The Wizard of Oz, with the financial help of the illustrator, William Wallace Denslow. But before “Oz” came out, he honed his writing skills by observing everything around him and telling bedtime stories to his children and their friends. He poured all this skill into the telling of Dorothy’s trip to Oz and became a grand success. But his long-suffering wife had learned to keep a tight hold on the family’s purse strings. The family eventually ended up with a mansion on many acres in California, where children flocked to hear Frank tell his stories. He wrote 13 “Oz” books, all with strong girls as main characters; true to his family’s belief in equal rights for women. The writing is upbeat and playful, making this biography fun to read, and the illustrations add to the playfulness. 2008, Borzoi Book/Alfred A. Knopf/Random House Children, $ 17.99. Ages 7 to 10.
Sarah Maury Swan (Children's Literature)
How to use this book in your library:
There are few people who don't know what "The Wizard of Oz" is, but there are many who have never read the story that the famous movie was based on. This biography would be a great bridge from the iconic movie the magical story behind it. Read this book allowed and then introduce the book.
Module 11 - Lafayette and the American Revolution by:
Summary:
Lafayette and The American Revolution takes readers through Lafayette's life leading up to, during and following his involvement in The American Revolution. From an intriguing beginning about a stranger staying in a farmer's cottage, a 32 day hike up the eastern coast of America, a relationship with George Washington, to an honorable tribute made during World War I; both a biography and a history lesson.
Bibliographic Citation:
Freedman, R. (2010). Lafayette and the American revolution. New York, NY: Holiday House.
My Impression:
A lover of history, especially American history, this book was easy for me to get into. I could see it being hard for younger readers to stay interested in though, because of the length of the text sections and the book itself. The images, illustrations, etc. add to the book as a whole and for an interested reader really complete the information found within the book. Along with the information in the text Freedman includes a time line of Lafayette's life and an array of resources. I definitely believe this is high quality non-fiction and look forward to reading more of Freedman's work.
Reviews:
Married at sixteen, a father at eighteen, and certainly one of the wealthiest men in eighteenth-century France, the Marquis de Lafayette could easily have settled into the privileged life of the nobility. With little taste for taxing manners and protocols, he scuttled his own opportunities at court and attuned his dreams to emulating the military distinction of his forebears. Smitten with the ideals of American colonists fighting for independence, he defied family, king, and official French neutrality and bargained for a commission in the Continental Army. Congress may have initially regarded him as little more than a promising connection to a future alliance, but the untested Lafayette quickly proved himself a wily strategist and able commander (to say nothing of a generous donor to the cause), and his engagement at the decisive battle at Yorktown would be considered critical to the outcome of the Revolution. Freedman capitalizes on the inherent interest of a man who launched a heroic career while still in his teens, and the young general’s story is told in fluent, polished prose. While more information on the complexity of his subsequent years during the French Revolution would have broadened the context of his career, the focus of this title is Lafayette’s contribution to the American independence, and it’s effectively explored. With its attractive, heavily illustrated layout, timeline, source notes, bibliography, and index, this invaluable addition to the collection of Revolutionary War material should serve report writers and engross middle-school fans of military history Review Code: R -- Recommended. (c) Copyright 2006, The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois. 2010, Holiday House, 88p.; Reviewed from galleys, $24.95. Grades 5-8.
Elizabeth Bush (The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books, November 2010 (Vol. 64, No. 3))
How to use this book in your library:
All students learn about the Revolutionary War, but not all students understand how many individuals from all over the world had a role in it. I would create a book trailer for this book- anything about war can be very exciting! Share that trailer with teachers to share when they are going to be studying this period in our country's history and then work with teachers to establish when it would be appropriate to read this book aloud with their classroom.
Lafayette and The American Revolution takes readers through Lafayette's life leading up to, during and following his involvement in The American Revolution. From an intriguing beginning about a stranger staying in a farmer's cottage, a 32 day hike up the eastern coast of America, a relationship with George Washington, to an honorable tribute made during World War I; both a biography and a history lesson.
Bibliographic Citation:
Freedman, R. (2010). Lafayette and the American revolution. New York, NY: Holiday House.
My Impression:
A lover of history, especially American history, this book was easy for me to get into. I could see it being hard for younger readers to stay interested in though, because of the length of the text sections and the book itself. The images, illustrations, etc. add to the book as a whole and for an interested reader really complete the information found within the book. Along with the information in the text Freedman includes a time line of Lafayette's life and an array of resources. I definitely believe this is high quality non-fiction and look forward to reading more of Freedman's work.
Reviews:
Married at sixteen, a father at eighteen, and certainly one of the wealthiest men in eighteenth-century France, the Marquis de Lafayette could easily have settled into the privileged life of the nobility. With little taste for taxing manners and protocols, he scuttled his own opportunities at court and attuned his dreams to emulating the military distinction of his forebears. Smitten with the ideals of American colonists fighting for independence, he defied family, king, and official French neutrality and bargained for a commission in the Continental Army. Congress may have initially regarded him as little more than a promising connection to a future alliance, but the untested Lafayette quickly proved himself a wily strategist and able commander (to say nothing of a generous donor to the cause), and his engagement at the decisive battle at Yorktown would be considered critical to the outcome of the Revolution. Freedman capitalizes on the inherent interest of a man who launched a heroic career while still in his teens, and the young general’s story is told in fluent, polished prose. While more information on the complexity of his subsequent years during the French Revolution would have broadened the context of his career, the focus of this title is Lafayette’s contribution to the American independence, and it’s effectively explored. With its attractive, heavily illustrated layout, timeline, source notes, bibliography, and index, this invaluable addition to the collection of Revolutionary War material should serve report writers and engross middle-school fans of military history Review Code: R -- Recommended. (c) Copyright 2006, The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois. 2010, Holiday House, 88p.; Reviewed from galleys, $24.95. Grades 5-8.
Elizabeth Bush (The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books, November 2010 (Vol. 64, No. 3))
How to use this book in your library:
All students learn about the Revolutionary War, but not all students understand how many individuals from all over the world had a role in it. I would create a book trailer for this book- anything about war can be very exciting! Share that trailer with teachers to share when they are going to be studying this period in our country's history and then work with teachers to establish when it would be appropriate to read this book aloud with their classroom.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Module 10 - The Book Thief by: Markus Zusak
Summary:
A young girl who lives with her foster parents learns that they are hiding a Jewish man. Their relationship develops and she questions the beliefs of almost everyone around her- including herself. She begins to act in ways that are unlike her and discovering herself all at the same time. Narrated by Death, there is an ominous feel to the entire story that ends in reunion and then ultimately death...
Bibliographic Citation:
Zusak, M. (2005). The book thief. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf.
My Impression:
This story is one that will make you cry and laugh and think... I have never read a story narrated by Death, but the narration gives The Book Thief an incredibly real and unique aspect. Historical fiction is one of my favorite genres and I especially love to read books based on the events during WWII, The Book Thief bridges a gap between safe stories about real events and a more adult story geared toward slightly younger readers. I have already recommended this book to many people, of many ages, and I have received positive feedback. I will continue to recommend this book and it will remain a part of my personal collection. It is rare to find a story this powerful, a story that overcomes all you have considered but The Book Thief does just that and I hope will continue to for all time.
Reviews:
The 584 pages of this extraordinary novel are centred on the lives of families and individuals in a town in Nazi Germany. Liesel, nine at the beginning of The Book Thief , is parted from her family in the chaos of Hitler’s rise to power; little explanation is given although it seems her parents were communists. Fostered by Rosa and Hans Hubermann, she grows to early teenage in a tough but loving environment. Hard times are exacerbated by Hans’s reluctance to join the Nazi party or to persecute the Jews in his town. Formerly a soldier in World War One, his life was saved by another soldier, Erik Vandenburg, a Jew, so when his son Max turns up on Hans’s doorstep Hans feels obliged to hide him, despite the huge risks involved. Hans is one of the great characters in the book: humane and patient, he teaches Liesel to read the books which she loves and which acquired by stealth, she builds into an eclectic library. The narrator is Death who does not choose those whose souls he takes; it is his job to gather them after their owners have died. He is appalled by the way in which humans often behave, and especially the horrendous ways in which victims of Hitler’s fanaticism meet their appointments with him. It’s a clever device, allowing for dispassionate observation of events and for a different commentary on matters which can lose their impact by becoming over familiar. It also provides opportunities for Death to drop oblique remarks, leaving the reader fearful for sympathetic characters. This is not a ‘them and us’ war novel. Most of the characters know little about those with whom Germany is at war, and show little allegiance to Hitler. Most of all, it is about survival; the survival of people in the first instance, but it is also a reflection on the survival of books despite efforts to eradicate them, and of words too in the face of a political system which makes everyone afraid of saying too much. Within this powerful novel, the power of story is manifest when, for example, Liesel distracts her neighbours as they shelter from bombings, and where Max finds distraction from his basement hideout by creating stories. The Book Thief has much to say to thoughtful readers, young and old. Category: 14+ Secondary/Adult. Rating: 5 (Unmissable). ...., Bodley Head, 584pp, D12.99 hbk. Ages 14 to adult.
Valerie Coghlan (Books for Keeps No. 163, March 2007)
How to use this book in your library:
Given the opportunity this book would be an excellent story to progressively read aloud to students. This would be more difficult in a public library, but in a school setting it could easily be paired with the lessons during which students are learning about World War II.
A young girl who lives with her foster parents learns that they are hiding a Jewish man. Their relationship develops and she questions the beliefs of almost everyone around her- including herself. She begins to act in ways that are unlike her and discovering herself all at the same time. Narrated by Death, there is an ominous feel to the entire story that ends in reunion and then ultimately death...
Bibliographic Citation:
Zusak, M. (2005). The book thief. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf.
My Impression:
This story is one that will make you cry and laugh and think... I have never read a story narrated by Death, but the narration gives The Book Thief an incredibly real and unique aspect. Historical fiction is one of my favorite genres and I especially love to read books based on the events during WWII, The Book Thief bridges a gap between safe stories about real events and a more adult story geared toward slightly younger readers. I have already recommended this book to many people, of many ages, and I have received positive feedback. I will continue to recommend this book and it will remain a part of my personal collection. It is rare to find a story this powerful, a story that overcomes all you have considered but The Book Thief does just that and I hope will continue to for all time.
Reviews:
The 584 pages of this extraordinary novel are centred on the lives of families and individuals in a town in Nazi Germany. Liesel, nine at the beginning of The Book Thief , is parted from her family in the chaos of Hitler’s rise to power; little explanation is given although it seems her parents were communists. Fostered by Rosa and Hans Hubermann, she grows to early teenage in a tough but loving environment. Hard times are exacerbated by Hans’s reluctance to join the Nazi party or to persecute the Jews in his town. Formerly a soldier in World War One, his life was saved by another soldier, Erik Vandenburg, a Jew, so when his son Max turns up on Hans’s doorstep Hans feels obliged to hide him, despite the huge risks involved. Hans is one of the great characters in the book: humane and patient, he teaches Liesel to read the books which she loves and which acquired by stealth, she builds into an eclectic library. The narrator is Death who does not choose those whose souls he takes; it is his job to gather them after their owners have died. He is appalled by the way in which humans often behave, and especially the horrendous ways in which victims of Hitler’s fanaticism meet their appointments with him. It’s a clever device, allowing for dispassionate observation of events and for a different commentary on matters which can lose their impact by becoming over familiar. It also provides opportunities for Death to drop oblique remarks, leaving the reader fearful for sympathetic characters. This is not a ‘them and us’ war novel. Most of the characters know little about those with whom Germany is at war, and show little allegiance to Hitler. Most of all, it is about survival; the survival of people in the first instance, but it is also a reflection on the survival of books despite efforts to eradicate them, and of words too in the face of a political system which makes everyone afraid of saying too much. Within this powerful novel, the power of story is manifest when, for example, Liesel distracts her neighbours as they shelter from bombings, and where Max finds distraction from his basement hideout by creating stories. The Book Thief has much to say to thoughtful readers, young and old. Category: 14+ Secondary/Adult. Rating: 5 (Unmissable). ...., Bodley Head, 584pp, D12.99 hbk. Ages 14 to adult.
Valerie Coghlan (Books for Keeps No. 163, March 2007)
How to use this book in your library:
Given the opportunity this book would be an excellent story to progressively read aloud to students. This would be more difficult in a public library, but in a school setting it could easily be paired with the lessons during which students are learning about World War II.
Module 9 - Mystery at the Club Sandwich by: Doug Cushman
Summary:
When the singer at Club Sandwich's lucky marbles go missing her assistant sets out in search of Nick Trunk the private detective who can crack any case; as long as payment is ready in the form of peanuts. Finding the clues, peanut butter and ostrich feathers, lead to an array of suspects but Nick Trunk always gets his man or woman and the Mystery at Club Sandwich is no different.
Bibliographic Citation:
Cushman, D. (2004). Mystery at club sandwich. New York, NY: Clarion Books.
My Impression:
The black and white illustrations in Cushman's book really give the story the feel of an old mystery movie. The story is full of word play and idioms giving it a adult appeal. This would be a fun story to read aloud and a really fun story to introduce young readers to the genre of mystery. I have always loved a good mystery and this story was no different. It was a good read and I enjoyed the illustrations immensely.
Reviews:
Black and white illustrations give this mystery just the perfect setting, as Nick tries to solve who stole singer Lola's marbles at the Club Sandwich. This elephant gumshoe is sure peanut butter and ostrich feathers are the clues he needs as he narrows down his list of suspects. Nick, of course, just works for peanuts. Full of puns that both students and adults will enjoy, teachers will find this a great book to share with students when working with a list of clues to solve a problem. It would be interesting to have students track who they think is guilty of the crime and see if they change their minds as the story progresses. The 1940s era illustrations give the reader the feeling of an old time detective story. Add it all up and this case is closed and this book is recommended. Recommended. 2004, Clarion Books, 32pp., $15 hc. Ages 7 to 10.
Carl A. Harvey II (Library Media Connection, January 2005)
How to use this book in your library:
This book would be great for a Summer Reading program involving mysteries! There are so many mysteries that could happen at the library and children love a good puzzle. Role play would be fun with this story and it could lead to a mystery game.
When the singer at Club Sandwich's lucky marbles go missing her assistant sets out in search of Nick Trunk the private detective who can crack any case; as long as payment is ready in the form of peanuts. Finding the clues, peanut butter and ostrich feathers, lead to an array of suspects but Nick Trunk always gets his man or woman and the Mystery at Club Sandwich is no different.
Bibliographic Citation:
Cushman, D. (2004). Mystery at club sandwich. New York, NY: Clarion Books.
My Impression:
The black and white illustrations in Cushman's book really give the story the feel of an old mystery movie. The story is full of word play and idioms giving it a adult appeal. This would be a fun story to read aloud and a really fun story to introduce young readers to the genre of mystery. I have always loved a good mystery and this story was no different. It was a good read and I enjoyed the illustrations immensely.
Reviews:
Black and white illustrations give this mystery just the perfect setting, as Nick tries to solve who stole singer Lola's marbles at the Club Sandwich. This elephant gumshoe is sure peanut butter and ostrich feathers are the clues he needs as he narrows down his list of suspects. Nick, of course, just works for peanuts. Full of puns that both students and adults will enjoy, teachers will find this a great book to share with students when working with a list of clues to solve a problem. It would be interesting to have students track who they think is guilty of the crime and see if they change their minds as the story progresses. The 1940s era illustrations give the reader the feeling of an old time detective story. Add it all up and this case is closed and this book is recommended. Recommended. 2004, Clarion Books, 32pp., $15 hc. Ages 7 to 10.
Carl A. Harvey II (Library Media Connection, January 2005)
How to use this book in your library:
This book would be great for a Summer Reading program involving mysteries! There are so many mysteries that could happen at the library and children love a good puzzle. Role play would be fun with this story and it could lead to a mystery game.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Module 8 - Inkheart by: Cornelia Funke
Summary:
A secret hidden so long from Meggie is about to fall into her world without her even being aware. As she and her father make their way through the an adventure full of characters from books and the real world their own character is challenged. An interesting selection of allies and enemies appear throughout the story until finally one of Meggie's lifelong problems is solved.
Bibliographic Citation:
Funke, C. (2003). Inkheart. New York, NY: Scholastic.
My Impression:
Well I should start of by saying that Inkheart the book was MUCH better than Inkheart the movie. There is just too much imagination to capture the true creativity of this story in a movie. From the first few pages I was enthralled in this story and it's characters and the conflicts and resolutions that occur throughout the plot. Although the book is clearly fantasy Cornelia Funke left me wondering what if... What if I could truly read the characters out of story, who would I choose, and would it be worth the risk of losing someone to the story??
Reviews:
Cornelia Funke, popular author of The Thief Lord, creates an astonishing magical world in this novel. When a mysterious stranger suddenly appears at Meggie's door, the quiet life she has led with her father, Mo, vanishes. This stranger is linked to her father's past, and Meggie discovers that Mo has been keeping a secret that involves the disappearance of her mother, a sinister man named Capricorn, and Meggie herself. As she and her father flee from their home, Meggie learns that when her father reads aloud, he is able to bring characters out of the pages and into their world. However, Mo's gift has a terrible price: every time something comes out of a book, something must go into it, even if it is something he loves. Now Capricorn wants to use Mo for his own nasty deeds and decides to use Meggie as bait. Hidden away, Meggie must wait for her father to save her from Capricorn and his hideous plan to bring an indestructible evil to Earth. In this magical world, Meggie has to discover that all actions have consequences and that sometimes the things we long for most are right in front of us. Beginning each chapter with a quote from a famous book, Funke gives the reader ample foreshadowing and creates a false feeling of what is to come. For example, when Dustfinger betrays Meggie to Capricorn, the quote for that chapter comes from C.S. Lewis' novel The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe: "The reason there's no use looking, said Mr. Beaver, we know already where he's gone! Everyone stared in amazement. Don't you understand? said Mr. Beaver. He's gone to her, to the White Witch. He has betrayed us all." This novel would be excellent for use in the classroom to assist with the task of teaching foreshadowing, though it is also a wonderful coming of age story in which the female protagonist has to find the courage to survive in the magical world in which she found herself. 2003, The Chicken House/Scholastic, $16.95. Ages 10 to 15.
Tiffany Burgess (Children's Literature)
How to use this book in your library:
This book is too long to read aloud, but many portions of it could be used for creative writing exercises. Of course that would probably be more appropriate in a school library, but in public library discussion of the questions I asked above would be a great way to gets kids talking about other books and sharing some of their favorites with you and other kids.
A secret hidden so long from Meggie is about to fall into her world without her even being aware. As she and her father make their way through the an adventure full of characters from books and the real world their own character is challenged. An interesting selection of allies and enemies appear throughout the story until finally one of Meggie's lifelong problems is solved.
Bibliographic Citation:
Funke, C. (2003). Inkheart. New York, NY: Scholastic.
My Impression:
Well I should start of by saying that Inkheart the book was MUCH better than Inkheart the movie. There is just too much imagination to capture the true creativity of this story in a movie. From the first few pages I was enthralled in this story and it's characters and the conflicts and resolutions that occur throughout the plot. Although the book is clearly fantasy Cornelia Funke left me wondering what if... What if I could truly read the characters out of story, who would I choose, and would it be worth the risk of losing someone to the story??
Reviews:
Cornelia Funke, popular author of The Thief Lord, creates an astonishing magical world in this novel. When a mysterious stranger suddenly appears at Meggie's door, the quiet life she has led with her father, Mo, vanishes. This stranger is linked to her father's past, and Meggie discovers that Mo has been keeping a secret that involves the disappearance of her mother, a sinister man named Capricorn, and Meggie herself. As she and her father flee from their home, Meggie learns that when her father reads aloud, he is able to bring characters out of the pages and into their world. However, Mo's gift has a terrible price: every time something comes out of a book, something must go into it, even if it is something he loves. Now Capricorn wants to use Mo for his own nasty deeds and decides to use Meggie as bait. Hidden away, Meggie must wait for her father to save her from Capricorn and his hideous plan to bring an indestructible evil to Earth. In this magical world, Meggie has to discover that all actions have consequences and that sometimes the things we long for most are right in front of us. Beginning each chapter with a quote from a famous book, Funke gives the reader ample foreshadowing and creates a false feeling of what is to come. For example, when Dustfinger betrays Meggie to Capricorn, the quote for that chapter comes from C.S. Lewis' novel The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe: "The reason there's no use looking, said Mr. Beaver, we know already where he's gone! Everyone stared in amazement. Don't you understand? said Mr. Beaver. He's gone to her, to the White Witch. He has betrayed us all." This novel would be excellent for use in the classroom to assist with the task of teaching foreshadowing, though it is also a wonderful coming of age story in which the female protagonist has to find the courage to survive in the magical world in which she found herself. 2003, The Chicken House/Scholastic, $16.95. Ages 10 to 15.
Tiffany Burgess (Children's Literature)
How to use this book in your library:
This book is too long to read aloud, but many portions of it could be used for creative writing exercises. Of course that would probably be more appropriate in a school library, but in public library discussion of the questions I asked above would be a great way to gets kids talking about other books and sharing some of their favorites with you and other kids.
Module 7 - The Penderwicks by: Jeanne Birdsall
Summary:
When four singles and their father spend the Summer in a rented country cottage, they had no idea what the Summer would entail. As the sisters live their adventures and each grow in their own way through an interaction with a bull, an exciting friendship with a mysterious boy, and an intriguing crush on an older boy, the sisters soon realize that while they may make friends and share their experiences with others their father and the four of them are what really matter most in life.
Bibliographic Citation:
Birdsall, J. (2005). The Penderwicks: a summer tale of four sisters, two rabbits, and a very interesting boy. New York, NY: Yearling.
My Impression:
The Penderwicks is an incredible story that you will find yourself laughing out loud at throughout the entire story. The true beauty of this story, however, is the way real issues are seriously dealt with in a lighthearted story. The woes of adolescent girls is a struggle, and each of the Penderwick sisters have their own personality and problems. Jeanne Birdsall does an incredible job of helping these sisters through their struggles in a realistic way and encompassing the positive joy of life that is always present despite the tears a girl may have when she gets knocked down. I don't think boys would typically enjoy this story, but girls of many ages will love it, including adults, because sometimes we need to find the girl in ourselves all over again.
Reviews:
Starred Review* The Penderwick sisters, who made a splash in their first eponymous novel (which won a 2005 National Book Award) return in another warm family story. An opening chapter, which might bring a tear to the eye, tells how the girls’ mother died right after Batty’s birth. Now, some four years later, Aunt Claire presents the girls’ father with a letter from his late wife, telling him it’s time to start dating. Rosalind, Skye, Jane, and Batty beg to differ and come up with a harebrained scheme to thwart Mr. Penderwick. But the girls aren’t just focused on their father. Rosalind has her own romantic entanglements; and Skye and Jane write compositions for each other, which leads to myriad problems. Meanwhile, little Batty has become enamored of the widow and her baby son who live next door. There’s never much suspense about where all this is going, but things happen in such touching ways that the story is hard to resist. As in the previous book, Birdsall seems to get inspiration from books like Sydney Taylor’s All-of-a-Kind Family and the movie Meet Me in St. Louis—just the sort of cozy fare that’s missing in today’s mean-girl world. Grades 4-7
Ilene Cooper (Booklist, May 1, 2008 (Vol. 104, No. 17))
How to use this book in your library:
Because The Penderwicks is set in Summer this book could be great start for an older audiences Summer Reading program. Summer adventures can be had by all, not just those who vacation to a country cottage, encourage children in your library to create adventures like Skye, perhaps by writing a book, or by dressing up like Batty. When the sun is shining and school is out the possibilities are endless.
When four singles and their father spend the Summer in a rented country cottage, they had no idea what the Summer would entail. As the sisters live their adventures and each grow in their own way through an interaction with a bull, an exciting friendship with a mysterious boy, and an intriguing crush on an older boy, the sisters soon realize that while they may make friends and share their experiences with others their father and the four of them are what really matter most in life.
Bibliographic Citation:
Birdsall, J. (2005). The Penderwicks: a summer tale of four sisters, two rabbits, and a very interesting boy. New York, NY: Yearling.
My Impression:
The Penderwicks is an incredible story that you will find yourself laughing out loud at throughout the entire story. The true beauty of this story, however, is the way real issues are seriously dealt with in a lighthearted story. The woes of adolescent girls is a struggle, and each of the Penderwick sisters have their own personality and problems. Jeanne Birdsall does an incredible job of helping these sisters through their struggles in a realistic way and encompassing the positive joy of life that is always present despite the tears a girl may have when she gets knocked down. I don't think boys would typically enjoy this story, but girls of many ages will love it, including adults, because sometimes we need to find the girl in ourselves all over again.
Reviews:
Starred Review* The Penderwick sisters, who made a splash in their first eponymous novel (which won a 2005 National Book Award) return in another warm family story. An opening chapter, which might bring a tear to the eye, tells how the girls’ mother died right after Batty’s birth. Now, some four years later, Aunt Claire presents the girls’ father with a letter from his late wife, telling him it’s time to start dating. Rosalind, Skye, Jane, and Batty beg to differ and come up with a harebrained scheme to thwart Mr. Penderwick. But the girls aren’t just focused on their father. Rosalind has her own romantic entanglements; and Skye and Jane write compositions for each other, which leads to myriad problems. Meanwhile, little Batty has become enamored of the widow and her baby son who live next door. There’s never much suspense about where all this is going, but things happen in such touching ways that the story is hard to resist. As in the previous book, Birdsall seems to get inspiration from books like Sydney Taylor’s All-of-a-Kind Family and the movie Meet Me in St. Louis—just the sort of cozy fare that’s missing in today’s mean-girl world. Grades 4-7
Ilene Cooper (Booklist, May 1, 2008 (Vol. 104, No. 17))
How to use this book in your library:
Because The Penderwicks is set in Summer this book could be great start for an older audiences Summer Reading program. Summer adventures can be had by all, not just those who vacation to a country cottage, encourage children in your library to create adventures like Skye, perhaps by writing a book, or by dressing up like Batty. When the sun is shining and school is out the possibilities are endless.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Module 7 - Because of Winn-Dixie by: Kate DiCamillo
Summary:
Opal is new in town and when her father, the Preacher, sends her to the grocery store for a few things she finds more than she ever could have bargained for in a large dog whom she names Winn-Dixie on a whim. Opal slowly meets new people and mingles in the past searching for answers and an emotional calmness about her mother who abandoned she and her father. By the end of the story Opal again finds far more than she ever could have imagined and all because of Winn-Dixie.
Bibliographic Citation:
DiCamillo, K. (2001). Because of Winn-Dixie. Cambridge, MA: Candlewick Press.
My Impression:
I have always heard incredible things about Because of Winn-Dixie, but I hadn't read it until now and I certainly regret that I missed out on this story for so many years. Because of Winn-Dixie is a story, it is a story that so many people could relate to because of secrets they have in their heart and head- to be able to relate to the characters within this book and the transformations they all go through is part of what give a book its magic and Kate DiCamillo's story certainly has magic. Despite the fact that the main character is a girl, unlike many books of this type or genre, I think boys reading this would be able to find themselves in this story as well. Over all I really enjoyed this book and would recommend it to anyone of any age or gender!
Reviews:
The quick beginning, an essential feature of well-written children's books, carries Because of Winn-Dixie forward quite effectively. The stage is set in the first sentence: "My name is India Opal Buloni, and last summer my daddy, the preacher, sent me to the store for a box of macaroni-and-cheese, some white rice, and two tomatoes, and I came back with a dog." Ten-year-old Opal then proceeds to tell the funny story of a stray dog found in the produce department of the Winn-Dixie grocery store, where she calls him as if he were her own in order to save him from the pound. Because of Winn-Dixie is indeed a dog story, but it is also the story of a child, lonely yet resourceful, who has just recently moved to Naomi, Florida, with her father. It is the story of a motherless child, who longs for the love and comfort that a mother could provide. It is the story of a character finding her way in the world, a character seemingly tentative, yet as starkly defined as her red hair and the big, ugly, smiling stray dog she takes home, washes, and makes her own. And it is the story of Opal's developing friendships with distinctive, well-drawn characters--old Gloria Dump, who is almost blind; the librarian, Miss Franny Block; shy Otis at the pet store--encounters made possible, one way or another, because of the dog, Winn-Dixie. In twenty-six short chapters, DiCamillo has crafted a fine, economical story told in the authentic voice of a child, using regional language and vivid description in a clear, straightforward way. There is immediacy of feeling in this book, perfectly expressing the secret inner life that every child knows. Because of her resourcefulness, demonstrated in the opening chapter and throughout the book at every turn, Opal develops and grows as a character, in both her inner and her outer life. All of this is accomplished through a story worth telling. Children will enjoy Opal's abiding humor and Winn-Dixie's disarming and endearing ways, and the funny and important things that happen when the two of them get together. 2000, Candlewick, $15.99. Ages 9 to 12.
Kathie Krieger Cerra (The Five Owls, November/December 2000 (Vol. 15, No. 2))
How to use this library in your book:
I think the best way to use this book would be to read it aloud. It is a quick and easy read, and could be read to children very easily. It would be a great book to kick off a Summer reading program, or to help kids in an after school program who deal with some of the issues of loneliness the characters struggle through.
Opal is new in town and when her father, the Preacher, sends her to the grocery store for a few things she finds more than she ever could have bargained for in a large dog whom she names Winn-Dixie on a whim. Opal slowly meets new people and mingles in the past searching for answers and an emotional calmness about her mother who abandoned she and her father. By the end of the story Opal again finds far more than she ever could have imagined and all because of Winn-Dixie.
Bibliographic Citation:
DiCamillo, K. (2001). Because of Winn-Dixie. Cambridge, MA: Candlewick Press.
My Impression:
I have always heard incredible things about Because of Winn-Dixie, but I hadn't read it until now and I certainly regret that I missed out on this story for so many years. Because of Winn-Dixie is a story, it is a story that so many people could relate to because of secrets they have in their heart and head- to be able to relate to the characters within this book and the transformations they all go through is part of what give a book its magic and Kate DiCamillo's story certainly has magic. Despite the fact that the main character is a girl, unlike many books of this type or genre, I think boys reading this would be able to find themselves in this story as well. Over all I really enjoyed this book and would recommend it to anyone of any age or gender!
Reviews:
The quick beginning, an essential feature of well-written children's books, carries Because of Winn-Dixie forward quite effectively. The stage is set in the first sentence: "My name is India Opal Buloni, and last summer my daddy, the preacher, sent me to the store for a box of macaroni-and-cheese, some white rice, and two tomatoes, and I came back with a dog." Ten-year-old Opal then proceeds to tell the funny story of a stray dog found in the produce department of the Winn-Dixie grocery store, where she calls him as if he were her own in order to save him from the pound. Because of Winn-Dixie is indeed a dog story, but it is also the story of a child, lonely yet resourceful, who has just recently moved to Naomi, Florida, with her father. It is the story of a motherless child, who longs for the love and comfort that a mother could provide. It is the story of a character finding her way in the world, a character seemingly tentative, yet as starkly defined as her red hair and the big, ugly, smiling stray dog she takes home, washes, and makes her own. And it is the story of Opal's developing friendships with distinctive, well-drawn characters--old Gloria Dump, who is almost blind; the librarian, Miss Franny Block; shy Otis at the pet store--encounters made possible, one way or another, because of the dog, Winn-Dixie. In twenty-six short chapters, DiCamillo has crafted a fine, economical story told in the authentic voice of a child, using regional language and vivid description in a clear, straightforward way. There is immediacy of feeling in this book, perfectly expressing the secret inner life that every child knows. Because of her resourcefulness, demonstrated in the opening chapter and throughout the book at every turn, Opal develops and grows as a character, in both her inner and her outer life. All of this is accomplished through a story worth telling. Children will enjoy Opal's abiding humor and Winn-Dixie's disarming and endearing ways, and the funny and important things that happen when the two of them get together. 2000, Candlewick, $15.99. Ages 9 to 12.
Kathie Krieger Cerra (The Five Owls, November/December 2000 (Vol. 15, No. 2))
How to use this library in your book:
I think the best way to use this book would be to read it aloud. It is a quick and easy read, and could be read to children very easily. It would be a great book to kick off a Summer reading program, or to help kids in an after school program who deal with some of the issues of loneliness the characters struggle through.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Module 6 - The Lion & The Mouse by: Jerry Pinkney
Summary:
Can individuals who are so different one typically fears the other help each other? In this illustration only version of the Aesop's fable they can, and do. A lion shows pity on a mouse who then returns the favor by saving the lion's life in a way only he could.
Bibliographic Citation:
Pinkney, J. (2009). The Lion & The Mouse. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company Books for Young Readers.
My Impression:
There is something magical about a picture book that is just that- pictures. This visual retelling of the classic fable by Jerry Pinkney is incredible, his illustrations show power where there is power in the world, and cunning where there is cunning. Emotions are expressed as one would imagine them to be found in a jungle animal's face and the story is told with only world to show sound and enhance what the reader sees happening. I would share this book with anyone.
Reviews:
The art of Jerry Pinkney’s new picture book is commanding enough to do without the author’s name or even the title on the front cover. A jacket with no words at all? It’s been done before, but not often — probably most notably with Fred Marcellino’s “Puss in Boots” (1990), which won a Caldecott Honor. That cover featured a big cat, too, but here Pinkney gives us a lion’s head with a magnificent mane, filling the entire frame. The Sun King demeanor is somewhat diminished by the uneasy glance the lion is casting stage right, toward the back cover, where a mouse looks up with a question in its eye. Which creature will be the hero of the tale within? This is Pinkney’s second go at “The Lion and the Mouse,” the first being a brief entry in his “Aesop’s Fables” of almost 20 years ago. But that first pair were only supporting players to Aesop’s text, 200 or so words plus a moral: “Even the strongest can sometimes use the help of the smallest.” The new book has only seven distinct words, all sound effects — an owl, stalking the mouse, “whoooo” and “screeeech”; the mouse, “scratch” and “squeak.” Providing the plot is the “putt-putt-putt” of the jeep bearing humans into the Serengeti landscape (a note says).
And you don’t even need the sounds to see exactly what’s going on. Wordless picture books require great cunning not only to provide a recognizable pantomime but also to lead readers from one scene to the next: how do you know when to turn the page when there are no words to pull you forward? Pinkney’s story begins with a mouse pausing alertly in —what is this? — a big paw print in the sandy ground, one of a set tracking across the title-page spread. We turn the page, dawn is (beautifully) breaking, the mouse is poised, apparently listening. . . . Good thing there is a hole in that fallen tree on the far right, because on the next page the mouse barely dives in when the owl swoops. The mouse moves on, coming to rest on — “Is that a snake?” asked the 4-year-old I was sharing the book with. Pinkney’s sly use of nature’s camouflage causes us to look more closely. Nope: it was a tail, then a furry back, and before you know it the lion has the mouse by its tail, his “GRRR” seeming more puzzled than threatening, the mouse’s squeak an “Oops!”
Winner of five Caldecott Honors, Pinkney has always seemed happier drawing animals than people. Look, in his 2007 retelling, at his studied Little Red Riding Hood next to his lively Wolf. His beasts are not humans in disguise; while both the lion and the mouse have emotions and intelligence in their eyes, they are animal in nature. We don’t know why the lion lets the mouse go free or why the mouse nibbles the lion out of the net planted by the men (poachers? wardens?) from the jeep. But it’s actions in this case that count. That’s the moral of the story.
Can individuals who are so different one typically fears the other help each other? In this illustration only version of the Aesop's fable they can, and do. A lion shows pity on a mouse who then returns the favor by saving the lion's life in a way only he could.
Bibliographic Citation:
Pinkney, J. (2009). The Lion & The Mouse. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company Books for Young Readers.
My Impression:
There is something magical about a picture book that is just that- pictures. This visual retelling of the classic fable by Jerry Pinkney is incredible, his illustrations show power where there is power in the world, and cunning where there is cunning. Emotions are expressed as one would imagine them to be found in a jungle animal's face and the story is told with only world to show sound and enhance what the reader sees happening. I would share this book with anyone.
Reviews:
The art of Jerry Pinkney’s new picture book is commanding enough to do without the author’s name or even the title on the front cover. A jacket with no words at all? It’s been done before, but not often — probably most notably with Fred Marcellino’s “Puss in Boots” (1990), which won a Caldecott Honor. That cover featured a big cat, too, but here Pinkney gives us a lion’s head with a magnificent mane, filling the entire frame. The Sun King demeanor is somewhat diminished by the uneasy glance the lion is casting stage right, toward the back cover, where a mouse looks up with a question in its eye. Which creature will be the hero of the tale within? This is Pinkney’s second go at “The Lion and the Mouse,” the first being a brief entry in his “Aesop’s Fables” of almost 20 years ago. But that first pair were only supporting players to Aesop’s text, 200 or so words plus a moral: “Even the strongest can sometimes use the help of the smallest.” The new book has only seven distinct words, all sound effects — an owl, stalking the mouse, “whoooo” and “screeeech”; the mouse, “scratch” and “squeak.” Providing the plot is the “putt-putt-putt” of the jeep bearing humans into the Serengeti landscape (a note says).
And you don’t even need the sounds to see exactly what’s going on. Wordless picture books require great cunning not only to provide a recognizable pantomime but also to lead readers from one scene to the next: how do you know when to turn the page when there are no words to pull you forward? Pinkney’s story begins with a mouse pausing alertly in —what is this? — a big paw print in the sandy ground, one of a set tracking across the title-page spread. We turn the page, dawn is (beautifully) breaking, the mouse is poised, apparently listening. . . . Good thing there is a hole in that fallen tree on the far right, because on the next page the mouse barely dives in when the owl swoops. The mouse moves on, coming to rest on — “Is that a snake?” asked the 4-year-old I was sharing the book with. Pinkney’s sly use of nature’s camouflage causes us to look more closely. Nope: it was a tail, then a furry back, and before you know it the lion has the mouse by its tail, his “GRRR” seeming more puzzled than threatening, the mouse’s squeak an “Oops!”
Winner of five Caldecott Honors, Pinkney has always seemed happier drawing animals than people. Look, in his 2007 retelling, at his studied Little Red Riding Hood next to his lively Wolf. His beasts are not humans in disguise; while both the lion and the mouse have emotions and intelligence in their eyes, they are animal in nature. We don’t know why the lion lets the mouse go free or why the mouse nibbles the lion out of the net planted by the men (poachers? wardens?) from the jeep. But it’s actions in this case that count. That’s the moral of the story.
Roger Sutton is editor in chief of The Horn Book Magazine.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/08/books/review/Sutton-t.html
How to use this book in your library:
Fables and Fairy Tales are an excellent way to engage readers because most children are familiar with one or two of them anyway. Use Pinkney's version of The Lion & The Mouse to explore lesser known fairy tales and fables and encourage children to create their own or their own version of their old favorite.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/08/books/review/Sutton-t.html
How to use this book in your library:
Fables and Fairy Tales are an excellent way to engage readers because most children are familiar with one or two of them anyway. Use Pinkney's version of The Lion & The Mouse to explore lesser known fairy tales and fables and encourage children to create their own or their own version of their old favorite.
Module 5 - My People by: Langston Hughes Photographs by: Charles R. Smith Jr.
Summary:
In 30 words Langston Hughes celebrated his people, and accompanying these 30 words in this book are the photographs by Charles R. Smith Jr. that do just that. "My people" are beautiful and throughout the poem we see just that.
Bibliographic Citation:
Hughes, L. (2009). My People. New York, NY: Atheneum Books for Young Readers.
My Impression:
Hughes' poem was written in the 1920's but this version with modern day pictures to help emphasize the words is breathtaking. I would say that this book should be in every library and every classroom, because it proves the power of the statement. In 30 words Hughes expressed what so many people have not and there is not a word that could be added to enhance his work. The photographs in this book emphasize and provide examples of the words and Charles R. Smith Jr.'s notes at the end of the story left me speechless.
Reviews:
Starred Review. K Up—Smith's knack for pairing poetry and photography is well documented in books such as Hoop Queens (Candlewick, 2003) and Rudyard Kipling's If (S & S, 2006). Here, his artful images engage in a lyrical and lively dance with Langston Hughes's brief ode to black beauty. Dramatic sepia portraits of African Americans—ranging from a cherubic, chubby-cheeked toddler to a graying elder whose face is etched with lines-are bathed in shadows, which melt into black backgrounds. The 33 words are printed in an elegant font in varying sizes as emphasis dictates. In order to maximize the effect of the page turn and allow time for meaning to be absorbed, the short phrases and their respective visual narratives often spill over more than a spread. The conclusion offers a montage of faces created with varying exposures, a decision that provides a light-filled aura and the irregularities that suggest historical prints. A note from Smith describes his approach to the 1923 poem. This celebration of the particular and universal will draw a wide audience: storytime participants; students of poetry, photography, and cultural studies; seniors; families. A timely and timeless offering.—Wendy Lukehart, Washington DC Public Library
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
http://www.amazon.com/My-People-Langston-Hughes/dp/1416935401/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top
How to use this book in your library:
The best use of this book is simply to share it. Share it with everyone because "My People" does two very powerful things: it encourages understanding of those who are different and it encourages artistic expression in two different ways. Use this book to encourage artistic expression with your students perhaps with something they don't understand as the medium.
In 30 words Langston Hughes celebrated his people, and accompanying these 30 words in this book are the photographs by Charles R. Smith Jr. that do just that. "My people" are beautiful and throughout the poem we see just that.
Bibliographic Citation:
Hughes, L. (2009). My People. New York, NY: Atheneum Books for Young Readers.
My Impression:
Hughes' poem was written in the 1920's but this version with modern day pictures to help emphasize the words is breathtaking. I would say that this book should be in every library and every classroom, because it proves the power of the statement. In 30 words Hughes expressed what so many people have not and there is not a word that could be added to enhance his work. The photographs in this book emphasize and provide examples of the words and Charles R. Smith Jr.'s notes at the end of the story left me speechless.
Reviews:
Starred Review. K Up—Smith's knack for pairing poetry and photography is well documented in books such as Hoop Queens (Candlewick, 2003) and Rudyard Kipling's If (S & S, 2006). Here, his artful images engage in a lyrical and lively dance with Langston Hughes's brief ode to black beauty. Dramatic sepia portraits of African Americans—ranging from a cherubic, chubby-cheeked toddler to a graying elder whose face is etched with lines-are bathed in shadows, which melt into black backgrounds. The 33 words are printed in an elegant font in varying sizes as emphasis dictates. In order to maximize the effect of the page turn and allow time for meaning to be absorbed, the short phrases and their respective visual narratives often spill over more than a spread. The conclusion offers a montage of faces created with varying exposures, a decision that provides a light-filled aura and the irregularities that suggest historical prints. A note from Smith describes his approach to the 1923 poem. This celebration of the particular and universal will draw a wide audience: storytime participants; students of poetry, photography, and cultural studies; seniors; families. A timely and timeless offering.—Wendy Lukehart, Washington DC Public Library
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
http://www.amazon.com/My-People-Langston-Hughes/dp/1416935401/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top
How to use this book in your library:
The best use of this book is simply to share it. Share it with everyone because "My People" does two very powerful things: it encourages understanding of those who are different and it encourages artistic expression in two different ways. Use this book to encourage artistic expression with your students perhaps with something they don't understand as the medium.
Module 5 - The Firefly Letters by: Margarita Engle
Summary:
Fredrika a Swedish woman beyond her time travels to study and write of the daily life on the island of Cuba. There she is hosted by a wealthy family with a young daughter, Elena, and a slave girl, Cecilia. Fredrika develops relationships with both girls which results in changing all three of their lives.
Bibliographic Citation:
Engle, M. (2010). The Firefly Letters. New York, NY: Henry Holt and Company.
My Impression:
I thoroughly enjoyed The Firefly Letters. Margarita Engle wrote this story in the form of short poems based on the true life of Fredrika Bremer, the first Swedish female novelist and believer and encourager of women's rights. This story is far beyond it's time and Engle portrays that is an entrancing way. This story is a quick read, partially because of the short poetry format of each chapters, but also because it is easy to get lost in the story and the perspectives of each character who is able to share a little piece of themselves. I think it would be an excellent book to read aloud or to encourage more timid readers with.
Reviews:
"I absolutely loved The Firefly Letters. I found it so amazing, so beautiful, so right. This isn't the first Margarita Engle novel I've read--she writes verse novels set in Cuba; all historical. (I've read The Poet Slave of Cuba, The Surrender Tree, and Tropical Secrets.) But I must admit that this one is definitely my favorite so far."
Becky
http://blbooks.blogspot.com/2010/06/firefly-letters-mgya.html
"The short chapters alternate between the viewpoints of these three women, with a few brief interjections from Cecilia’s husband that did show another side of life in Cuba, but did not especially add to the story of Bremer’s visit. Engle is at her best when she stays close to the story of Frederika and Cecilia. It is the moments where these two women discover each others’ history that are most illuminating. Despite their wildly different circumstances, they forge a connection based not on similar life experiences, but on the similar feelings of loneliness and constraint that their experiences have engendered."
Laura Koenig
http://biblauragraphy.wordpress.com/2010/03/13/the-firefly-letters-a-suffragettes-journey-to-cuba-by-margarita-engle/
How to use this book in your library:
As I mentioned above this book could be magical read aloud to children. I would follow up however, with other books about slavery and Cuba. I would also lead into poetry, because Engle's book is a perfect example of the ways poetry can change the way a story is read.
Fredrika a Swedish woman beyond her time travels to study and write of the daily life on the island of Cuba. There she is hosted by a wealthy family with a young daughter, Elena, and a slave girl, Cecilia. Fredrika develops relationships with both girls which results in changing all three of their lives.
Bibliographic Citation:
Engle, M. (2010). The Firefly Letters. New York, NY: Henry Holt and Company.
My Impression:
I thoroughly enjoyed The Firefly Letters. Margarita Engle wrote this story in the form of short poems based on the true life of Fredrika Bremer, the first Swedish female novelist and believer and encourager of women's rights. This story is far beyond it's time and Engle portrays that is an entrancing way. This story is a quick read, partially because of the short poetry format of each chapters, but also because it is easy to get lost in the story and the perspectives of each character who is able to share a little piece of themselves. I think it would be an excellent book to read aloud or to encourage more timid readers with.
Reviews:
"I absolutely loved The Firefly Letters. I found it so amazing, so beautiful, so right. This isn't the first Margarita Engle novel I've read--she writes verse novels set in Cuba; all historical. (I've read The Poet Slave of Cuba, The Surrender Tree, and Tropical Secrets.) But I must admit that this one is definitely my favorite so far."
Becky
http://blbooks.blogspot.com/2010/06/firefly-letters-mgya.html
"The short chapters alternate between the viewpoints of these three women, with a few brief interjections from Cecilia’s husband that did show another side of life in Cuba, but did not especially add to the story of Bremer’s visit. Engle is at her best when she stays close to the story of Frederika and Cecilia. It is the moments where these two women discover each others’ history that are most illuminating. Despite their wildly different circumstances, they forge a connection based not on similar life experiences, but on the similar feelings of loneliness and constraint that their experiences have engendered."
Laura Koenig
http://biblauragraphy.wordpress.com/2010/03/13/the-firefly-letters-a-suffragettes-journey-to-cuba-by-margarita-engle/
How to use this book in your library:
As I mentioned above this book could be magical read aloud to children. I would follow up however, with other books about slavery and Cuba. I would also lead into poetry, because Engle's book is a perfect example of the ways poetry can change the way a story is read.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Module 4 - Johnny Tremain by: Esther Forbes
Summary:
Set in pre-Revolutionary War, Johnny Tremain is a skilled silversmith, in fact the best apprentice in his trade. An accident strips Johnny of his skill and forces him to try to reconnect with his family... Johnny's situation goes from bad to worse and result in his participation in the Boston Tea Party and the revolutionary political activities. Johnny learns to become a man in a time when even grown men were questioning everything they believed, he loses his ability to make a name for himself, and his best friend, but in the end learns what it means to live.
Bibliographic Citation:
Forbes, E. (1987). Johnny Tremain. New York, NY: Dell Publising, Co., Inc.
My Impression:
The Summer between 3rd and 4th grade my family took a trip through what I would consider "Historical" New England. Throughout our travels my mother read this book to us all aloud. I loved the story then especially within the setting we were, but even now rereading this terrific story brought to life the reality of the Revolutionary period through the eyes of a young boy. Johnny Tremain is a must have for any book shelf, and in my opinion would appeal to almost any reader!
Reviews:
" Johnny Tremain is a classic, one that has presented an important part of our history, expressed the importance of moral virtues, and shown us a life different from our own, but complete with the same variations and complexity."
Jeremy Bost
http://www.brighthub.com/arts/books/articles/88038.aspx
How to use this book in your library:
While the Revolutionary War is still studied in school, the sociology of the average American during that time is not, Johnny Tremain is a great way for students to get to know this portion of our countries history and of course reading this book could lead to a variety of other titles about American History.
Set in pre-Revolutionary War, Johnny Tremain is a skilled silversmith, in fact the best apprentice in his trade. An accident strips Johnny of his skill and forces him to try to reconnect with his family... Johnny's situation goes from bad to worse and result in his participation in the Boston Tea Party and the revolutionary political activities. Johnny learns to become a man in a time when even grown men were questioning everything they believed, he loses his ability to make a name for himself, and his best friend, but in the end learns what it means to live.
Bibliographic Citation:
Forbes, E. (1987). Johnny Tremain. New York, NY: Dell Publising, Co., Inc.
My Impression:
The Summer between 3rd and 4th grade my family took a trip through what I would consider "Historical" New England. Throughout our travels my mother read this book to us all aloud. I loved the story then especially within the setting we were, but even now rereading this terrific story brought to life the reality of the Revolutionary period through the eyes of a young boy. Johnny Tremain is a must have for any book shelf, and in my opinion would appeal to almost any reader!
Reviews:
" Johnny Tremain is a classic, one that has presented an important part of our history, expressed the importance of moral virtues, and shown us a life different from our own, but complete with the same variations and complexity."
Jeremy Bost
http://www.brighthub.com/arts/books/articles/88038.aspx
How to use this book in your library:
While the Revolutionary War is still studied in school, the sociology of the average American during that time is not, Johnny Tremain is a great way for students to get to know this portion of our countries history and of course reading this book could lead to a variety of other titles about American History.
Module 4 - Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by: Robert. C. O'Brien
Summary:
In a desperate attempt to save her family, especially her youngest son Timothy, Mrs. Frisby is forced to venture into the Rose Bush in hopes that the Rats will be able to help her. She learns deep secrets about her husband's life before they met, and gains both an understanding about and relationship with the Rats of NIMH. Most importantly their assistance does help her and she is in return able to save them.
Bibliographic Citation:
O'Brien, R.C. (2006). Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. New York, NY: Aladdin Paperbacks.
My Impression:
I chose to read this book because when I was a little girl I loved to read stories where animals were the main characters. Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH reminded me exactly why I loved to do so! I enjoyed this book so much, there is always something magical about real world animals living their own lives and solving their own problems and Robert C. O'Brien combines the reality of our world with the "reality" of the animals living on the farm. I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a quality read that is just plain enjoyable.
Reviews:
There's something very strange about the rats living under the rosebush at the Fitzgibbon farm. But Mrs. Frisby, a widowed mouse with a sick child, is in dire straits and must turn to these exceptional creatures for assistance. Soon she finds herself flying on the back of a crow, slipping sleeping powder into a ferocious cat's dinner dish, and helping 108 brilliant, laboratory-enhanced rats escape to a utopian civilization of their own design, no longer to live "on the edge of somebody else's, like fleas on a dog's back." This unusual novel, winner of the Newbery Medal (among a host of other accolades) snags the reader on page one and reels in steadily all the way through to the exhilarating conclusion. Robert O'Brien has created a small but complete world in which a mother's concern for her son overpowers her fear of all her natural enemies and allows her to make some extraordinary discoveries along the way. O'Brien's incredible tale, along with Zena Bernstein's appealing ink drawings, ensures that readers will never again look at alley rats and field mice in the same way.
Emile Coulter, Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/Mrs-Frisby-Rats-Aladdin-Fantasy/dp/product-description/0689710682/ref=dp_proddesc_0?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books
How to use this book in your library:
An idea from Scholastic- Create a Collage: Many mice and rats are characters in books and movies. Ask students to create a collage from magazines of the names of some of these critters that have made it big. Include the book or movie that they starred in underneath each character. This would be a great way for kids to share books they have liked with one another as well as ways for you as the librarian to share lesser known books!
In a desperate attempt to save her family, especially her youngest son Timothy, Mrs. Frisby is forced to venture into the Rose Bush in hopes that the Rats will be able to help her. She learns deep secrets about her husband's life before they met, and gains both an understanding about and relationship with the Rats of NIMH. Most importantly their assistance does help her and she is in return able to save them.
Bibliographic Citation:
O'Brien, R.C. (2006). Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. New York, NY: Aladdin Paperbacks.
My Impression:
I chose to read this book because when I was a little girl I loved to read stories where animals were the main characters. Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH reminded me exactly why I loved to do so! I enjoyed this book so much, there is always something magical about real world animals living their own lives and solving their own problems and Robert C. O'Brien combines the reality of our world with the "reality" of the animals living on the farm. I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a quality read that is just plain enjoyable.
Reviews:
There's something very strange about the rats living under the rosebush at the Fitzgibbon farm. But Mrs. Frisby, a widowed mouse with a sick child, is in dire straits and must turn to these exceptional creatures for assistance. Soon she finds herself flying on the back of a crow, slipping sleeping powder into a ferocious cat's dinner dish, and helping 108 brilliant, laboratory-enhanced rats escape to a utopian civilization of their own design, no longer to live "on the edge of somebody else's, like fleas on a dog's back." This unusual novel, winner of the Newbery Medal (among a host of other accolades) snags the reader on page one and reels in steadily all the way through to the exhilarating conclusion. Robert O'Brien has created a small but complete world in which a mother's concern for her son overpowers her fear of all her natural enemies and allows her to make some extraordinary discoveries along the way. O'Brien's incredible tale, along with Zena Bernstein's appealing ink drawings, ensures that readers will never again look at alley rats and field mice in the same way.
Emile Coulter, Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/Mrs-Frisby-Rats-Aladdin-Fantasy/dp/product-description/0689710682/ref=dp_proddesc_0?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books
How to use this book in your library:
An idea from Scholastic- Create a Collage: Many mice and rats are characters in books and movies. Ask students to create a collage from magazines of the names of some of these critters that have made it big. Include the book or movie that they starred in underneath each character. This would be a great way for kids to share books they have liked with one another as well as ways for you as the librarian to share lesser known books!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Module 3 - Snowflake Bentley by: Jacqueline Briggs Martin Illustrated by: Mary Azarian
Summary:
Wilson Bentley loves the snow and like all things beautiful he wants to find a way to capture the beautiful snowflakes and keep them forever. He tries and tries and after a life dedicated to recording the unique and beautiful images he captures a book, his gift to the world, is published. His life ended due to the thing he lived for, a snow storm, but in his home town a museum and memorial honor his life's work.
Bibliographic Citation:
Martin, J.B. (1998). Snowflake Bentley. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin Company.
My Impression:
The 1999 Caldecott winner, this nonfiction narrative is an incredible story of a man who truly loved the snow. As a reader who also loves the snow this book greatly appealed to me, but would also be a good read for anyone interested in science or photography or throughout the Wintery months of the year. Azarian's illustrations allowed me as a reader to put myself in the story beyond the words. It is hard to capture the magic and mystery of the snow but both the story and the illustrations do just that while telling and showing a story about doing the same.
Reviews:
"With Mary Azarian’s superb woodcuts to illustrate it this fascinating book captures the essence of a man who did what he loved even though he was made fun of and even though he did not make any money from his passion. Bentley took his photographs because the beauty of snow fascinated him and because he wanted to share the beauty that he saw with others. We are able to see that though he was a scientist who studied the weather and snow formation, he was also an artist at heart who was happiest when he was capturing the images of snowflakes on plates of glass."
http://www.lookingglassreview.com/html/snowflake_bentley.html
How to use this book in your library:
What better way than to show the magic of the snowflake than to use this book? Encourage children to look for beauty in all object and perhaps find a method of collecting what they find a beautiful.
Wilson Bentley loves the snow and like all things beautiful he wants to find a way to capture the beautiful snowflakes and keep them forever. He tries and tries and after a life dedicated to recording the unique and beautiful images he captures a book, his gift to the world, is published. His life ended due to the thing he lived for, a snow storm, but in his home town a museum and memorial honor his life's work.
Bibliographic Citation:
Martin, J.B. (1998). Snowflake Bentley. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin Company.
My Impression:
The 1999 Caldecott winner, this nonfiction narrative is an incredible story of a man who truly loved the snow. As a reader who also loves the snow this book greatly appealed to me, but would also be a good read for anyone interested in science or photography or throughout the Wintery months of the year. Azarian's illustrations allowed me as a reader to put myself in the story beyond the words. It is hard to capture the magic and mystery of the snow but both the story and the illustrations do just that while telling and showing a story about doing the same.
Reviews:
"With Mary Azarian’s superb woodcuts to illustrate it this fascinating book captures the essence of a man who did what he loved even though he was made fun of and even though he did not make any money from his passion. Bentley took his photographs because the beauty of snow fascinated him and because he wanted to share the beauty that he saw with others. We are able to see that though he was a scientist who studied the weather and snow formation, he was also an artist at heart who was happiest when he was capturing the images of snowflakes on plates of glass."
http://www.lookingglassreview.com/html/snowflake_bentley.html
How to use this book in your library:
What better way than to show the magic of the snowflake than to use this book? Encourage children to look for beauty in all object and perhaps find a method of collecting what they find a beautiful.
Module 3 - Many Moons by: James Thurber Illustrated by: Louis Slobodkin
Summary:
When the princess is sick the King will go to any means to get his daughter whatever she desires... When she asks for the moon he must consult with all of his wisest advisers. Finally it is the court jester who helps the King bring his daughter the moon and his daughter who helps them realize why it stays shining each night.
Bibliographic Citation:
Thurber, J. (1981). Many Moons. San Diego, CA: Harcourt Children's Books.
My Impression:
The Caldecott Winner in 1944 for its illustrations by Louis Slobodkin this book is charming. The story is pleasant and enjoyable alone but Slobodkin's illustrations are what really bring this story to life allowing a reader/viewer to truly enjoy the tale.
Reviews:
From Publisher's Weekly
"Buoyant watercolors, full of poignancy and subtle merriment, more than do justice to Thurber's beloved tale of a princess who asks for the moon, and the wise jester who presents her with it," said PW. Ages 4-8.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.
How to use this book in your library:
This story allows readers to imagine capturing the impossible. What are some other things in the world that may seem impossible to catch to children? Free writing prompts could easily come from this story. For an activity with more resources it would be an excellent introduction into a jewelry making activity. Princess Lenore wears the moon on a golden chain in this story, what could each prince or princess wear in your library?
When the princess is sick the King will go to any means to get his daughter whatever she desires... When she asks for the moon he must consult with all of his wisest advisers. Finally it is the court jester who helps the King bring his daughter the moon and his daughter who helps them realize why it stays shining each night.
Bibliographic Citation:
Thurber, J. (1981). Many Moons. San Diego, CA: Harcourt Children's Books.
My Impression:
The Caldecott Winner in 1944 for its illustrations by Louis Slobodkin this book is charming. The story is pleasant and enjoyable alone but Slobodkin's illustrations are what really bring this story to life allowing a reader/viewer to truly enjoy the tale.
Reviews:
From Publisher's Weekly
"Buoyant watercolors, full of poignancy and subtle merriment, more than do justice to Thurber's beloved tale of a princess who asks for the moon, and the wise jester who presents her with it," said PW. Ages 4-8.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.
How to use this book in your library:
This story allows readers to imagine capturing the impossible. What are some other things in the world that may seem impossible to catch to children? Free writing prompts could easily come from this story. For an activity with more resources it would be an excellent introduction into a jewelry making activity. Princess Lenore wears the moon on a golden chain in this story, what could each prince or princess wear in your library?
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Module 2 - The Snowman by: Raymond Briggs
Summary:
A snow day means building a snowman and at night you can't just leave that snowman out freezing in the cold. A little boy shares his world with his snowman and his snowman in turn shares some of his magic one cold and snowy night.
Bibliographic Citation:
Briggs, R. (1978). The Snowman. New York, NY: Random House, Inc.
My Impression:
Few things in this world are more magical than snow and Raymond Briggs that to me through this story featuring only pictures. While it is different to "read" a story with no words, I found myself exploring this story perhaps more than I would have if the tale had been told traditionally. I looked further at the illustrations for details relating to the plot of the story bringing The Snowman even more to life.
Reviews:
Children's Literature
This classic book has been reissued in board book form. It is a wordless story about a boy who builds a snowman and has a series of adventures with his new friend. There is a lot of information packed into the images and toddlers as well as older kids can appreciate the book. For the young ones, parents and caregivers will probably supply their own words to accompany the illustrations. The ending may be the most difficult for young children to accept and understand. Also the sequence of adventures is more akin to a dream than reality. Much as I like the story, I really don't think it works for the young board book audience. Part of the "Bright and Early Board Books" series. 2000, Random House,
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Snowman/Raymond-Briggs/e/9780375810671/?itm=1
How to use this book in your library:
The unique nature of this story would be an incredible introduction to an art based writing project. Children could create a story through the use of illustration only and then share their stories. For young adults this project could be adapted to introduce graphic novels and allow for creativity in many formats.
A snow day means building a snowman and at night you can't just leave that snowman out freezing in the cold. A little boy shares his world with his snowman and his snowman in turn shares some of his magic one cold and snowy night.
Bibliographic Citation:
Briggs, R. (1978). The Snowman. New York, NY: Random House, Inc.
My Impression:
Few things in this world are more magical than snow and Raymond Briggs that to me through this story featuring only pictures. While it is different to "read" a story with no words, I found myself exploring this story perhaps more than I would have if the tale had been told traditionally. I looked further at the illustrations for details relating to the plot of the story bringing The Snowman even more to life.
Reviews:
Children's Literature
This classic book has been reissued in board book form. It is a wordless story about a boy who builds a snowman and has a series of adventures with his new friend. There is a lot of information packed into the images and toddlers as well as older kids can appreciate the book. For the young ones, parents and caregivers will probably supply their own words to accompany the illustrations. The ending may be the most difficult for young children to accept and understand. Also the sequence of adventures is more akin to a dream than reality. Much as I like the story, I really don't think it works for the young board book audience. Part of the "Bright and Early Board Books" series. 2000, Random House,
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Snowman/Raymond-Briggs/e/9780375810671/?itm=1
How to use this book in your library:
The unique nature of this story would be an incredible introduction to an art based writing project. Children could create a story through the use of illustration only and then share their stories. For young adults this project could be adapted to introduce graphic novels and allow for creativity in many formats.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Module 2 - The Outsiders (Speak Platinum Edition) by: S.E. Hinton
Summary:
Ponyboy Curtis and his gang, made up of both family and friends, the Greasers live on the east side. Their rivals the Socs live on the wealthy west side of the city. Throughout this story the Ponyboy and his friends survive their lives and their struggles with the Socs until two different however related events changes their lives forever. Overcoming differences in honor of friends becomes the goal of both the Greasers and the Socs and while their worlds stay vastly separate their understanding grows ever closer.
Bibliographic Citation:
Hinton, S.E. (2006). The Outsiders (Speak Platinum ed.). New York, NY: Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
My Impression:
Thirty years after it was first published, The Outsiders still carries the same frightening and unifying messages for teens (and readers of all ages). The ruthlessly realistic and violent story of the Greasers and the Socs, rival gangs from very different sides of the railroad tracks, is narrated by Ponyboy Curtis, a smart, sensitive kid who has grown to become one of the most recognizable figures in the history of young adult literature. Any teen who has ever felt isolated or different can identify with Ponyboy, a kid forced to be tough on the outside, but who underneath is just as scared and needy as anyone. Hinton herself has said that she has never written a character as close to her own self as Ponyboy is. Young Adult fiction was shaped and defined by Susan Eloise Hinton, and the realism she attached to the genre became the norm, enabling later writers like Robert Cormier and Judy Blume to find characters and voices that actually spoke to adolescents. Since 1967, Ponyboy has become the hero for countless teenagers nationwide as The Outsiders stands to influence an entire new legion of adolescents who need Ponyboy as much as ever.
By S. E. Hinton
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0871292777
Chapter One
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home. I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman --he looks tough and I don't--but I guess my own looks aren't so bad. I have light-brown, almost-red hair and greenish-gray eyes. I wish they were more gray, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have. My hair is longer than a lot of boys wear theirs, squared off in back and long at the front and sides, but I am a greaser and most of my neighborhood rarely bothers to get a haircut. Besides, I look better with long hair.
I had a long walk home and no company, but I usually lone it anyway, for no reason except that I like to watch movies undisturbed so I can get into them and live them with the actors. When I see a movie with someone it's kind of uncomfortable, like having someone read your book over your shoulder. I'm different that way. I mean,my second-oldest brother, Soda, who is sixteen-going-on-seventeen, never cracks a book at all, and my oldest brother, Darrel, who we call Darry, works too long and hard to be interested in a story or drawing a picture, so I'm not like them. And nobody in our gang digs movies and books the way I do. For a while there, I thought I was the only person in the world that did. So I loned it.
Soda tries to understand, at least, which is more than Darry does. But then, Soda is different from anybody; he understands everything, almost. Like he's never hollering at me all the time the way Darry is, or treating me as if I was six instead of fourteen. I love Soda more than I've ever loved anyone, even Mom and Dad. He's always happy-go-lucky and grinning, while Darry's hard and firm and rarely grins at all But then, Darry's gone through a lot in his twenty years, grown up too fast. Sodapop'll never grow up at all. I don't know which way's the best. I'll find out one of these days.
Anyway, I went on walking home, thinking about the movie, and then suddenly wishing I had some company. Greasers can't walk alone too much or they'll get jumped, or someone will come by and scream "Greaser!" at them, which doesn't make you feel too hot, if you know what I mean. We get jumped by the Socs. I'm not sure how you spell it, but it's the abbreviation for the Socials, the jet set, the West-side rich kids. It's like the term "greaser," which is used to class all us boys on the East Side.
We're poorer than the Socs and the middle class. I reckon we're wilder, too. Not like the Socs, who jump greasers and wreck houses and throw beer blasts for kicks, and get editorials in the paper for being a public disgrace one day and an asset to society the next. Greasers are almost like hoods; we steal things and drive old souped-up cars and hold up gas stations and have a gang fight once in a while, I don't mean I do things like that. Darry would kill me if I got into trouble with the police. Since Mom and Dad were killed in an auto wreck, the three of us get to stay together only as long as we behave. So Soda and I stay out of trouble as much as we can, and we're careful not to get caught when we can't. I only mean that most greasers do things like that, just like we wear our hair long and dress in blue jeans and T-shirts, or leave our shirttails out and wear leather jackets and tennis shoes or boots. I'm not saying that either Socs or greasers are better; that's just the way things are.
I could have waited to go to the movies until Darry or Sodapop got off work. They would have gone with me, or driven me there, or walked along, although Soda just can't sit still long enough to enjoy a movie and they bore Darry to death. Darry thinks his life is enough without inspecting other people's. Or I could have gotten one of the gang to come along, one of the four boys Darry and Soda and I have grown up with and consider family. We're almost as close as brothers; when you grow up in a tight-knit neighborhood like ours you get to know each other real well. If I had thought about it, I could have called Darry and he would have come by on his way home and picked me up, or Two-Bit Mathews--one of our gang--would have come to get me in his car if I had asked him, but sometimes I just don't use my head. It drives my brother Darry nuts when I do stuff like that, 'cause I'm supposed to be smart; I make good grades and have a high IQ and everything, but I don't use my head. Besides, I like walking.
I about decided I didn't like it so much, though, when I spotted that red Corvair trailing me. I was almost two blocks from home then, so I started walking a little faster. I had never been jumped, but I had seen Johnny after four Socs got hold of him, and it wasn't pretty. Johnny was scared of his own shadow after that. Johnny was sixteen then.
I knew it wasn't any use though--the fast walking, I mean--even before the Corvair pulled up beside me and five Socs got out. I got pretty scared--I'm kind of small for fourteen even though I have a good build, and those guys were bigger than me. I automatically hitched my thumbs in my jeans and slouched, wondering if I could get away if I made a break for it. I remembered Johnny--his face all cut up and bruised, and I remembered how he had cried when we found him, half-conscious, in the corner lot. Johnny had it awful rough at home--it took a lot to make him cry.
I was sweating something fierce, although I was cold. I could feel my palms getting clammy and the perspiration running down my back. I get like that when I'm real scared. I glanced around for a pop bottle or a stick or something--Steve Randle, Soda's best buddy, had once held off four guys with a busted pop bottle--but there was nothing. So I stood there like a bump on a log while they surrounded me. I don't use my head. They walked around slowly, silently, smiling.
"Hey, grease," one said in an over-friendly voice. "We're gonna do you a favor, greaser. We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off."
He had on a madras shirt. I can still see it. Blue madras. One of them laughed, then cussed me out in a low voice. I couldn't think of anything to say. There just isn't a whole lot you can say while waiting to get mugged, so I kept my mouth shut.
"Need a haircut, greaser?" The medium-sized blond pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped the blade open.
I finally thought of something to say. "No." I was backing up, away from that knife. Of course I backed right into one of them. They had me down in a second. They had my arms and legs pinned down and one of them was sitting on my chest with his knees on my elbows, and if you don't think that hurts, you're crazy. I could smell English Leather shaving lotion and stale tobacco, and I wondered foolishly if I would suffocate before they did anything. I was scared so bad I was wishing I would. I fought to get loose, and almost did for a second; then they tightened up on me and the one on my chest slugged me a couple of times. So I lay still, swearing at them between gasps. A blade was held against my throat.
"How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"
It occurred to me then that they could kill me. I went wild. I started screaming for Soda, Darry, anyone. Someone put his hand over my mouth, and I bit it as hard as I could, tasting the blood running through my teeth. I heard a muttered curse and got slugged again, and they were stuffing a handkerchief in my mouth. One of them kept saying, "Shut him up, for Pete's sake, shut him up!"
Then there were shouts and the pounding of feet, and the Socs jumped up and left me lying there, gasping. I lay there and wondered what in the world was happening--people were jumping over me and running by me and I was too dazed to figure it out. Then someone had me under the armpits and was hauling me to my feet. It was Darry.
"Are you all right, Ponyboy?"
He was shaking me and I wished he'd stop. I was dizzy enough anyway. I could tell it was Darry though--partly because of the voice and partly because Darry's always rough with me without meaning to be.
"I'm okay. Quit shaking me, Darry, I'm okay."
He stopped instantly. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't really. Darry isn't ever sorry for anything he does. It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike--my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be.
Darry is six-feet-two, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark-brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back--just like Dad's--but Darry's eyes are his own. He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They've got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty--tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn't understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head.
I sat down again, rubbing my cheek where I'd been slugged the most.
Darry jammed his fists in his pockets. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?"
They did. I was smarting and aching and my chest was sore and I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I wanted to start bawling, but you just don't say that to Darry.
"I'm okay."
Sodapop came loping back. By then I had figured that all the noise I had heard was the gang coming to rescue me. He dropped down beside me, examining my head.
"You got cut up a little, huh, Ponyboy?"
I only looked at him blankly. "I did?"
He pulled out a handkerchief, wet the end of it with his tongue, and pressed it gently against the side of my head. "You're bleedin' like a stuck pig."
"I am?"
"Look!" He showed me the handkerchief, reddened as if by magic. "Did they pull a blade on you?"
I remembered the voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" The blade must have slipped while he was trying to shut me up. "Yeah."
Soda is handsomer than anyone else I know. Not like Darry--Soda's movie-star kind of handsome, the kind that people stop on the street to watch go by. He's not as tall as Darry, and he's a little slimmer, but he has a finely drawn, sensitive face that somehow manages to be reckless and thoughtful at the same time. He's got dark-gold hair that he combs back--long and silky and straight--and in the summer the sun bleaches it to a shining wheat-gold. His eyes are dark brown--lively, dancing, recklessly laughing eyes that can be gentle and sympathetic one moment and blazing with anger the next. He has Dad's eyes, but Soda is one of a kind. He can get drunk in a drag race or dancing without ever getting near alcohol. In our neighborhood it's rare to find a kid who doesn't drink once in a while. But Soda never touches a drop--he doesn't need to. He gets drunk on just plain living. And he understands everybody.
He looked at me more closely. I looked away hurriedly, because, if you want to know the truth, I was starting to bawl. I knew I was as white as I felt and I was shaking like a leaf.
Soda just put his hand on my shoulder. "Easy, Ponyboy. They ain't gonna hurt you no more."
"I know," I said, but the ground began to blur and I felt hot tears running down my cheeks. I brushed them away impatiently. "I'm just a little spooked, that's all." I drew a quivering breath and quit crying. You just don't cry in front of Darry. Not unless you're hurt like Johnny had been that day we found him in the vacant lot. Compared to Johnny I wasn't hurt at all.
Soda rubbed my hair. "You're an okay kid, Pony."
I had to grin at him--Soda can make you grin no matter what. I guess it's because he's always grinning so much himself. "You're crazy, Soda, out of your mind."
Darry looked as if he'd like to knock our heads together. "You're both nuts."
Soda merely cocked one eyebrow, a trick he'd picked up from Two-Bit. "It seems to run in this family."
Darry stared at him for a second, then cracked a grin. Sodapop isn't afraid of him like everyone else and enjoys teasing him. I'd just as soon tease a full-grown grizzly; but for some reason, Darry seems to like being teased by Soda.
Our gang had chased the Socs to their car and heaved rocks at them. They came running toward us now--four lean, hard guys. They were all as tough as nails and looked it. I had grown up with them, and they accepted me, even though I was younger, because I was Darry and Soda's kid brother and I kept my mouth shut good.
Steve Randle was seventeen, tall and lean, with thick greasy hair he kept combed in complicated swirls. He was cocky, smart, and Soda's best buddy since grade school. Steve's specialty was cars. He could lift a hubcap quicker and more quietly than anyone in the neighborhood, but he also knew cars upside-down and backward, and he could drive anything on wheels. He and Soda worked at the same gas station--Steve part time and Soda full time--and their station got more customers than any other in town. Whether that was because Steve was so good with cars or because Soda attracted girls like honey draws flies, I couldn't tell you. I liked Steve only because he was Soda's best friend. He didn't like me--he thought I was a tagalong and a kid; Soda always took me with them when they went places if they weren't taking girls, and that bugged Steve. It wasn't my fault; Soda always asked me, I didn't ask him. Soda doesn't think I'm a kid.
Two-Bit Mathews was the oldest of the gang and the wisecracker of the bunch. He was about six feet tall, stocky in build, and very proud of his long rusty-colored sideburns. He had gray eyes and a wide grin, and he couldn't stop making funny remarks to save his life. You couldn't shut up that guy; he always had to get his two-bits worth in. Hence his name. Even his teachers forgot his real name was Keith, and we hardly remembered he had one. Life was one big joke to Two-Bit. He was famous for shoplifting and his black-handled switchblade (which he couldn't have acquired without his first talent), and he was always smarting off to the cops. He really couldn't help it. Everything he said was so irresistibly funny that he just had to let the police in on it to brighten up their dull lives. (That's the way he explained it to me.) He liked fights, blondes, and for some unfathomable reason, school. He was still a junior at eighteen and a half and he never learned anything. He just went for kicks. I liked him real well because he kept us laughing at ourselves as well as at other things. He reminded me of Will Rogers--maybe it was the grin.
If I had to pick the real character of the gang, it would be Dallas Winston--Dally. I used to like to draw his picture when he was in a dangerous mood, for then I could get his personality down in a few lines. He had an elfish face, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, small, sharp animal teeth, and ears like a lynx. His hair was almost white it was so blond, and he didn't like haircuts, or hair oil either, so it fell over his forehead in wisps and kicked out in the back in tufts and curled behind his ears and along the nape of his neck. His eyes were blue, blazing ice, cold with a hatred of the whole world. Dally had spent three years on the wild side of New York and had been arrested at the age of ten. He was tougher than the rest of us--tougher, colder, meaner. The shade of difference that separates a greaser from a hood wasn't present in Dally. He was as wild as the boys in the downtown outfits, like Tim Shepard's gang.
In New York, Dally blew off steam in gang fights, but here, organized gangs are rarities--there are just small bunches of friends who stick together, and the warfare is between the social classes. A rumble, when it's called, is usually born of a grudge fight, and the opponents just happen to bring their friends along. Oh, there are a few named gangs around, like the River Kings and the Tiber Street Tigers, but here in the Southwest there's no gang rivalry. So Dally, even though he could get into a good fight sometimes, had no specific thing to hate. No rival gang. Only Socs. And you can't win against them no matter how hard you try, because they've got all the breaks and even whipping them isn't going to change that fact. Maybe that was why Dallas was so bitter.
He had quite a reputation. They have a file on him down at the police station. He had been arrested, he got drunk, he rode in rodeos, lied, cheated, stole, rolled drunks, jumped small kids--he did everything. I didn't like him, but he was smart and you had to respect him.
Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny. He was the youngest, next to me, smaller than the rest, with a slight build. He had big black eyes in a dark tanned face; his hair was jet-black and heavily greased and combed to the side, but it was so long that it fell in shaggy bangs across his forehead. He had a nervous, suspicious look in his eyes, and that beating he got from the Socs didn't help matters. He was the gang's pet, everyone's kid brother. His father was always beating him up, and his mother ignored him, except when she was hacked off at something, and then you could hear her yelling at him clear down at our house. I think he hated that worse than getting whipped. He would have run away a million times if we hadn't been there. If it hadn't been for the gang, Johnny would never have known what love and affection are.
I wiped my eyes hurriedly. "Didya catch 'em?"
"Nup. They got away this time, the dirty ..." Two-Bit went on cheerfully, calling the Socs every name he could think of or make up.
"The kid's okay?"
"I'm okay." I tried to think of something to say. I'm usually pretty quiet around people, even the gang. I changed the subject. "I didn't know you were out of the cooler yet, Dally."
"Good behavior Got off early." Dallas lit a cigarette and handed it to Johnny. Everyone sat down to have a smoke and relax. A smoke always lessens the tension I had quit trembling and my color was back. The cigarette was calming me down. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "Nice-lookin' bruise you got there, kid."
I touched my cheek gingerly. "Really?"
Two-Bit nodded sagely. "Nice cut, too. Makes you look tough."
Tough and tuff are two different words. Tough is the same as rough; tuff means cool, sharp--like a tuff-looking Mustang or a tuff record. In our neighborhood both are compliments.
Steve flicked his ashes at me. "What were you doin', walkin' by your lonesome?" Leave it to good old Steve to bring up something like that.
"I was comin' home from the movies. I didn't think ..."
"You don't ever think," Darry broke in, "not at home or anywhere when it counts. You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you've always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade."
I just stared at the hole in the toe of my tennis shoe. Me and Darry just didn't dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one. If I brought home B's, he wanted A's, and if I got A's, he wanted to make sure they stayed A's. If I was playing football, I should be in studying, and if I was reading, I should be out playing football. He never hollered at Sodapop--not even when Soda dropped out of school or got tickets for speeding. He just hollered at me.
Soda was glaring at him. "Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain't his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain't his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons."
Soda always takes up for me.
Darry said impatiently, "When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I'll ask you--kid brother." But he laid off me. He always does when Sodapop tells him to. Most of the time.
"Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy," Two-Bit said. "Any of us will."
"Speakin' of movies"--Dally yawned, flipping away his cigarette butt--"I'm walkin' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?"
Steve shook his head. "Me and Soda are pickin' up Evie and Sandy for the game."
He didn't need to look at me the way he did right then. I wasn't going to ask if I could come. I'd never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can't stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him.
Darry sighed, just like I knew he would. Darry never had time to do anything anymore. "I'm working tomorrow night."
Dally looked at the rest of us. "How about y'all? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?"
"Me and Johnny'll come," I said. I knew Johnny wouldn't open his mouth unless he was forced to. "Okay, Darry?"
"Yeah, since it ain't a school night." Darry was real good about letting me go places on the weekends. On school nights I could hardly leave the house.
"I was plannin' on getting boozed up tomorrow night," Two-Bit said. "If I don't, I'll walk over and find y'all."
Steve was looking at Dally's hand. His ring, which he had rolled a drunk senior to get, was back on his finger. "You break up with Sylvia again?"
"Yeah, and this time it's for good. That little broad was two-timin' me again while I was in jail."
I thought of Sylvia and Evie and Sandy and Two-Bit's many blondes. They were the only kind of girls that would look at us, I thought. Tough, loud girls who wore too much eye makeup and giggled and swore too much. I liked Soda's girl Sandy just fine, though. Her hair was natural blond and her laugh was soft, like her china-blue eyes. She didn't have a real good home or anything and was our kind--greaser--but she was a real nice girl. Still, lots of times I wondered what other girls were like. The girls who were bright-eyed, and had their dresses a decent length and acted as if they'd like to spit on us if given a chance. Some were afraid of us, and remembering Dallas Winston, I didn't blame them. But most looked at us like we were dirt--gave us the same kind of look that the Socs did when they came by in their Mustangs and Corvairs and yelled "Grease!" at us. I wondered about them. The girls, I mean ... Did they cry when their boys were arrested, like Evie did when Steve got hauled in, or did they run out on them the way Sylvia did Dallas? But maybe their boys didn't get arrested or beaten up or busted up in rodeos.
I was still thinking about it while I was doing my homework that night. I had to read Great Expectations for English, and that kid Pip, he reminded me of us--the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn't a gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him. That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a worm, and the razor wouldn't cut, so I used my switchblade. The minute I flicked it out--I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done it--this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, "They are right. You are a hood." That didn't make me feel so hot. There were a lot of Socs in that class--I get put into A classes because I'm supposed to be smart--and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn't, though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow.
We deserve a lot of our trouble, I thought. Dallas deserves everything he gets, and should get worse, if you want the truth. And Two-Bit--he doesn't really want or need half the things he swipes from stores. He just thinks it's fun to swipe everything that isn't nailed down. I can understand why Sodapop and Steve get into drag races and fights so much, though--both of them have too much energy, too much feeling, with no way to blow it off.
"Rub harder, Soda," I heard Darry mumbling. "You're gonna put me to sleep."
I looked through the door. Sodapop was giving Darry a back-rub. Darry is always pulling muscles; he roofs houses and he's always trying to carry two bundles of roofing up the ladder. I knew Soda would put him to sleep, because Soda can put about anyone out when he sets his head to it. He thought Darry worked too hard anyway. I did, too.
Darry didn't deserve to work like an old man when he was only twenty. He had been a real popular guy in school; he was captain of the football team and he had been voted Boy of the Year. But we just didn't have the money for him to go to college, even with the athletic scholarship he won. And now he didn't have time between jobs to even think about college. So he never went anywhere and never did anything anymore, except work out at gyms and go skiing with some old friends of his sometimes.
I rubbed my cheek where it had turned purple. I had looked in the mirror, and it did make me look tough. But Darry had made me put a Band-Aid on the cut.
I remembered how awful Johnny had looked when he got beaten up. I had just as much right to use the streets as the Socs did, and Johnny had never hurt them. Why did the Socs hate us so much? We left them alone. I nearly went to sleep over my homework trying to figure it out.
Sodapop, who had jumped into bed by this time, yelled sleepily for me to turn off the light and get to bed. When I finished the chapter I was on, I did.
Lying beside Soda, staring at the wall, I kept remembering the faces of the Socs as they surrounded me, that blue madras shirt the blond was wearing, and I could still hear a thick voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" I shivered.
"You cold, Ponyboy?"
"A little," I lied. Soda threw one arm across my neck. He mumbled something drowsily. "Listen, kiddo, when Darry hollers at you ... he don't mean nothin'. He's just got more worries than somebody his age ought to. Don't take him serious ... you dig, Pony? Don't let him bug you. He's really proud of you 'cause you're so brainy. It's just because you're the baby--I mean, he loves you a lot. Savvy?"
"Sure," I said, trying for Soda's sake to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"Soda?"
"Yeah?"
"How come you dropped out?" I never have gotten over that. I could hardly stand it when he left school.
"'Cause I'm dumb. The only things I was passing anyway were auto mechanics and gym."
"You're not dumb."
"Yeah, I am. Shut up and I'll tell you something. Don't tell Darry, though."
"Okay."
"I think I'm gonna marry Sandy. After she gets out of school and I get a better job and everything. I might wait till you get out of school, though. So I can still help Darry with the bills and stuff."
"Tuff enough. Wait till I get out, though, so you can keep Darry off my back."
"Don't be like that, kid. I told you he don't mean half of what he says ..."
"You in love with Sandy? What's it like?"
"Hhhmmm." He sighed happily. "It's real nice."
In a moment his breathing was light and regular. I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth. I wondered how he could stand being so handsome. Then I sighed. I didn't quite get what he meant about Darry. Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. Darry love me? I thought of those hard, pale eyes. Soda was wrong for once, I thought. Darry doesn't love anyone or anything, except maybe Soda. I didn't hardly think of him as being human. I don't care, I lied to myself, I don't care about him either. Soda's enough, and I'd have him until I got out of school. I don't care about Darry. But I was still lying and I knew it. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.
Continues...
Chapter One
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home. I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman —he looks tough and I don't—but I guess my own looks aren't so bad. I have light-brown, almost-red hair and greenish-gray eyes. I wish they were more gray, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have. My hair is longer than a lot of boys wear theirs, squared off in back and long at the front and sides, but I am a greaser and most of my neighborhood rarely bothers to get a haircut. Besides, I look better with long hair.
I had a long walk home and no company, but I usually lone it anyway, for no reason except that I like to watch movies undisturbed so I can get into them and live them with the actors. When I see a movie with someone it's kind of uncomfortable, like having someone read your book over your shoulder. I'm different that way. I mean, my second-oldest brother, Soda, who is sixteen-going-on-seventeen, never cracks a book at all, and my oldest brother, Darrel, who we call Darry, works too long and hard to be interested in a story or drawing a picture, so I'm not like them. And nobody in our gang digs movies and books the way I do. For a while there, I thought I was the only person in the world that did. So I loned it.
Soda tries to understand, at least, which is more than Darry does. But then, Soda is different from anybody; he understands everything, almost. Like he's never hollering at me all the time the way Darry is, or treating me as if I was six instead of fourteen. I love Soda more than I've ever loved anyone, even Mom and Dad. He's always happy-go-lucky and grinning, while Darry's hard and firm and rarely grins at all But then, Darry's gone through a lot in his twenty years, grown up too fast. Sodapop'll never grow up at all. I don't know which way's the best. I'll find out one of these days.
Anyway, I went on walking home, thinking about the movie, and then suddenly wishing I had some company. Greasers can't walk alone too much or they'll get jumped, or someone will come by and scream "Greaser!" at them, which doesn't make you feel too hot, if you know what I mean. We get jumped by the Socs. I'm not sure how you spell it, but it's the abbreviation for the Socials, the jet set, the West-side rich kids. It's like the term "greaser," which is used to class all us boys on the East Side.
We're poorer than the Socs and the middle class. I reckon we're wilder, too. Not like the Socs, who jump greasers and wreck houses and throw beer blasts for kicks, and get editorials in the paper for being a public disgrace one day and an asset to society the next. Greasers are almost like hoods; we steal things and drive old souped-up cars and hold up gas stations and have a gang fight once in a while, I don't mean I do things like that. Darry would kill me if I got into trouble with the police. Since Mom and Dad were killed in an auto wreck, the three of us get to stay together only as long as we behave. So Soda and I stay out of trouble as much as we can, and we're careful not to get caught when we can't. I only mean that most greasers do things like that, just like we wear our hair long and dress in blue jeans and T-shirts, or leave our shirttails out and wear leather jackets and tennis shoes or boots. I'm not saying that either Socs or greasers are better; that's just the way things are.
I could have waited to go to the movies until Darry or Sodapop got off work. They would have gone with me, or driven me there, or walked along, although Soda just can't sit still long enough to enjoy a movie and they bore Darry to death. Darry thinks his life is enough without inspecting other people's. Or I could have gotten one of the gang to come along, one of the four boys Darry and Soda and I have grown up with and consider family. We're almost as close as brothers; when you grow up in a tight-knit neighborhood like ours you get to know each other real well. If I had thought about it, I could have called Darry and he would have come by on his way home and picked me up, or Two-Bit Mathews—one of our gang—would have come to get me in his car if I had asked him, but sometimes I just don't use my head. It drives my brother Darry nuts when I do stuff like that, 'cause I'm supposed to be smart; I make good grades and have a high IQ and everything, but I don't use my head. Besides, I like walking.
I about decided I didn't like it so much, though, when I spotted that red Corvair trailing me. I was almost two blocks from home then, so I started walking a little faster. I had never been jumped, but I had seen Johnny after four Socs got hold of him, and it wasn't pretty. Johnny was scared of his own shadow after that. Johnny was sixteen then.
I knew it wasn't any use though—the fast walking, I mean—even before the Corvair pulled up beside me and five Socs got out. I got pretty scared—I'm kind of small for fourteen even though I have a good build, and those guys were bigger than me. I automatically hitched my thumbs in my jeans and slouched, wondering if I could get away if I made a break for it. I remembered Johnny—his face all cut up and bruised, and I remembered how he had cried when we found him, half-conscious, in the corner lot. Johnny had it awful rough at home—it took a lot to make him cry.
I was sweating something fierce, although I was cold. I could feel my palms getting clammy and the perspiration running down my back. I get like that when I'm real scared. I glanced around for a pop bottle or a stick or something—Steve Randle, Soda's best buddy, had once held off four guys with a busted pop bottle—but there was nothing. So I stood there like a bump on a log while they surrounded me. I don't use my head. They walked around slowly, silently, smiling.
"Hey, grease," one said in an over-friendly voice. "We're gonna do you a favor, greaser. We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off."
He had on a madras shirt. I can still see it. Blue madras. One of them laughed, then cussed me out in a low voice. I couldn't think of anything to say. There just isn't a whole lot you can say while waiting to get mugged, so I kept my mouth shut.
"Need a haircut, greaser?" The medium-sized blond pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped the blade open.
I finally thought of something to say. "No." I was backing up, away from that knife. Of course I backed right into one of them. They had me down in a second. They had my arms and legs pinned down and one of them was sitting on my chest with his knees on my elbows, and if you don't think that hurts, you're crazy. I could smell English Leather shaving lotion and stale tobacco, and I wondered foolishly if I would suffocate before they did anything. I was scared so bad I was wishing I would. I fought to get loose, and almost did for a second; then they tightened up on me and the one on my chest slugged me a couple of times. So I lay still, swearing at them between gasps. A blade was held against my throat.
"How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"
It occurred to me then that they could kill me. I went wild. I started screaming for Soda, Darry, anyone. Someone put his hand over my mouth, and I bit it as hard as I could, tasting the blood running through my teeth. I heard a muttered curse and got slugged again, and they were stuffing a handkerchief in my mouth. One of them kept saying, "Shut him up, for Pete's sake, shut him up!"
Then there were shouts and the pounding of feet, and the Socs jumped up and left me lying there, gasping. I lay there and wondered what in the world was happening—people were jumping over me and running by me and I was too dazed to figure it out. Then someone had me under the armpits and was hauling me to my feet. It was Darry.
"Are you all right, Ponyboy?"
He was shaking me and I wished he'd stop. I was dizzy enough anyway. I could tell it was Darry though—partly because of the voice and partly because Darry's always rough with me without meaning to be.
"I'm okay. Quit shaking me, Darry, I'm okay."
He stopped instantly. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't really. Darry isn't ever sorry for anything he does. It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike—my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be.
Darry is six-feet-two, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark-brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back—just like Dad's—but Darry's eyes are his own. He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They've got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty—tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn't understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head.
I sat down again, rubbing my cheek where I'd been slugged the most.
Darry jammed his fists in his pockets. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?"
They did. I was smarting and aching and my chest was sore and I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I wanted to start bawling, but you just don't say that to Darry.
"I'm okay."
Sodapop came loping back. By then I had figured that all the noise I had heard was the gang coming to rescue me. He dropped down beside me, examining my head.
"You got cut up a little, huh, Ponyboy?"
I only looked at him blankly. "I did?"
He pulled out a handkerchief, wet the end of it with his tongue, and pressed it gently against the side of my head. "You're bleedin' like a stuck pig."
"I am?"
"Look!" He showed me the handkerchief, reddened as if by magic. "Did they pull a blade on you?"
I remembered the voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" The blade must have slipped while he was trying to shut me up. "Yeah."
Soda is handsomer than anyone else I know. Not like Darry—Soda's movie-star kind of handsome, the kind that people stop on the street to watch go by. He's not as tall as Darry, and he's a little slimmer, but he has a finely drawn, sensitive face that somehow manages to be reckless and thoughtful at the same time. He's got dark-gold hair that he combs back—long and silky and straight—and in the summer the sun bleaches it to a shining wheat-gold. His eyes are dark brown—lively, dancing, recklessly laughing eyes that can be gentle and sympathetic one moment and blazing with anger the next. He has Dad's eyes, but Soda is one of a kind. He can get drunk in a drag race or dancing without ever getting near alcohol. In our neighborhood it's rare to find a kid who doesn't drink once in a while. But Soda never touches a drop—he doesn't need to. He gets drunk on just plain living. And he understands everybody.
He looked at me more closely. I looked away hurriedly, because, if you want to know the truth, I was starting to bawl. I knew I was as white as I felt and I was shaking like a leaf.
Soda just put his hand on my shoulder. "Easy, Ponyboy. They ain't gonna hurt you no more."
"I know," I said, but the ground began to blur and I felt hot tears running down my cheeks. I brushed them away impatiently. "I'm just a little spooked, that's all." I drew a quivering breath and quit crying. You just don't cry in front of Darry. Not unless you're hurt like Johnny had been that day we found him in the vacant lot. Compared to Johnny I wasn't hurt at all.
Soda rubbed my hair. "You're an okay kid, Pony."
I had to grin at him—Soda can make you grin no matter what. I guess it's because he's always grinning so much himself. "You're crazy, Soda, out of your mind."
Darry looked as if he'd like to knock our heads together. "You're both nuts."
Soda merely cocked one eyebrow, a trick he'd picked up from Two-Bit. "It seems to run in this family."
Darry stared at him for a second, then cracked a grin. Sodapop isn't afraid of him like everyone else and enjoys teasing him. I'd just as soon tease a full-grown grizzly; but for some reason, Darry seems to like being teased by Soda.
Our gang had chased the Socs to their car and heaved rocks at them. They came running toward us now—four lean, hard guys. They were all as tough as nails and looked it. I had grown up with them, and they accepted me, even though I was younger, because I was Darry and Soda's kid brother and I kept my mouth shut good.
Steve Randle was seventeen, tall and lean, with thick greasy hair he kept combed in complicated swirls. He was cocky, smart, and Soda's best buddy since grade school. Steve's specialty was cars. He could lift a hubcap quicker and more quietly than anyone in the neighborhood, but he also knew cars upside-down and backward, and he could drive anything on wheels. He and Soda worked at the same gas station—Steve part time and Soda full time—and their station got more customers than any other in town. Whether that was because Steve was so good with cars or because Soda attracted girls like honey draws flies, I couldn't tell you. I liked Steve only because he was Soda's best friend. He didn't like me—he thought I was a tagalong and a kid; Soda always took me with them when they went places if they weren't taking girls, and that bugged Steve. It wasn't my fault; Soda always asked me, I didn't ask him. Soda doesn't think I'm a kid.
Two-Bit Mathews was the oldest of the gang and the wisecracker of the bunch. He was about six feet tall, stocky in build, and very proud of his long rusty-colored sideburns. He had gray eyes and a wide grin, and he couldn't stop making funny remarks to save his life. You couldn't shut up that guy; he always had to get his two-bits worth in. Hence his name. Even his teachers forgot his real name was Keith, and we hardly remembered he had one. Life was one big joke to Two-Bit. He was famous for shoplifting and his black-handled switchblade (which he couldn't have acquired without his first talent), and he was always smarting off to the cops. He really couldn't help it. Everything he said was so irresistibly funny that he just had to let the police in on it to brighten up their dull lives. (That's the way he explained it to me.) He liked fights, blondes, and for some unfathomable reason, school. He was still a junior at eighteen and a half and he never learned anything. He just went for kicks. I liked him real well because he kept us laughing at ourselves as well as at other things. He reminded me of Will Rogers—maybe it was the grin.
If I had to pick the real character of the gang, it would be Dallas Winston—Dally. I used to like to draw his picture when he was in a dangerous mood, for then I could get his personality down in a few lines. He had an elfish face, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, small, sharp animal teeth, and ears like a lynx. His hair was almost white it was so blond, and he didn't like haircuts, or hair oil either, so it fell over his forehead in wisps and kicked out in the back in tufts and curled behind his ears and along the nape of his neck. His eyes were blue, blazing ice, cold with a hatred of the whole world. Dally had spent three years on the wild side of New York and had been arrested at the age of ten. He was tougher than the rest of us—tougher, colder, meaner. The shade of difference that separates a greaser from a hood wasn't present in Dally. He was as wild as the boys in the downtown outfits, like Tim Shepard's gang.
In New York, Dally blew off steam in gang fights, but here, organized gangs are rarities—there are just small bunches of friends who stick together, and the warfare is between the social classes. A rumble, when it's called, is usually born of a grudge fight, and the opponents just happen to bring their friends along. Oh, there are a few named gangs around, like the River Kings and the Tiber Street Tigers, but here in the Southwest there's no gang rivalry. So Dally, even though he could get into a good fight sometimes, had no specific thing to hate. No rival gang. Only Socs. And you can't win against them no matter how hard you try, because they've got all the breaks and even whipping them isn't going to change that fact. Maybe that was why Dallas was so bitter.
He had quite a reputation. They have a file on him down at the police station. He had been arrested, he got drunk, he rode in rodeos, lied, cheated, stole, rolled drunks, jumped small kids—he did everything. I didn't like him, but he was smart and you had to respect him.
Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny. He was the youngest, next to me, smaller than the rest, with a slight build. He had big black eyes in a dark tanned face; his hair was jet-black and heavily greased and combed to the side, but it was so long that it fell in shaggy bangs across his forehead. He had a nervous, suspicious look in his eyes, and that beating he got from the Socs didn't help matters. He was the gang's pet, everyone's kid brother. His father was always beating him up, and his mother ignored him, except when she was hacked off at something, and then you could hear her yelling at him clear down at our house. I think he hated that worse than getting whipped. He would have run away a million times if we hadn't been there. If it hadn't been for the gang, Johnny would never have known what love and affection are.
I wiped my eyes hurriedly. "Didya catch 'em?"
"Nup. They got away this time, the dirty ..." Two-Bit went on cheerfully, calling the Socs every name he could think of or make up.
"The kid's okay?"
"I'm okay." I tried to think of something to say. I'm usually pretty quiet around people, even the gang. I changed the subject. "I didn't know you were out of the cooler yet, Dally."
"Good behavior Got off early." Dallas lit a cigarette and handed it to Johnny. Everyone sat down to have a smoke and relax. A smoke always lessens the tension I had quit trembling and my color was back. The cigarette was calming me down. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "Nice-lookin' bruise you got there, kid."
I touched my cheek gingerly. "Really?"
Two-Bit nodded sagely. "Nice cut, too. Makes you look tough."
Tough and tuff are two different words. Tough is the same as rough; tuff means cool, sharp—like a tuff-looking Mustang or a tuff record. In our neighborhood both are compliments.
Steve flicked his ashes at me. "What were you doin', walkin' by your lonesome?" Leave it to good old Steve to bring up something like that.
"I was comin' home from the movies. I didn't think ..."
"You don't ever think," Darry broke in, "not at home or anywhere when it counts. You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you've always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade."
I just stared at the hole in the toe of my tennis shoe. Me and Darry just didn't dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one. If I brought home B's, he wanted A's, and if I got A's, he wanted to make sure they stayed A's. If I was playing football, I should be in studying, and if I was reading, I should be out playing football. He never hollered at Sodapop—not even when Soda dropped out of school or got tickets for speeding. He just hollered at me.
Soda was glaring at him. "Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain't his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain't his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons."
Soda always takes up for me.
Darry said impatiently, "When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I'll ask you—kid brother." But he laid off me. He always does when Sodapop tells him to. Most of the time.
"Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy," Two-Bit said. "Any of us will."
"Speakin' of movies"—Dally yawned, flipping away his cigarette butt—"I'm walkin' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?"
Steve shook his head. "Me and Soda are pickin' up Evie and Sandy for the game."
He didn't need to look at me the way he did right then. I wasn't going to ask if I could come. I'd never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can't stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him.
Darry sighed, just like I knew he would. Darry never had time to do anything anymore. "I'm working tomorrow night."
Dally looked at the rest of us. "How about y'all? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?"
"Me and Johnny'll come," I said. I knew Johnny wouldn't open his mouth unless he was forced to. "Okay, Darry?"
"Yeah, since it ain't a school night." Darry was real good about letting me go places on the weekends. On school nights I could hardly leave the house.
"I was plannin' on getting boozed up tomorrow night," Two-Bit said. "If I don't, I'll walk over and find y'all."
Steve was looking at Dally's hand. His ring, which he had rolled a drunk senior to get, was back on his finger. "You break up with Sylvia again?"
"Yeah, and this time it's for good. That little broad was two-timin' me again while I was in jail."
I thought of Sylvia and Evie and Sandy and Two-Bit's many blondes. They were the only kind of girls that would look at us, I thought. Tough, loud girls who wore too much eye makeup and giggled and swore too much. I liked Soda's girl Sandy just fine, though. Her hair was natural blond and her laugh was soft, like her china-blue eyes. She didn't have a real good home or anything and was our kind—greaser—but she was a real nice girl. Still, lots of times I wondered what other girls were like. The girls who were bright-eyed, and had their dresses a decent length and acted as if they'd like to spit on us if given a chance. Some were afraid of us, and remembering Dallas Winston, I didn't blame them. But most looked at us like we were dirt—gave us the same kind of look that the Socs did when they came by in their Mustangs and Corvairs and yelled "Grease!" at us. I wondered about them. The girls, I mean ... Did they cry when their boys were arrested, like Evie did when Steve got hauled in, or did they run out on them the way Sylvia did Dallas? But maybe their boys didn't get arrested or beaten up or busted up in rodeos.
I was still thinking about it while I was doing my homework that night. I had to read Great Expectations for English, and that kid Pip, he reminded me of us—the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn't a gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him. That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a worm, and the razor wouldn't cut, so I used my switchblade. The minute I flicked it out—I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done it—this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, "They are right. You are a hood." That didn't make me feel so hot. There were a lot of Socs in that class—I get put into A classes because I'm supposed to be smart—and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn't, though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow.
We deserve a lot of our trouble, I thought. Dallas deserves everything he gets, and should get worse, if you want the truth. And Two-Bit—he doesn't really want or need half the things he swipes from stores. He just thinks it's fun to swipe everything that isn't nailed down. I can understand why Sodapop and Steve get into drag races and fights so much, though—both of them have too much energy, too much feeling, with no way to blow it off.
"Rub harder, Soda," I heard Darry mumbling. "You're gonna put me to sleep."
I looked through the door. Sodapop was giving Darry a back-rub. Darry is always pulling muscles; he roofs houses and he's always trying to carry two bundles of roofing up the ladder. I knew Soda would put him to sleep, because Soda can put about anyone out when he sets his head to it. He thought Darry worked too hard anyway. I did, too.
Darry didn't deserve to work like an old man when he was only twenty. He had been a real popular guy in school; he was captain of the football team and he had been voted Boy of the Year. But we just didn't have the money for him to go to college, even with the athletic scholarship he won. And now he didn't have time between jobs to even think about college. So he never went anywhere and never did anything anymore, except work out at gyms and go skiing with some old friends of his sometimes.
I rubbed my cheek where it had turned purple. I had looked in the mirror, and it did make me look tough. But Darry had made me put a Band-Aid on the cut.
I remembered how awful Johnny had looked when he got beaten up. I had just as much right to use the streets as the Socs did, and Johnny had never hurt them. Why did the Socs hate us so much? We left them alone. I nearly went to sleep over my homework trying to figure it out.
Sodapop, who had jumped into bed by this time, yelled sleepily for me to turn off the light and get to bed. When I finished the chapter I was on, I did.
Lying beside Soda, staring at the wall, I kept remembering the faces of the Socs as they surrounded me, that blue madras shirt the blond was wearing, and I could still hear a thick voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" I shivered.
"You cold, Ponyboy?"
"A little," I lied. Soda threw one arm across my neck. He mumbled something drowsily. "Listen, kiddo, when Darry hollers at you ... he don't mean nothin'. He's just got more worries than somebody his age ought to. Don't take him serious ... you dig, Pony? Don't let him bug you. He's really proud of you 'cause you're so brainy. It's just because you're the baby—I mean, he loves you a lot. Savvy?"
"Sure," I said, trying for Soda's sake to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"Soda?"
"Yeah?"
"How come you dropped out?" I never have gotten over that. I could hardly stand it when he left school.
"'Cause I'm dumb. The only things I was passing anyway were auto mechanics and gym."
"You're not dumb."
"Yeah, I am. Shut up and I'll tell you something. Don't tell Darry, though."
"Okay."
"I think I'm gonna marry Sandy. After she gets out of school and I get a better job and everything. I might wait till you get out of school, though. So I can still help Darry with the bills and stuff."
"Tuff enough. Wait till I get out, though, so you can keep Darry off my back."
"Don't be like that, kid. I told you he don't mean half of what he says ..."
"You in love with Sandy? What's it like?"
"Hhhmmm." He sighed happily. "It's real nice."
In a moment his breathing was light and regular. I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth. I wondered how he could stand being so handsome. Then I sighed. I didn't quite get what he meant about Darry. Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. Darry love me? I thought of those hard, pale eyes. Soda was wrong for once, I thought. Darry doesn't love anyone or anything, except maybe Soda. I didn't hardly think of him as being human. I don't care, I lied to myself, I don't care about him either. Soda's enough, and I'd have him until I got out of school. I don't care about Darry. But I was still lying and I knew it. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.
Ponyboy Curtis and his gang, made up of both family and friends, the Greasers live on the east side. Their rivals the Socs live on the wealthy west side of the city. Throughout this story the Ponyboy and his friends survive their lives and their struggles with the Socs until two different however related events changes their lives forever. Overcoming differences in honor of friends becomes the goal of both the Greasers and the Socs and while their worlds stay vastly separate their understanding grows ever closer.
Bibliographic Citation:
Hinton, S.E. (2006). The Outsiders (Speak Platinum ed.). New York, NY: Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
My Impression:
I had never heard of “The Outsiders” until I moved to Oklahoma for my undergrad and it was discussed in my young adult lit class. I hadn’t read it until our reading list asked us to choose books we were unfamiliar with… I finished this book quickly- on a five hour flight from Dallas to Seattle and was left nearly speechless at the end. The story of “The Outsiders” although written and set forty or more years ago is a story that by changing a few details could be found in the new release section of almost any bookstore, the story is timeless and Hinton’s work is nearly perfection. The characters of this story are what brought it to life for me, more so than the plot, because although the main character doesn’t feel as though he knows each of the other characters that well through his perception of them as a reader I feel like I get to know them. Although I love to read, I could easily see this book being a story of interest for a reluctant reader; the book moves quickly and constantly adds or removes details to keep the reader engaged. In summary, I would recommend “The Outsiders” to almost any reader because in my opinion despite our differences in taste we can all take something away from this book and whether or not that changes our lives “The Outsiders” is guaranteed to stick in the back of your mind.
Reviews:
Publisher's Review
The Outsiders is a book that delves deeply into the hearts, minds, and stories of a group that had no voice before S. E. Hinton gave them one. She began writing the book at age 15, spurred on by the disturbing trend she saw growing in her high school towards division between groups. "I was worried and angered by the social situation," Hinton writes. "I saw two groups at the extreme ends of the social scale behaving in an idiotic fashion -- one group was being condemned and one wasn't.... When a friend of mine was beaten up for no other reason than that some people didn't like the way he combed his hair, I took my anger out by writing about it." Thirty years after it was first published, The Outsiders still carries the same frightening and unifying messages for teens (and readers of all ages). The ruthlessly realistic and violent story of the Greasers and the Socs, rival gangs from very different sides of the railroad tracks, is narrated by Ponyboy Curtis, a smart, sensitive kid who has grown to become one of the most recognizable figures in the history of young adult literature. Any teen who has ever felt isolated or different can identify with Ponyboy, a kid forced to be tough on the outside, but who underneath is just as scared and needy as anyone. Hinton herself has said that she has never written a character as close to her own self as Ponyboy is. Young Adult fiction was shaped and defined by Susan Eloise Hinton, and the realism she attached to the genre became the norm, enabling later writers like Robert Cormier and Judy Blume to find characters and voices that actually spoke to adolescents. Since 1967, Ponyboy has become the hero for countless teenagers nationwide as The Outsiders stands to influence an entire new legion of adolescents who need Ponyboy as much as ever.
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Features -
The Outsiders
Interviews & Essays
On Wednesday, December 3rd, barnesandnoble.com welcomed S. E. Hinton to discuss THE OUTSIDERS.
Moderator: Welcome, S. E. Hinton, and thank you for joining us online tonight! It is truly an honor. How are things in Tulsa this evening?S E Hinton: Cold and Christmasy.
Rory from Florida: S. E., two questions: 1) What was it like to be a writer at age 15? I am 13 and started writing a book of commentaries yesterday. 2) What are your future plans for writing? Thanks. :-) :-) :-) :-)S E Hinton: I think I was a writer as soon as I learned to read. It is never too early to start practicing because all writing is just practice to get better. 2) I don't like to write until I have something to say. I know that doesn't stop a lot of writers, but it puts a damper on me.
Scott Austin from Eatonville, WA: No question, just a thank you.... Your writing has affected my life for years. I'm 36/M. If there is a hall of fame for authors...you have my vote....THANKS.S E Hinton: Thanks for the support, Scott.
Jason Kuehnlein from Monroe, Michigan: Where do you get ideas for the names of characters, such as Ponyboy, Soda Pop, and M & M?S E Hinton: I don't really know. I think it is an age when you would like to have an unusual name. It helps establish identity.
Paul from Morris Plains, NJ: Good evening, Ms. Hinton. I am curious to find out what type of setting you grew up in. Your books span so many different settings, from the urban surroundings in RUMBLE FISH to the country-boy setting in TEX. How do you accurately portray so many different locations? Did you do a lot of research for these books?S E Hinton: Most of my settings were inspired by my life in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It's urban, but it is easy to find the rural. RUMBLE FISH is different. I was thinking a lot about mythology and purposely made time and place vague. Francis Coppola enlarged on this by telling the "Rumble Fish" cast it was set two years in the future!
David James from Bangor University: For what reasons did you adopt the narrative structure that you have done?S E Hinton: I like a first-person narrative because it gives you the structure of staying in character. And also it is emotionally involving. Why my alter ego is a 15-year-old boy, I don't know.
Mrs Jenson's sixth-grade class from Portland, Oregon: Hello, Ms. Hinton. We would like to tell you how much we are enjoying your book. The questions we have are, 1) Do you feel that young people need books like THE OUTSIDERS in today's world, and 2) Would you ever bring Pony Boy back as an adult in a new novel? Thank you!S E Hinton: 1) I get the same kind of letters that I got 30 years ago; kids still identify with the emotions and problems. It's still good to see that someone else feels that way. 2) No. I can remember what it is like to be 16, but I am not 16.
Jason Kuehnlein from Monroe, Michigan: How long did it take to write THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW? I am reading it in class now.S E Hinton: I wrote THAT WAS THEN in approximately four months, two pages a day. I had writer's block for four years after THE OUTSIDERS. That was the way I got over it.
Audrey from Miami, FL: Hi, S. E. Hinton!!! I practically devoured THE OUTSIDERS. It was so awesome...I would like to become a famous author one day....Who and/or what inspired you to write THE OUTSIDERS? :)S E Hinton: Three things inspired me: 1) I love to write. I had been writing since grade school. 2) I was mad about the social situation in my high school, where everyone got in their little group and was afraid of the other groups. 3) I wanted something to read! At that time, there wasn't any realistic fiction about teenagers. I wanted to read something that dealt with what I saw kids really doing.
Charla from California: Growing up I loved your books, but I always wondered why you chose male protagonists. Also, have you ever written a book centering around a female (outcast)?S E Hinton: I was a tomboy and most of my close friends were boys. Female society was very rigid at the time, and I felt that if I said a girl was doing this, nobody would believe it. Basically, I find it easy to write from a male point of view. I always take the easy way. I have written a book, THE PUPPY SISTER, which is told from a female puppy's point of view. In one book I changed gender, genre, and species!
Therese from Hinsdale, Illinois: Dear Ms. Hinton, I am nine years old and I just finished reading THE PUPPY SISTER and I really liked it. I wanted to know how you got the idea for that book. Thank you. P.S. My 13-year-old sister Christine also likes your books a lot.S E Hinton: It was based on the true story of how I brought a puppy home to be a sibling for my son, an only child. They fought a lot, like real siblings. One day, Nick, my son, said, "I think Aleasha is wondering when she is going to turn into a real kid like me." That was my inspiration. P.S. Aleasha really did turn herself into a member of the family.
Kaaron Warren from Australia: Thank you for showing me, all those years ago, that a 15-year-old girl could be a writer. Did the line "When I walked out into the bright sunlight" come first, or was the circular nature of THE OUTSIDERS, beginning and ending the same way, a later thought?S E Hinton: The first line was always the same. The circular nature was not original with me, but when I got to the end of the book it seemed the right way to end it. The first draft was very much like the published edition.
Joel Heller from Knoxville, TN: I am in a play version of your novel THE OUTSIDERS. I play Two-Bit. I really like the role and the story. If you somehow could, we would be deeply honored if you would attend a performance. It is December 10-12 at Farragut Middle School. Also, an email to Robheller@aol.com would be very much appreciated. Thanks! Joel Heller aka Two-Bit Matthews.S E Hinton: Joel, thanks very much for the invitation, but I can't make it. Break a leg!
Chris from Orange Co. Community College: What kinds of censorship incidents have you had to face over the years, especially with THE OUTSIDERS?S E Hinton: THE OUTSIDERS has been banned at different times and at different places. Teachers tell me that when a parent complains, they ask them to read the book themselves. Afterwards, there are no complaints. I have had a lot of kids write me and say that "after reading your books I realize how stupid violence is." I never have anyone write and say they were inspired to go and beat somebody up.
Joseph Perkins, age 14 from Charlotte, NC: I was wondering if you keep in touch with any of the actors who starred in the movie of THE OUTSIDERS. So many of them went on to become big stars, and they owe a lot to you and your story for giving them a start. Thank you.S E Hinton: I hear from some of the actors once in a while. I was very good friends with all of them. I feel that I should thank them. Not only were they very good actors, they were good kids. And a pleasure to work with. And while I would like to see any of them again, who I really miss are my brave goofy teens, and I will never see them again.
Maria Hanrahan from Oak Creek, WI: Matt Dillon starred in the film adaptations of three of your novels. Did you have any part in that? What do you think of his portrayal of your characters?S E Hinton: I worked on the three movies that Matt was in. I recommended him to Francis Coppola for Dallas, but he would not have been cast if Francis hadn't felt he was right for the role. I think Matt did a great job of seperating each character that he played. Nobody would mistake Tex for Rusty James.
Jessica from Connecticut: What was it like to meet Rob Lowe, who played Sodapop Curtis in the movie "The Outsiders"? Do you like the idea of your books being made into movies?S E Hinton: Rob was sweet and incredibly good-looking. Books and movies are two different things. The fun thing about movies is the collaboration. The fun thing about books is you rule the world.
Jesse from California: Last year I read THE OUTSIDERS, and I loved it. I was so interested that I decided to do a research project on you. One of the things I found out was that you did not get good grades in high school writing, despite having great writing skills. Is this true, and if so why did this happen?S E Hinton: I was no straight-A student. If I liked something I did well, if not, not. Basically, a goof-off, I guess. I had mostly great English teachers, who were very encouraging. The year I wrote THE OUTSIDERS I made a D in creative writing. I found out something interesting: Publishers don't count off for spelling and neatness.
Elizabeth Granta from Las Palomas, CA: I would like to know the names of your dogs, which you are holding in the photo above. How many dogs do you have?S E Hinton: That is an old photo. The Keeshond was named Bowser, the poodle Mop, the pug, Pug. My creativity ends in my books! All dogs go to heaven. I now have an Aussie shepherd, who is the heroine of my latest book, THE PUPPY SISTER. Also, two cats, and three horses.
Kevin Buch from Naperville IL: When did you write THE OUTSIDERS?S E Hinton: I began THE OUTSIDERS in 1964 and did most of the work in 1965. It was sold in 1966 and published the next year. Fast!
Nick Strevel from Trenton, Michigan: Will TAMING THE STAR RUNNER be made into a movie?S E Hinton: I don't know, you need to ask a studio! (I have a screenplay.)
Cindy from Orland Park: I worked extensively on THE OUTSIDERS during an MA program at St. Xavier University in Chicago. I really enjoyed it. Having finished the degree, I have no idea what to do with a series of children's books that I have written. Any ideas?S E Hinton: WRITER'S MARKET, a book, and Writer's Digest, a magazine, have a lot of practical tips on getting published. Good Luck!
Veronica, a mother from Pittsburgh, PA: Ms. Hinton, when did you let it be known that you were a woman? I know you were initially worried because you feared males would not read your books if they knew a female wrote the male characters. What changed your opinion? Thank you!S E Hinton: Actually, the initials were my publisher's idea. They didn't want the first reviewers to read it with a bias. Afterwards it wasn't any big secret. (The reviewers were fooled.) I know I am convincing as a male narrator because I still get letters from boys addressed to Mr. Hinton.
Maria from Oak Creek, WI: When I was in middle and high school, you were my favorite author, without a doubt. Who were your favorite authors when you were a young adult, and what kinds of books/what authors are on your reading list these days?S E Hinton: I loved horse books. I read Will James, the cowboy books, a lot. Some of my favorites: Shirley Jackson, Mary Renault, are still on my top five. Nowadays, I love Jane Austen (and did before she was cool), Fitzgerald, and I read alot of nonfiction.
Stephen Markle from Toronto, Canada: Which of the film adaptations did you enjoy the most? Any you didn't like?S E Hinton: I think both "Tex" and "Rumble Fish," in their very different ways, capture the spirit of each book. I was disappointed in the editing of "The Outsiders," because we shot the whole book. We will never put that cast together, again! And I expected that Hollywood couldn't take the strong ending of "That Was Then." However, it had some good parts in it.
Justin from Illinios: Hello Ms. Hinton. I really enjoy your books! I just have one question to ask you. It is: What book that you have written was your favorite? Thanks. Have a nice Christmas!S E Hinton: TEX is my favorite. I really have to become my narrator, and Tex was a good person to be. He is the least tough, but strongest of my narrators. It was nice to have that generous heart.
Marian Floyd from Tennessee: Why haven't you written more books, or are you working on something now? My students love your work.S E Hinton: Besides being a writer, I'm a wife, a mom, a friend, a pretty good horseback rider. To use the phrase, "I've got a life." I really just like to write when I feel I have something to say.
George, age 13 from New Mexico: Hi, I have read all of your books. I'm wondering what other authors are like you that I can read next? I loved TEX. George.S E Hinton: You might try Gary Paulsen. He does really good nature books, but suspenseful.
Therese from Hinsdale, Illinois: Three more questions please. 1. How many books have you written? 2. How old were you when your first book was published? 3.(from my Mom) Do you think today's teens have a more difficult time with gangs, etc. than when you were a teen? Thank you again.S E Hinton: 1) I have written five young-adult novels, one picture book, and a middle grade book. I've worked on six screenplays, and one TV series, and a couple of commercials. 2) I was 18 when THE OUTSIDERS was published. 3) Yes. I think drugs and gangs are a bigger problem. Being a teen is problem enough.
Bobby Killjoy from Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: How has your son dealt with the fact that you are such a famous writer for his age group?S E Hinton: Nick is not too impressed with his old mom. He had to read THE OUTSIDERS in English class, last year. His comment to me was "It's not bad, Mom, but you're no Tolkien."
Stephen Markle from Toronto, Canada: Were you a rebel as a child?S E Hinton: Not so much a rebel as perceptive. I always seemed to see why people were doing things as well as what they were doing. I've always been a watcher. Still, a lot of times, what people do seems silly to me.
Mark from Newark, DE: Do you think having started writing at such a young age hindered you from writing at such a pace for a longer period of time?S E Hinton: I was very focused when I was young. I have more interests now, but I feel writing about what I did at the time I did gives (especially THE OUTSIDERS) my work its immediacy.
Hugh from Raleigh, NC: Have you been back to your old school since the days of THE OUTSIDERS? Do you advise any schools? Is there still a distinct segregation of social groups?S E Hinton: Not really. As far as the groups go, the names change, the uniforms change, the groups go on forever.
Seth from Syosset, NY: Do you ever wish you didn't write THE OUTSIDERS because of all the publicity that it has garnered and the attention it focused on you as such a young adult?S E Hinton: I am very happy I wrote THE OUTSIDERS. A lot of kids who thought they didn't like to read learned that they did like to read. I'd never change that. THE OUTSIDERS wasn't an overnight success; it built slowly over the years. I can still live a private life.
Moderator: Thank you again for spending an hour with us tonight, Ms. Hinton. And thank you to all who participated. Ms. Hinton, any final remarks before we close?S E Hinton: Thanks for all your great questions. To those of you who want to write, read read read! And the rest of you, the same.
Moderator: Welcome, S. E. Hinton, and thank you for joining us online tonight! It is truly an honor. How are things in Tulsa this evening?S E Hinton: Cold and Christmasy.
Rory from Florida: S. E., two questions: 1) What was it like to be a writer at age 15? I am 13 and started writing a book of commentaries yesterday. 2) What are your future plans for writing? Thanks. :-) :-) :-) :-)S E Hinton: I think I was a writer as soon as I learned to read. It is never too early to start practicing because all writing is just practice to get better. 2) I don't like to write until I have something to say. I know that doesn't stop a lot of writers, but it puts a damper on me.
Scott Austin from Eatonville, WA: No question, just a thank you.... Your writing has affected my life for years. I'm 36/M. If there is a hall of fame for authors...you have my vote....THANKS.S E Hinton: Thanks for the support, Scott.
Jason Kuehnlein from Monroe, Michigan: Where do you get ideas for the names of characters, such as Ponyboy, Soda Pop, and M & M?S E Hinton: I don't really know. I think it is an age when you would like to have an unusual name. It helps establish identity.
Paul from Morris Plains, NJ: Good evening, Ms. Hinton. I am curious to find out what type of setting you grew up in. Your books span so many different settings, from the urban surroundings in RUMBLE FISH to the country-boy setting in TEX. How do you accurately portray so many different locations? Did you do a lot of research for these books?S E Hinton: Most of my settings were inspired by my life in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It's urban, but it is easy to find the rural. RUMBLE FISH is different. I was thinking a lot about mythology and purposely made time and place vague. Francis Coppola enlarged on this by telling the "Rumble Fish" cast it was set two years in the future!
David James from Bangor University: For what reasons did you adopt the narrative structure that you have done?S E Hinton: I like a first-person narrative because it gives you the structure of staying in character. And also it is emotionally involving. Why my alter ego is a 15-year-old boy, I don't know.
Mrs Jenson's sixth-grade class from Portland, Oregon: Hello, Ms. Hinton. We would like to tell you how much we are enjoying your book. The questions we have are, 1) Do you feel that young people need books like THE OUTSIDERS in today's world, and 2) Would you ever bring Pony Boy back as an adult in a new novel? Thank you!S E Hinton: 1) I get the same kind of letters that I got 30 years ago; kids still identify with the emotions and problems. It's still good to see that someone else feels that way. 2) No. I can remember what it is like to be 16, but I am not 16.
Jason Kuehnlein from Monroe, Michigan: How long did it take to write THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW? I am reading it in class now.S E Hinton: I wrote THAT WAS THEN in approximately four months, two pages a day. I had writer's block for four years after THE OUTSIDERS. That was the way I got over it.
Audrey from Miami, FL: Hi, S. E. Hinton!!! I practically devoured THE OUTSIDERS. It was so awesome...I would like to become a famous author one day....Who and/or what inspired you to write THE OUTSIDERS? :)S E Hinton: Three things inspired me: 1) I love to write. I had been writing since grade school. 2) I was mad about the social situation in my high school, where everyone got in their little group and was afraid of the other groups. 3) I wanted something to read! At that time, there wasn't any realistic fiction about teenagers. I wanted to read something that dealt with what I saw kids really doing.
Charla from California: Growing up I loved your books, but I always wondered why you chose male protagonists. Also, have you ever written a book centering around a female (outcast)?S E Hinton: I was a tomboy and most of my close friends were boys. Female society was very rigid at the time, and I felt that if I said a girl was doing this, nobody would believe it. Basically, I find it easy to write from a male point of view. I always take the easy way. I have written a book, THE PUPPY SISTER, which is told from a female puppy's point of view. In one book I changed gender, genre, and species!
Therese from Hinsdale, Illinois: Dear Ms. Hinton, I am nine years old and I just finished reading THE PUPPY SISTER and I really liked it. I wanted to know how you got the idea for that book. Thank you. P.S. My 13-year-old sister Christine also likes your books a lot.S E Hinton: It was based on the true story of how I brought a puppy home to be a sibling for my son, an only child. They fought a lot, like real siblings. One day, Nick, my son, said, "I think Aleasha is wondering when she is going to turn into a real kid like me." That was my inspiration. P.S. Aleasha really did turn herself into a member of the family.
Kaaron Warren from Australia: Thank you for showing me, all those years ago, that a 15-year-old girl could be a writer. Did the line "When I walked out into the bright sunlight" come first, or was the circular nature of THE OUTSIDERS, beginning and ending the same way, a later thought?S E Hinton: The first line was always the same. The circular nature was not original with me, but when I got to the end of the book it seemed the right way to end it. The first draft was very much like the published edition.
Joel Heller from Knoxville, TN: I am in a play version of your novel THE OUTSIDERS. I play Two-Bit. I really like the role and the story. If you somehow could, we would be deeply honored if you would attend a performance. It is December 10-12 at Farragut Middle School. Also, an email to Robheller@aol.com would be very much appreciated. Thanks! Joel Heller aka Two-Bit Matthews.S E Hinton: Joel, thanks very much for the invitation, but I can't make it. Break a leg!
Chris from Orange Co. Community College: What kinds of censorship incidents have you had to face over the years, especially with THE OUTSIDERS?S E Hinton: THE OUTSIDERS has been banned at different times and at different places. Teachers tell me that when a parent complains, they ask them to read the book themselves. Afterwards, there are no complaints. I have had a lot of kids write me and say that "after reading your books I realize how stupid violence is." I never have anyone write and say they were inspired to go and beat somebody up.
Joseph Perkins, age 14 from Charlotte, NC: I was wondering if you keep in touch with any of the actors who starred in the movie of THE OUTSIDERS. So many of them went on to become big stars, and they owe a lot to you and your story for giving them a start. Thank you.S E Hinton: I hear from some of the actors once in a while. I was very good friends with all of them. I feel that I should thank them. Not only were they very good actors, they were good kids. And a pleasure to work with. And while I would like to see any of them again, who I really miss are my brave goofy teens, and I will never see them again.
Maria Hanrahan from Oak Creek, WI: Matt Dillon starred in the film adaptations of three of your novels. Did you have any part in that? What do you think of his portrayal of your characters?S E Hinton: I worked on the three movies that Matt was in. I recommended him to Francis Coppola for Dallas, but he would not have been cast if Francis hadn't felt he was right for the role. I think Matt did a great job of seperating each character that he played. Nobody would mistake Tex for Rusty James.
Jessica from Connecticut: What was it like to meet Rob Lowe, who played Sodapop Curtis in the movie "The Outsiders"? Do you like the idea of your books being made into movies?S E Hinton: Rob was sweet and incredibly good-looking. Books and movies are two different things. The fun thing about movies is the collaboration. The fun thing about books is you rule the world.
Jesse from California: Last year I read THE OUTSIDERS, and I loved it. I was so interested that I decided to do a research project on you. One of the things I found out was that you did not get good grades in high school writing, despite having great writing skills. Is this true, and if so why did this happen?S E Hinton: I was no straight-A student. If I liked something I did well, if not, not. Basically, a goof-off, I guess. I had mostly great English teachers, who were very encouraging. The year I wrote THE OUTSIDERS I made a D in creative writing. I found out something interesting: Publishers don't count off for spelling and neatness.
Elizabeth Granta from Las Palomas, CA: I would like to know the names of your dogs, which you are holding in the photo above. How many dogs do you have?S E Hinton: That is an old photo. The Keeshond was named Bowser, the poodle Mop, the pug, Pug. My creativity ends in my books! All dogs go to heaven. I now have an Aussie shepherd, who is the heroine of my latest book, THE PUPPY SISTER. Also, two cats, and three horses.
Kevin Buch from Naperville IL: When did you write THE OUTSIDERS?S E Hinton: I began THE OUTSIDERS in 1964 and did most of the work in 1965. It was sold in 1966 and published the next year. Fast!
Nick Strevel from Trenton, Michigan: Will TAMING THE STAR RUNNER be made into a movie?S E Hinton: I don't know, you need to ask a studio! (I have a screenplay.)
Cindy from Orland Park: I worked extensively on THE OUTSIDERS during an MA program at St. Xavier University in Chicago. I really enjoyed it. Having finished the degree, I have no idea what to do with a series of children's books that I have written. Any ideas?S E Hinton: WRITER'S MARKET, a book, and Writer's Digest, a magazine, have a lot of practical tips on getting published. Good Luck!
Veronica, a mother from Pittsburgh, PA: Ms. Hinton, when did you let it be known that you were a woman? I know you were initially worried because you feared males would not read your books if they knew a female wrote the male characters. What changed your opinion? Thank you!S E Hinton: Actually, the initials were my publisher's idea. They didn't want the first reviewers to read it with a bias. Afterwards it wasn't any big secret. (The reviewers were fooled.) I know I am convincing as a male narrator because I still get letters from boys addressed to Mr. Hinton.
Maria from Oak Creek, WI: When I was in middle and high school, you were my favorite author, without a doubt. Who were your favorite authors when you were a young adult, and what kinds of books/what authors are on your reading list these days?S E Hinton: I loved horse books. I read Will James, the cowboy books, a lot. Some of my favorites: Shirley Jackson, Mary Renault, are still on my top five. Nowadays, I love Jane Austen (and did before she was cool), Fitzgerald, and I read alot of nonfiction.
Stephen Markle from Toronto, Canada: Which of the film adaptations did you enjoy the most? Any you didn't like?S E Hinton: I think both "Tex" and "Rumble Fish," in their very different ways, capture the spirit of each book. I was disappointed in the editing of "The Outsiders," because we shot the whole book. We will never put that cast together, again! And I expected that Hollywood couldn't take the strong ending of "That Was Then." However, it had some good parts in it.
Justin from Illinios: Hello Ms. Hinton. I really enjoy your books! I just have one question to ask you. It is: What book that you have written was your favorite? Thanks. Have a nice Christmas!S E Hinton: TEX is my favorite. I really have to become my narrator, and Tex was a good person to be. He is the least tough, but strongest of my narrators. It was nice to have that generous heart.
Marian Floyd from Tennessee: Why haven't you written more books, or are you working on something now? My students love your work.S E Hinton: Besides being a writer, I'm a wife, a mom, a friend, a pretty good horseback rider. To use the phrase, "I've got a life." I really just like to write when I feel I have something to say.
George, age 13 from New Mexico: Hi, I have read all of your books. I'm wondering what other authors are like you that I can read next? I loved TEX. George.S E Hinton: You might try Gary Paulsen. He does really good nature books, but suspenseful.
Therese from Hinsdale, Illinois: Three more questions please. 1. How many books have you written? 2. How old were you when your first book was published? 3.(from my Mom) Do you think today's teens have a more difficult time with gangs, etc. than when you were a teen? Thank you again.S E Hinton: 1) I have written five young-adult novels, one picture book, and a middle grade book. I've worked on six screenplays, and one TV series, and a couple of commercials. 2) I was 18 when THE OUTSIDERS was published. 3) Yes. I think drugs and gangs are a bigger problem. Being a teen is problem enough.
Bobby Killjoy from Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: How has your son dealt with the fact that you are such a famous writer for his age group?S E Hinton: Nick is not too impressed with his old mom. He had to read THE OUTSIDERS in English class, last year. His comment to me was "It's not bad, Mom, but you're no Tolkien."
Stephen Markle from Toronto, Canada: Were you a rebel as a child?S E Hinton: Not so much a rebel as perceptive. I always seemed to see why people were doing things as well as what they were doing. I've always been a watcher. Still, a lot of times, what people do seems silly to me.
Mark from Newark, DE: Do you think having started writing at such a young age hindered you from writing at such a pace for a longer period of time?S E Hinton: I was very focused when I was young. I have more interests now, but I feel writing about what I did at the time I did gives (especially THE OUTSIDERS) my work its immediacy.
Hugh from Raleigh, NC: Have you been back to your old school since the days of THE OUTSIDERS? Do you advise any schools? Is there still a distinct segregation of social groups?S E Hinton: Not really. As far as the groups go, the names change, the uniforms change, the groups go on forever.
Seth from Syosset, NY: Do you ever wish you didn't write THE OUTSIDERS because of all the publicity that it has garnered and the attention it focused on you as such a young adult?S E Hinton: I am very happy I wrote THE OUTSIDERS. A lot of kids who thought they didn't like to read learned that they did like to read. I'd never change that. THE OUTSIDERS wasn't an overnight success; it built slowly over the years. I can still live a private life.
Moderator: Thank you again for spending an hour with us tonight, Ms. Hinton. And thank you to all who participated. Ms. Hinton, any final remarks before we close?S E Hinton: Thanks for all your great questions. To those of you who want to write, read read read! And the rest of you, the same.
Read an Excerpt
The Outsiders
By S. E. Hinton
Dramatic Pub.
Copyright © 1990 S. E. HintonAll right reserved.
ISBN: 0871292777
Chapter One
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home. I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman --he looks tough and I don't--but I guess my own looks aren't so bad. I have light-brown, almost-red hair and greenish-gray eyes. I wish they were more gray, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have. My hair is longer than a lot of boys wear theirs, squared off in back and long at the front and sides, but I am a greaser and most of my neighborhood rarely bothers to get a haircut. Besides, I look better with long hair.
I had a long walk home and no company, but I usually lone it anyway, for no reason except that I like to watch movies undisturbed so I can get into them and live them with the actors. When I see a movie with someone it's kind of uncomfortable, like having someone read your book over your shoulder. I'm different that way. I mean,my second-oldest brother, Soda, who is sixteen-going-on-seventeen, never cracks a book at all, and my oldest brother, Darrel, who we call Darry, works too long and hard to be interested in a story or drawing a picture, so I'm not like them. And nobody in our gang digs movies and books the way I do. For a while there, I thought I was the only person in the world that did. So I loned it.
Soda tries to understand, at least, which is more than Darry does. But then, Soda is different from anybody; he understands everything, almost. Like he's never hollering at me all the time the way Darry is, or treating me as if I was six instead of fourteen. I love Soda more than I've ever loved anyone, even Mom and Dad. He's always happy-go-lucky and grinning, while Darry's hard and firm and rarely grins at all But then, Darry's gone through a lot in his twenty years, grown up too fast. Sodapop'll never grow up at all. I don't know which way's the best. I'll find out one of these days.
Anyway, I went on walking home, thinking about the movie, and then suddenly wishing I had some company. Greasers can't walk alone too much or they'll get jumped, or someone will come by and scream "Greaser!" at them, which doesn't make you feel too hot, if you know what I mean. We get jumped by the Socs. I'm not sure how you spell it, but it's the abbreviation for the Socials, the jet set, the West-side rich kids. It's like the term "greaser," which is used to class all us boys on the East Side.
We're poorer than the Socs and the middle class. I reckon we're wilder, too. Not like the Socs, who jump greasers and wreck houses and throw beer blasts for kicks, and get editorials in the paper for being a public disgrace one day and an asset to society the next. Greasers are almost like hoods; we steal things and drive old souped-up cars and hold up gas stations and have a gang fight once in a while, I don't mean I do things like that. Darry would kill me if I got into trouble with the police. Since Mom and Dad were killed in an auto wreck, the three of us get to stay together only as long as we behave. So Soda and I stay out of trouble as much as we can, and we're careful not to get caught when we can't. I only mean that most greasers do things like that, just like we wear our hair long and dress in blue jeans and T-shirts, or leave our shirttails out and wear leather jackets and tennis shoes or boots. I'm not saying that either Socs or greasers are better; that's just the way things are.
I could have waited to go to the movies until Darry or Sodapop got off work. They would have gone with me, or driven me there, or walked along, although Soda just can't sit still long enough to enjoy a movie and they bore Darry to death. Darry thinks his life is enough without inspecting other people's. Or I could have gotten one of the gang to come along, one of the four boys Darry and Soda and I have grown up with and consider family. We're almost as close as brothers; when you grow up in a tight-knit neighborhood like ours you get to know each other real well. If I had thought about it, I could have called Darry and he would have come by on his way home and picked me up, or Two-Bit Mathews--one of our gang--would have come to get me in his car if I had asked him, but sometimes I just don't use my head. It drives my brother Darry nuts when I do stuff like that, 'cause I'm supposed to be smart; I make good grades and have a high IQ and everything, but I don't use my head. Besides, I like walking.
I about decided I didn't like it so much, though, when I spotted that red Corvair trailing me. I was almost two blocks from home then, so I started walking a little faster. I had never been jumped, but I had seen Johnny after four Socs got hold of him, and it wasn't pretty. Johnny was scared of his own shadow after that. Johnny was sixteen then.
I knew it wasn't any use though--the fast walking, I mean--even before the Corvair pulled up beside me and five Socs got out. I got pretty scared--I'm kind of small for fourteen even though I have a good build, and those guys were bigger than me. I automatically hitched my thumbs in my jeans and slouched, wondering if I could get away if I made a break for it. I remembered Johnny--his face all cut up and bruised, and I remembered how he had cried when we found him, half-conscious, in the corner lot. Johnny had it awful rough at home--it took a lot to make him cry.
I was sweating something fierce, although I was cold. I could feel my palms getting clammy and the perspiration running down my back. I get like that when I'm real scared. I glanced around for a pop bottle or a stick or something--Steve Randle, Soda's best buddy, had once held off four guys with a busted pop bottle--but there was nothing. So I stood there like a bump on a log while they surrounded me. I don't use my head. They walked around slowly, silently, smiling.
"Hey, grease," one said in an over-friendly voice. "We're gonna do you a favor, greaser. We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off."
He had on a madras shirt. I can still see it. Blue madras. One of them laughed, then cussed me out in a low voice. I couldn't think of anything to say. There just isn't a whole lot you can say while waiting to get mugged, so I kept my mouth shut.
"Need a haircut, greaser?" The medium-sized blond pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped the blade open.
I finally thought of something to say. "No." I was backing up, away from that knife. Of course I backed right into one of them. They had me down in a second. They had my arms and legs pinned down and one of them was sitting on my chest with his knees on my elbows, and if you don't think that hurts, you're crazy. I could smell English Leather shaving lotion and stale tobacco, and I wondered foolishly if I would suffocate before they did anything. I was scared so bad I was wishing I would. I fought to get loose, and almost did for a second; then they tightened up on me and the one on my chest slugged me a couple of times. So I lay still, swearing at them between gasps. A blade was held against my throat.
"How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"
It occurred to me then that they could kill me. I went wild. I started screaming for Soda, Darry, anyone. Someone put his hand over my mouth, and I bit it as hard as I could, tasting the blood running through my teeth. I heard a muttered curse and got slugged again, and they were stuffing a handkerchief in my mouth. One of them kept saying, "Shut him up, for Pete's sake, shut him up!"
Then there were shouts and the pounding of feet, and the Socs jumped up and left me lying there, gasping. I lay there and wondered what in the world was happening--people were jumping over me and running by me and I was too dazed to figure it out. Then someone had me under the armpits and was hauling me to my feet. It was Darry.
"Are you all right, Ponyboy?"
He was shaking me and I wished he'd stop. I was dizzy enough anyway. I could tell it was Darry though--partly because of the voice and partly because Darry's always rough with me without meaning to be.
"I'm okay. Quit shaking me, Darry, I'm okay."
He stopped instantly. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't really. Darry isn't ever sorry for anything he does. It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike--my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be.
Darry is six-feet-two, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark-brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back--just like Dad's--but Darry's eyes are his own. He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They've got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty--tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn't understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head.
I sat down again, rubbing my cheek where I'd been slugged the most.
Darry jammed his fists in his pockets. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?"
They did. I was smarting and aching and my chest was sore and I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I wanted to start bawling, but you just don't say that to Darry.
"I'm okay."
Sodapop came loping back. By then I had figured that all the noise I had heard was the gang coming to rescue me. He dropped down beside me, examining my head.
"You got cut up a little, huh, Ponyboy?"
I only looked at him blankly. "I did?"
He pulled out a handkerchief, wet the end of it with his tongue, and pressed it gently against the side of my head. "You're bleedin' like a stuck pig."
"I am?"
"Look!" He showed me the handkerchief, reddened as if by magic. "Did they pull a blade on you?"
I remembered the voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" The blade must have slipped while he was trying to shut me up. "Yeah."
Soda is handsomer than anyone else I know. Not like Darry--Soda's movie-star kind of handsome, the kind that people stop on the street to watch go by. He's not as tall as Darry, and he's a little slimmer, but he has a finely drawn, sensitive face that somehow manages to be reckless and thoughtful at the same time. He's got dark-gold hair that he combs back--long and silky and straight--and in the summer the sun bleaches it to a shining wheat-gold. His eyes are dark brown--lively, dancing, recklessly laughing eyes that can be gentle and sympathetic one moment and blazing with anger the next. He has Dad's eyes, but Soda is one of a kind. He can get drunk in a drag race or dancing without ever getting near alcohol. In our neighborhood it's rare to find a kid who doesn't drink once in a while. But Soda never touches a drop--he doesn't need to. He gets drunk on just plain living. And he understands everybody.
He looked at me more closely. I looked away hurriedly, because, if you want to know the truth, I was starting to bawl. I knew I was as white as I felt and I was shaking like a leaf.
Soda just put his hand on my shoulder. "Easy, Ponyboy. They ain't gonna hurt you no more."
"I know," I said, but the ground began to blur and I felt hot tears running down my cheeks. I brushed them away impatiently. "I'm just a little spooked, that's all." I drew a quivering breath and quit crying. You just don't cry in front of Darry. Not unless you're hurt like Johnny had been that day we found him in the vacant lot. Compared to Johnny I wasn't hurt at all.
Soda rubbed my hair. "You're an okay kid, Pony."
I had to grin at him--Soda can make you grin no matter what. I guess it's because he's always grinning so much himself. "You're crazy, Soda, out of your mind."
Darry looked as if he'd like to knock our heads together. "You're both nuts."
Soda merely cocked one eyebrow, a trick he'd picked up from Two-Bit. "It seems to run in this family."
Darry stared at him for a second, then cracked a grin. Sodapop isn't afraid of him like everyone else and enjoys teasing him. I'd just as soon tease a full-grown grizzly; but for some reason, Darry seems to like being teased by Soda.
Our gang had chased the Socs to their car and heaved rocks at them. They came running toward us now--four lean, hard guys. They were all as tough as nails and looked it. I had grown up with them, and they accepted me, even though I was younger, because I was Darry and Soda's kid brother and I kept my mouth shut good.
Steve Randle was seventeen, tall and lean, with thick greasy hair he kept combed in complicated swirls. He was cocky, smart, and Soda's best buddy since grade school. Steve's specialty was cars. He could lift a hubcap quicker and more quietly than anyone in the neighborhood, but he also knew cars upside-down and backward, and he could drive anything on wheels. He and Soda worked at the same gas station--Steve part time and Soda full time--and their station got more customers than any other in town. Whether that was because Steve was so good with cars or because Soda attracted girls like honey draws flies, I couldn't tell you. I liked Steve only because he was Soda's best friend. He didn't like me--he thought I was a tagalong and a kid; Soda always took me with them when they went places if they weren't taking girls, and that bugged Steve. It wasn't my fault; Soda always asked me, I didn't ask him. Soda doesn't think I'm a kid.
Two-Bit Mathews was the oldest of the gang and the wisecracker of the bunch. He was about six feet tall, stocky in build, and very proud of his long rusty-colored sideburns. He had gray eyes and a wide grin, and he couldn't stop making funny remarks to save his life. You couldn't shut up that guy; he always had to get his two-bits worth in. Hence his name. Even his teachers forgot his real name was Keith, and we hardly remembered he had one. Life was one big joke to Two-Bit. He was famous for shoplifting and his black-handled switchblade (which he couldn't have acquired without his first talent), and he was always smarting off to the cops. He really couldn't help it. Everything he said was so irresistibly funny that he just had to let the police in on it to brighten up their dull lives. (That's the way he explained it to me.) He liked fights, blondes, and for some unfathomable reason, school. He was still a junior at eighteen and a half and he never learned anything. He just went for kicks. I liked him real well because he kept us laughing at ourselves as well as at other things. He reminded me of Will Rogers--maybe it was the grin.
If I had to pick the real character of the gang, it would be Dallas Winston--Dally. I used to like to draw his picture when he was in a dangerous mood, for then I could get his personality down in a few lines. He had an elfish face, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, small, sharp animal teeth, and ears like a lynx. His hair was almost white it was so blond, and he didn't like haircuts, or hair oil either, so it fell over his forehead in wisps and kicked out in the back in tufts and curled behind his ears and along the nape of his neck. His eyes were blue, blazing ice, cold with a hatred of the whole world. Dally had spent three years on the wild side of New York and had been arrested at the age of ten. He was tougher than the rest of us--tougher, colder, meaner. The shade of difference that separates a greaser from a hood wasn't present in Dally. He was as wild as the boys in the downtown outfits, like Tim Shepard's gang.
In New York, Dally blew off steam in gang fights, but here, organized gangs are rarities--there are just small bunches of friends who stick together, and the warfare is between the social classes. A rumble, when it's called, is usually born of a grudge fight, and the opponents just happen to bring their friends along. Oh, there are a few named gangs around, like the River Kings and the Tiber Street Tigers, but here in the Southwest there's no gang rivalry. So Dally, even though he could get into a good fight sometimes, had no specific thing to hate. No rival gang. Only Socs. And you can't win against them no matter how hard you try, because they've got all the breaks and even whipping them isn't going to change that fact. Maybe that was why Dallas was so bitter.
He had quite a reputation. They have a file on him down at the police station. He had been arrested, he got drunk, he rode in rodeos, lied, cheated, stole, rolled drunks, jumped small kids--he did everything. I didn't like him, but he was smart and you had to respect him.
Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny. He was the youngest, next to me, smaller than the rest, with a slight build. He had big black eyes in a dark tanned face; his hair was jet-black and heavily greased and combed to the side, but it was so long that it fell in shaggy bangs across his forehead. He had a nervous, suspicious look in his eyes, and that beating he got from the Socs didn't help matters. He was the gang's pet, everyone's kid brother. His father was always beating him up, and his mother ignored him, except when she was hacked off at something, and then you could hear her yelling at him clear down at our house. I think he hated that worse than getting whipped. He would have run away a million times if we hadn't been there. If it hadn't been for the gang, Johnny would never have known what love and affection are.
I wiped my eyes hurriedly. "Didya catch 'em?"
"Nup. They got away this time, the dirty ..." Two-Bit went on cheerfully, calling the Socs every name he could think of or make up.
"The kid's okay?"
"I'm okay." I tried to think of something to say. I'm usually pretty quiet around people, even the gang. I changed the subject. "I didn't know you were out of the cooler yet, Dally."
"Good behavior Got off early." Dallas lit a cigarette and handed it to Johnny. Everyone sat down to have a smoke and relax. A smoke always lessens the tension I had quit trembling and my color was back. The cigarette was calming me down. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "Nice-lookin' bruise you got there, kid."
I touched my cheek gingerly. "Really?"
Two-Bit nodded sagely. "Nice cut, too. Makes you look tough."
Tough and tuff are two different words. Tough is the same as rough; tuff means cool, sharp--like a tuff-looking Mustang or a tuff record. In our neighborhood both are compliments.
Steve flicked his ashes at me. "What were you doin', walkin' by your lonesome?" Leave it to good old Steve to bring up something like that.
"I was comin' home from the movies. I didn't think ..."
"You don't ever think," Darry broke in, "not at home or anywhere when it counts. You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you've always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade."
I just stared at the hole in the toe of my tennis shoe. Me and Darry just didn't dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one. If I brought home B's, he wanted A's, and if I got A's, he wanted to make sure they stayed A's. If I was playing football, I should be in studying, and if I was reading, I should be out playing football. He never hollered at Sodapop--not even when Soda dropped out of school or got tickets for speeding. He just hollered at me.
Soda was glaring at him. "Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain't his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain't his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons."
Soda always takes up for me.
Darry said impatiently, "When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I'll ask you--kid brother." But he laid off me. He always does when Sodapop tells him to. Most of the time.
"Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy," Two-Bit said. "Any of us will."
"Speakin' of movies"--Dally yawned, flipping away his cigarette butt--"I'm walkin' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?"
Steve shook his head. "Me and Soda are pickin' up Evie and Sandy for the game."
He didn't need to look at me the way he did right then. I wasn't going to ask if I could come. I'd never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can't stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him.
Darry sighed, just like I knew he would. Darry never had time to do anything anymore. "I'm working tomorrow night."
Dally looked at the rest of us. "How about y'all? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?"
"Me and Johnny'll come," I said. I knew Johnny wouldn't open his mouth unless he was forced to. "Okay, Darry?"
"Yeah, since it ain't a school night." Darry was real good about letting me go places on the weekends. On school nights I could hardly leave the house.
"I was plannin' on getting boozed up tomorrow night," Two-Bit said. "If I don't, I'll walk over and find y'all."
Steve was looking at Dally's hand. His ring, which he had rolled a drunk senior to get, was back on his finger. "You break up with Sylvia again?"
"Yeah, and this time it's for good. That little broad was two-timin' me again while I was in jail."
I thought of Sylvia and Evie and Sandy and Two-Bit's many blondes. They were the only kind of girls that would look at us, I thought. Tough, loud girls who wore too much eye makeup and giggled and swore too much. I liked Soda's girl Sandy just fine, though. Her hair was natural blond and her laugh was soft, like her china-blue eyes. She didn't have a real good home or anything and was our kind--greaser--but she was a real nice girl. Still, lots of times I wondered what other girls were like. The girls who were bright-eyed, and had their dresses a decent length and acted as if they'd like to spit on us if given a chance. Some were afraid of us, and remembering Dallas Winston, I didn't blame them. But most looked at us like we were dirt--gave us the same kind of look that the Socs did when they came by in their Mustangs and Corvairs and yelled "Grease!" at us. I wondered about them. The girls, I mean ... Did they cry when their boys were arrested, like Evie did when Steve got hauled in, or did they run out on them the way Sylvia did Dallas? But maybe their boys didn't get arrested or beaten up or busted up in rodeos.
I was still thinking about it while I was doing my homework that night. I had to read Great Expectations for English, and that kid Pip, he reminded me of us--the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn't a gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him. That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a worm, and the razor wouldn't cut, so I used my switchblade. The minute I flicked it out--I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done it--this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, "They are right. You are a hood." That didn't make me feel so hot. There were a lot of Socs in that class--I get put into A classes because I'm supposed to be smart--and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn't, though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow.
We deserve a lot of our trouble, I thought. Dallas deserves everything he gets, and should get worse, if you want the truth. And Two-Bit--he doesn't really want or need half the things he swipes from stores. He just thinks it's fun to swipe everything that isn't nailed down. I can understand why Sodapop and Steve get into drag races and fights so much, though--both of them have too much energy, too much feeling, with no way to blow it off.
"Rub harder, Soda," I heard Darry mumbling. "You're gonna put me to sleep."
I looked through the door. Sodapop was giving Darry a back-rub. Darry is always pulling muscles; he roofs houses and he's always trying to carry two bundles of roofing up the ladder. I knew Soda would put him to sleep, because Soda can put about anyone out when he sets his head to it. He thought Darry worked too hard anyway. I did, too.
Darry didn't deserve to work like an old man when he was only twenty. He had been a real popular guy in school; he was captain of the football team and he had been voted Boy of the Year. But we just didn't have the money for him to go to college, even with the athletic scholarship he won. And now he didn't have time between jobs to even think about college. So he never went anywhere and never did anything anymore, except work out at gyms and go skiing with some old friends of his sometimes.
I rubbed my cheek where it had turned purple. I had looked in the mirror, and it did make me look tough. But Darry had made me put a Band-Aid on the cut.
I remembered how awful Johnny had looked when he got beaten up. I had just as much right to use the streets as the Socs did, and Johnny had never hurt them. Why did the Socs hate us so much? We left them alone. I nearly went to sleep over my homework trying to figure it out.
Sodapop, who had jumped into bed by this time, yelled sleepily for me to turn off the light and get to bed. When I finished the chapter I was on, I did.
Lying beside Soda, staring at the wall, I kept remembering the faces of the Socs as they surrounded me, that blue madras shirt the blond was wearing, and I could still hear a thick voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" I shivered.
"You cold, Ponyboy?"
"A little," I lied. Soda threw one arm across my neck. He mumbled something drowsily. "Listen, kiddo, when Darry hollers at you ... he don't mean nothin'. He's just got more worries than somebody his age ought to. Don't take him serious ... you dig, Pony? Don't let him bug you. He's really proud of you 'cause you're so brainy. It's just because you're the baby--I mean, he loves you a lot. Savvy?"
"Sure," I said, trying for Soda's sake to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"Soda?"
"Yeah?"
"How come you dropped out?" I never have gotten over that. I could hardly stand it when he left school.
"'Cause I'm dumb. The only things I was passing anyway were auto mechanics and gym."
"You're not dumb."
"Yeah, I am. Shut up and I'll tell you something. Don't tell Darry, though."
"Okay."
"I think I'm gonna marry Sandy. After she gets out of school and I get a better job and everything. I might wait till you get out of school, though. So I can still help Darry with the bills and stuff."
"Tuff enough. Wait till I get out, though, so you can keep Darry off my back."
"Don't be like that, kid. I told you he don't mean half of what he says ..."
"You in love with Sandy? What's it like?"
"Hhhmmm." He sighed happily. "It's real nice."
In a moment his breathing was light and regular. I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth. I wondered how he could stand being so handsome. Then I sighed. I didn't quite get what he meant about Darry. Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. Darry love me? I thought of those hard, pale eyes. Soda was wrong for once, I thought. Darry doesn't love anyone or anything, except maybe Soda. I didn't hardly think of him as being human. I don't care, I lied to myself, I don't care about him either. Soda's enough, and I'd have him until I got out of school. I don't care about Darry. But I was still lying and I knew it. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.
Continues...
Excerpted from The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton Copyright © 1990 by S. E. Hinton. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Chapter One
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home. I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman —he looks tough and I don't—but I guess my own looks aren't so bad. I have light-brown, almost-red hair and greenish-gray eyes. I wish they were more gray, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have. My hair is longer than a lot of boys wear theirs, squared off in back and long at the front and sides, but I am a greaser and most of my neighborhood rarely bothers to get a haircut. Besides, I look better with long hair.
I had a long walk home and no company, but I usually lone it anyway, for no reason except that I like to watch movies undisturbed so I can get into them and live them with the actors. When I see a movie with someone it's kind of uncomfortable, like having someone read your book over your shoulder. I'm different that way. I mean, my second-oldest brother, Soda, who is sixteen-going-on-seventeen, never cracks a book at all, and my oldest brother, Darrel, who we call Darry, works too long and hard to be interested in a story or drawing a picture, so I'm not like them. And nobody in our gang digs movies and books the way I do. For a while there, I thought I was the only person in the world that did. So I loned it.
Soda tries to understand, at least, which is more than Darry does. But then, Soda is different from anybody; he understands everything, almost. Like he's never hollering at me all the time the way Darry is, or treating me as if I was six instead of fourteen. I love Soda more than I've ever loved anyone, even Mom and Dad. He's always happy-go-lucky and grinning, while Darry's hard and firm and rarely grins at all But then, Darry's gone through a lot in his twenty years, grown up too fast. Sodapop'll never grow up at all. I don't know which way's the best. I'll find out one of these days.
Anyway, I went on walking home, thinking about the movie, and then suddenly wishing I had some company. Greasers can't walk alone too much or they'll get jumped, or someone will come by and scream "Greaser!" at them, which doesn't make you feel too hot, if you know what I mean. We get jumped by the Socs. I'm not sure how you spell it, but it's the abbreviation for the Socials, the jet set, the West-side rich kids. It's like the term "greaser," which is used to class all us boys on the East Side.
We're poorer than the Socs and the middle class. I reckon we're wilder, too. Not like the Socs, who jump greasers and wreck houses and throw beer blasts for kicks, and get editorials in the paper for being a public disgrace one day and an asset to society the next. Greasers are almost like hoods; we steal things and drive old souped-up cars and hold up gas stations and have a gang fight once in a while, I don't mean I do things like that. Darry would kill me if I got into trouble with the police. Since Mom and Dad were killed in an auto wreck, the three of us get to stay together only as long as we behave. So Soda and I stay out of trouble as much as we can, and we're careful not to get caught when we can't. I only mean that most greasers do things like that, just like we wear our hair long and dress in blue jeans and T-shirts, or leave our shirttails out and wear leather jackets and tennis shoes or boots. I'm not saying that either Socs or greasers are better; that's just the way things are.
I could have waited to go to the movies until Darry or Sodapop got off work. They would have gone with me, or driven me there, or walked along, although Soda just can't sit still long enough to enjoy a movie and they bore Darry to death. Darry thinks his life is enough without inspecting other people's. Or I could have gotten one of the gang to come along, one of the four boys Darry and Soda and I have grown up with and consider family. We're almost as close as brothers; when you grow up in a tight-knit neighborhood like ours you get to know each other real well. If I had thought about it, I could have called Darry and he would have come by on his way home and picked me up, or Two-Bit Mathews—one of our gang—would have come to get me in his car if I had asked him, but sometimes I just don't use my head. It drives my brother Darry nuts when I do stuff like that, 'cause I'm supposed to be smart; I make good grades and have a high IQ and everything, but I don't use my head. Besides, I like walking.
I about decided I didn't like it so much, though, when I spotted that red Corvair trailing me. I was almost two blocks from home then, so I started walking a little faster. I had never been jumped, but I had seen Johnny after four Socs got hold of him, and it wasn't pretty. Johnny was scared of his own shadow after that. Johnny was sixteen then.
I knew it wasn't any use though—the fast walking, I mean—even before the Corvair pulled up beside me and five Socs got out. I got pretty scared—I'm kind of small for fourteen even though I have a good build, and those guys were bigger than me. I automatically hitched my thumbs in my jeans and slouched, wondering if I could get away if I made a break for it. I remembered Johnny—his face all cut up and bruised, and I remembered how he had cried when we found him, half-conscious, in the corner lot. Johnny had it awful rough at home—it took a lot to make him cry.
I was sweating something fierce, although I was cold. I could feel my palms getting clammy and the perspiration running down my back. I get like that when I'm real scared. I glanced around for a pop bottle or a stick or something—Steve Randle, Soda's best buddy, had once held off four guys with a busted pop bottle—but there was nothing. So I stood there like a bump on a log while they surrounded me. I don't use my head. They walked around slowly, silently, smiling.
"Hey, grease," one said in an over-friendly voice. "We're gonna do you a favor, greaser. We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off."
He had on a madras shirt. I can still see it. Blue madras. One of them laughed, then cussed me out in a low voice. I couldn't think of anything to say. There just isn't a whole lot you can say while waiting to get mugged, so I kept my mouth shut.
"Need a haircut, greaser?" The medium-sized blond pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped the blade open.
I finally thought of something to say. "No." I was backing up, away from that knife. Of course I backed right into one of them. They had me down in a second. They had my arms and legs pinned down and one of them was sitting on my chest with his knees on my elbows, and if you don't think that hurts, you're crazy. I could smell English Leather shaving lotion and stale tobacco, and I wondered foolishly if I would suffocate before they did anything. I was scared so bad I was wishing I would. I fought to get loose, and almost did for a second; then they tightened up on me and the one on my chest slugged me a couple of times. So I lay still, swearing at them between gasps. A blade was held against my throat.
"How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"
It occurred to me then that they could kill me. I went wild. I started screaming for Soda, Darry, anyone. Someone put his hand over my mouth, and I bit it as hard as I could, tasting the blood running through my teeth. I heard a muttered curse and got slugged again, and they were stuffing a handkerchief in my mouth. One of them kept saying, "Shut him up, for Pete's sake, shut him up!"
Then there were shouts and the pounding of feet, and the Socs jumped up and left me lying there, gasping. I lay there and wondered what in the world was happening—people were jumping over me and running by me and I was too dazed to figure it out. Then someone had me under the armpits and was hauling me to my feet. It was Darry.
"Are you all right, Ponyboy?"
He was shaking me and I wished he'd stop. I was dizzy enough anyway. I could tell it was Darry though—partly because of the voice and partly because Darry's always rough with me without meaning to be.
"I'm okay. Quit shaking me, Darry, I'm okay."
He stopped instantly. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't really. Darry isn't ever sorry for anything he does. It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike—my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be.
Darry is six-feet-two, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark-brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back—just like Dad's—but Darry's eyes are his own. He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They've got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty—tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn't understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head.
I sat down again, rubbing my cheek where I'd been slugged the most.
Darry jammed his fists in his pockets. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?"
They did. I was smarting and aching and my chest was sore and I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I wanted to start bawling, but you just don't say that to Darry.
"I'm okay."
Sodapop came loping back. By then I had figured that all the noise I had heard was the gang coming to rescue me. He dropped down beside me, examining my head.
"You got cut up a little, huh, Ponyboy?"
I only looked at him blankly. "I did?"
He pulled out a handkerchief, wet the end of it with his tongue, and pressed it gently against the side of my head. "You're bleedin' like a stuck pig."
"I am?"
"Look!" He showed me the handkerchief, reddened as if by magic. "Did they pull a blade on you?"
I remembered the voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" The blade must have slipped while he was trying to shut me up. "Yeah."
Soda is handsomer than anyone else I know. Not like Darry—Soda's movie-star kind of handsome, the kind that people stop on the street to watch go by. He's not as tall as Darry, and he's a little slimmer, but he has a finely drawn, sensitive face that somehow manages to be reckless and thoughtful at the same time. He's got dark-gold hair that he combs back—long and silky and straight—and in the summer the sun bleaches it to a shining wheat-gold. His eyes are dark brown—lively, dancing, recklessly laughing eyes that can be gentle and sympathetic one moment and blazing with anger the next. He has Dad's eyes, but Soda is one of a kind. He can get drunk in a drag race or dancing without ever getting near alcohol. In our neighborhood it's rare to find a kid who doesn't drink once in a while. But Soda never touches a drop—he doesn't need to. He gets drunk on just plain living. And he understands everybody.
He looked at me more closely. I looked away hurriedly, because, if you want to know the truth, I was starting to bawl. I knew I was as white as I felt and I was shaking like a leaf.
Soda just put his hand on my shoulder. "Easy, Ponyboy. They ain't gonna hurt you no more."
"I know," I said, but the ground began to blur and I felt hot tears running down my cheeks. I brushed them away impatiently. "I'm just a little spooked, that's all." I drew a quivering breath and quit crying. You just don't cry in front of Darry. Not unless you're hurt like Johnny had been that day we found him in the vacant lot. Compared to Johnny I wasn't hurt at all.
Soda rubbed my hair. "You're an okay kid, Pony."
I had to grin at him—Soda can make you grin no matter what. I guess it's because he's always grinning so much himself. "You're crazy, Soda, out of your mind."
Darry looked as if he'd like to knock our heads together. "You're both nuts."
Soda merely cocked one eyebrow, a trick he'd picked up from Two-Bit. "It seems to run in this family."
Darry stared at him for a second, then cracked a grin. Sodapop isn't afraid of him like everyone else and enjoys teasing him. I'd just as soon tease a full-grown grizzly; but for some reason, Darry seems to like being teased by Soda.
Our gang had chased the Socs to their car and heaved rocks at them. They came running toward us now—four lean, hard guys. They were all as tough as nails and looked it. I had grown up with them, and they accepted me, even though I was younger, because I was Darry and Soda's kid brother and I kept my mouth shut good.
Steve Randle was seventeen, tall and lean, with thick greasy hair he kept combed in complicated swirls. He was cocky, smart, and Soda's best buddy since grade school. Steve's specialty was cars. He could lift a hubcap quicker and more quietly than anyone in the neighborhood, but he also knew cars upside-down and backward, and he could drive anything on wheels. He and Soda worked at the same gas station—Steve part time and Soda full time—and their station got more customers than any other in town. Whether that was because Steve was so good with cars or because Soda attracted girls like honey draws flies, I couldn't tell you. I liked Steve only because he was Soda's best friend. He didn't like me—he thought I was a tagalong and a kid; Soda always took me with them when they went places if they weren't taking girls, and that bugged Steve. It wasn't my fault; Soda always asked me, I didn't ask him. Soda doesn't think I'm a kid.
Two-Bit Mathews was the oldest of the gang and the wisecracker of the bunch. He was about six feet tall, stocky in build, and very proud of his long rusty-colored sideburns. He had gray eyes and a wide grin, and he couldn't stop making funny remarks to save his life. You couldn't shut up that guy; he always had to get his two-bits worth in. Hence his name. Even his teachers forgot his real name was Keith, and we hardly remembered he had one. Life was one big joke to Two-Bit. He was famous for shoplifting and his black-handled switchblade (which he couldn't have acquired without his first talent), and he was always smarting off to the cops. He really couldn't help it. Everything he said was so irresistibly funny that he just had to let the police in on it to brighten up their dull lives. (That's the way he explained it to me.) He liked fights, blondes, and for some unfathomable reason, school. He was still a junior at eighteen and a half and he never learned anything. He just went for kicks. I liked him real well because he kept us laughing at ourselves as well as at other things. He reminded me of Will Rogers—maybe it was the grin.
If I had to pick the real character of the gang, it would be Dallas Winston—Dally. I used to like to draw his picture when he was in a dangerous mood, for then I could get his personality down in a few lines. He had an elfish face, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, small, sharp animal teeth, and ears like a lynx. His hair was almost white it was so blond, and he didn't like haircuts, or hair oil either, so it fell over his forehead in wisps and kicked out in the back in tufts and curled behind his ears and along the nape of his neck. His eyes were blue, blazing ice, cold with a hatred of the whole world. Dally had spent three years on the wild side of New York and had been arrested at the age of ten. He was tougher than the rest of us—tougher, colder, meaner. The shade of difference that separates a greaser from a hood wasn't present in Dally. He was as wild as the boys in the downtown outfits, like Tim Shepard's gang.
In New York, Dally blew off steam in gang fights, but here, organized gangs are rarities—there are just small bunches of friends who stick together, and the warfare is between the social classes. A rumble, when it's called, is usually born of a grudge fight, and the opponents just happen to bring their friends along. Oh, there are a few named gangs around, like the River Kings and the Tiber Street Tigers, but here in the Southwest there's no gang rivalry. So Dally, even though he could get into a good fight sometimes, had no specific thing to hate. No rival gang. Only Socs. And you can't win against them no matter how hard you try, because they've got all the breaks and even whipping them isn't going to change that fact. Maybe that was why Dallas was so bitter.
He had quite a reputation. They have a file on him down at the police station. He had been arrested, he got drunk, he rode in rodeos, lied, cheated, stole, rolled drunks, jumped small kids—he did everything. I didn't like him, but he was smart and you had to respect him.
Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny. He was the youngest, next to me, smaller than the rest, with a slight build. He had big black eyes in a dark tanned face; his hair was jet-black and heavily greased and combed to the side, but it was so long that it fell in shaggy bangs across his forehead. He had a nervous, suspicious look in his eyes, and that beating he got from the Socs didn't help matters. He was the gang's pet, everyone's kid brother. His father was always beating him up, and his mother ignored him, except when she was hacked off at something, and then you could hear her yelling at him clear down at our house. I think he hated that worse than getting whipped. He would have run away a million times if we hadn't been there. If it hadn't been for the gang, Johnny would never have known what love and affection are.
I wiped my eyes hurriedly. "Didya catch 'em?"
"Nup. They got away this time, the dirty ..." Two-Bit went on cheerfully, calling the Socs every name he could think of or make up.
"The kid's okay?"
"I'm okay." I tried to think of something to say. I'm usually pretty quiet around people, even the gang. I changed the subject. "I didn't know you were out of the cooler yet, Dally."
"Good behavior Got off early." Dallas lit a cigarette and handed it to Johnny. Everyone sat down to have a smoke and relax. A smoke always lessens the tension I had quit trembling and my color was back. The cigarette was calming me down. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "Nice-lookin' bruise you got there, kid."
I touched my cheek gingerly. "Really?"
Two-Bit nodded sagely. "Nice cut, too. Makes you look tough."
Tough and tuff are two different words. Tough is the same as rough; tuff means cool, sharp—like a tuff-looking Mustang or a tuff record. In our neighborhood both are compliments.
Steve flicked his ashes at me. "What were you doin', walkin' by your lonesome?" Leave it to good old Steve to bring up something like that.
"I was comin' home from the movies. I didn't think ..."
"You don't ever think," Darry broke in, "not at home or anywhere when it counts. You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you've always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade."
I just stared at the hole in the toe of my tennis shoe. Me and Darry just didn't dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one. If I brought home B's, he wanted A's, and if I got A's, he wanted to make sure they stayed A's. If I was playing football, I should be in studying, and if I was reading, I should be out playing football. He never hollered at Sodapop—not even when Soda dropped out of school or got tickets for speeding. He just hollered at me.
Soda was glaring at him. "Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain't his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain't his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons."
Soda always takes up for me.
Darry said impatiently, "When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I'll ask you—kid brother." But he laid off me. He always does when Sodapop tells him to. Most of the time.
"Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy," Two-Bit said. "Any of us will."
"Speakin' of movies"—Dally yawned, flipping away his cigarette butt—"I'm walkin' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?"
Steve shook his head. "Me and Soda are pickin' up Evie and Sandy for the game."
He didn't need to look at me the way he did right then. I wasn't going to ask if I could come. I'd never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can't stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him.
Darry sighed, just like I knew he would. Darry never had time to do anything anymore. "I'm working tomorrow night."
Dally looked at the rest of us. "How about y'all? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?"
"Me and Johnny'll come," I said. I knew Johnny wouldn't open his mouth unless he was forced to. "Okay, Darry?"
"Yeah, since it ain't a school night." Darry was real good about letting me go places on the weekends. On school nights I could hardly leave the house.
"I was plannin' on getting boozed up tomorrow night," Two-Bit said. "If I don't, I'll walk over and find y'all."
Steve was looking at Dally's hand. His ring, which he had rolled a drunk senior to get, was back on his finger. "You break up with Sylvia again?"
"Yeah, and this time it's for good. That little broad was two-timin' me again while I was in jail."
I thought of Sylvia and Evie and Sandy and Two-Bit's many blondes. They were the only kind of girls that would look at us, I thought. Tough, loud girls who wore too much eye makeup and giggled and swore too much. I liked Soda's girl Sandy just fine, though. Her hair was natural blond and her laugh was soft, like her china-blue eyes. She didn't have a real good home or anything and was our kind—greaser—but she was a real nice girl. Still, lots of times I wondered what other girls were like. The girls who were bright-eyed, and had their dresses a decent length and acted as if they'd like to spit on us if given a chance. Some were afraid of us, and remembering Dallas Winston, I didn't blame them. But most looked at us like we were dirt—gave us the same kind of look that the Socs did when they came by in their Mustangs and Corvairs and yelled "Grease!" at us. I wondered about them. The girls, I mean ... Did they cry when their boys were arrested, like Evie did when Steve got hauled in, or did they run out on them the way Sylvia did Dallas? But maybe their boys didn't get arrested or beaten up or busted up in rodeos.
I was still thinking about it while I was doing my homework that night. I had to read Great Expectations for English, and that kid Pip, he reminded me of us—the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn't a gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him. That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a worm, and the razor wouldn't cut, so I used my switchblade. The minute I flicked it out—I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done it—this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, "They are right. You are a hood." That didn't make me feel so hot. There were a lot of Socs in that class—I get put into A classes because I'm supposed to be smart—and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn't, though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow.
We deserve a lot of our trouble, I thought. Dallas deserves everything he gets, and should get worse, if you want the truth. And Two-Bit—he doesn't really want or need half the things he swipes from stores. He just thinks it's fun to swipe everything that isn't nailed down. I can understand why Sodapop and Steve get into drag races and fights so much, though—both of them have too much energy, too much feeling, with no way to blow it off.
"Rub harder, Soda," I heard Darry mumbling. "You're gonna put me to sleep."
I looked through the door. Sodapop was giving Darry a back-rub. Darry is always pulling muscles; he roofs houses and he's always trying to carry two bundles of roofing up the ladder. I knew Soda would put him to sleep, because Soda can put about anyone out when he sets his head to it. He thought Darry worked too hard anyway. I did, too.
Darry didn't deserve to work like an old man when he was only twenty. He had been a real popular guy in school; he was captain of the football team and he had been voted Boy of the Year. But we just didn't have the money for him to go to college, even with the athletic scholarship he won. And now he didn't have time between jobs to even think about college. So he never went anywhere and never did anything anymore, except work out at gyms and go skiing with some old friends of his sometimes.
I rubbed my cheek where it had turned purple. I had looked in the mirror, and it did make me look tough. But Darry had made me put a Band-Aid on the cut.
I remembered how awful Johnny had looked when he got beaten up. I had just as much right to use the streets as the Socs did, and Johnny had never hurt them. Why did the Socs hate us so much? We left them alone. I nearly went to sleep over my homework trying to figure it out.
Sodapop, who had jumped into bed by this time, yelled sleepily for me to turn off the light and get to bed. When I finished the chapter I was on, I did.
Lying beside Soda, staring at the wall, I kept remembering the faces of the Socs as they surrounded me, that blue madras shirt the blond was wearing, and I could still hear a thick voice: "Need a haircut, greaser?" I shivered.
"You cold, Ponyboy?"
"A little," I lied. Soda threw one arm across my neck. He mumbled something drowsily. "Listen, kiddo, when Darry hollers at you ... he don't mean nothin'. He's just got more worries than somebody his age ought to. Don't take him serious ... you dig, Pony? Don't let him bug you. He's really proud of you 'cause you're so brainy. It's just because you're the baby—I mean, he loves you a lot. Savvy?"
"Sure," I said, trying for Soda's sake to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"Soda?"
"Yeah?"
"How come you dropped out?" I never have gotten over that. I could hardly stand it when he left school.
"'Cause I'm dumb. The only things I was passing anyway were auto mechanics and gym."
"You're not dumb."
"Yeah, I am. Shut up and I'll tell you something. Don't tell Darry, though."
"Okay."
"I think I'm gonna marry Sandy. After she gets out of school and I get a better job and everything. I might wait till you get out of school, though. So I can still help Darry with the bills and stuff."
"Tuff enough. Wait till I get out, though, so you can keep Darry off my back."
"Don't be like that, kid. I told you he don't mean half of what he says ..."
"You in love with Sandy? What's it like?"
"Hhhmmm." He sighed happily. "It's real nice."
In a moment his breathing was light and regular. I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth. I wondered how he could stand being so handsome. Then I sighed. I didn't quite get what he meant about Darry. Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. Darry love me? I thought of those hard, pale eyes. Soda was wrong for once, I thought. Darry doesn't love anyone or anything, except maybe Soda. I didn't hardly think of him as being human. I don't care, I lied to myself, I don't care about him either. Soda's enough, and I'd have him until I got out of school. I don't care about Darry. But I was still lying and I knew it. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Outsiders/S-E-Hinton/e/9780142407332/?itm=5&USRI=the+outsiders
How to use this book in your library:
S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders would be an excellent book for a youth or teen book group. The library is an excellent place to develop common ground and a safe place for the youth from all sides from town. This timeless story can speak to the youth of any era and could have the potential to have an influence on their behavior toward their selves and to others.
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