A Northern Light

I should start by saying I enjoyed A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly. I've read it before, and quite liked and recommended it. Donnelly has given us a strong but flawed heroine, a beautifully detailed historical setting, and a realistic presentation of societal issues.

That being said, I really struggled with a presentational issue. In writing, we have a term called “the hand of the author”. This is when a literary device or technique attracts enough attention that the reader is pulled out of the story and is able to see the hand of the author in the story. This, I felt, was true of Donnelly's use of the vocabulary words at the beginning of chapters. I see the value: built-in vocab for teachers, subtle education for readers, etc. I also see the value in the characterization of Mattie as a studious, intelligent young woman. However, when the reader sees something like this, he or she is reminded that this is a story by someone who loves words, thus being reminded that this is a story. This reminder is particularly unfortunate given the richness of the setting created.

A rule exists among writers: don't write about writers. It's the classic narcissism inherent in any artistic endeavor. We artists love and loathe ourselves so deeply that to put ourselves on the page or canvas is a constant temptation. Usually the reader/viewer doesn't know. Only my readers who know me are able to pick out the personal characteristics I have used in my writing. However, any reader can tell you one thing about any writer: the writer loves words. The writer loves to write. The writer has probably loved these things throughout his or her life. Therefore, any story about a writer suddenly becomes an exercise in psychoanalysis.

Of course, in writing, as in most areas of life, rules are made to be broken.

With this in mind, I'm glad Donnelly broke the rule. I struggled with it, and I even struggled with writing this post. I worried that I was being too picky, that Donnelly gave us a wonderful story, a well-written historical fiction of tremendous value to young readers and I was just nit-picking. Then I realized I was trying to coddle young adult fiction, which would be a slap in the face to one of the basic tenets of judging young adult fiction: is it good literature? In the case of A Northern Light, this is good literature. We have believable and flawed and sympathetic characters. We have stories that don't necessarily end happily. We have a rich setting. We have historical accuracy. We have characters that love words and language and education so deeply that they would do anything to pursue their passion and for this, I accept Donnelly's rule-breaking.

Donnelly, Jennifer. A Northern Light. Orlando: Graphia, 2004. Print.

Absolute Genius: Sherman Alexie

 I will rarely say this about a piece of literature, but The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie is an absolute work of genius. Alexie has created an unlikely main character: a sympathetic, sarcastic victim. More than that, he created a situation in which he could openly, and often humorously, discuss such taboo subjects as masturbation, alcoholism and generational poverty. Alexie achieved the impossible story: an anti-hero talking about things you're not supposed to talk about in an obscenely funny way.

I feel like I have to address the source of my considerations in this particular entry: I recently got the absolute worst literary review of my life.

No.

That's a lie.

I got the worst peer review of my life. My last professorial review, the professor cursed several times and threatened to shoot me. I blame geriatric crankiness. However, in the case of my peer review, a young lady told me she could not finish my story because of the issues I dealt with and the way I dealt with them, ending with: "I just really hope that you can figure out a better way you express his hate and disgust for others without resorting to the vulgar, crass, and easy cuss-words. Good Luck with revision.”

Okay. I'm not saying this review was necessarily wrong.

Crap.

I lied again.

The review was wrong. It was so amazingly wrong, I am actually considering framing it as inspiration for my future work. There was a purpose behind every inflammatory thing my character said. However, this review does expose how I tried and failed to do what Alexie did with Part-Time Indian. I wanted to create a character who lacked self-awareness and was sometimes completely backward in his perception of his surroundings which he described in an extremely sarcastic way, but I still wanted him to be likable. In many ways, I wanted him to be an adult version of Junior. With such a review, I can be assured I did not pull this off nearly as effectively as Alexie.

Here's the thing about what Alexie did: he managed to create an incredibly innocent character dealing with complex issues, and this character developed precisely enough to remain believable. I think the cartoons contributed to this immeasurably. The most striking example of this is in the very beginning. Junior outlines, in the words of a young man, generational poverty, a complex issue pervading every single nation of the world. He describes this issue so simply: “It sucks to be poor, and it sucks to feel that you somehow deserve to be poor. You start believing that you're poor because you're stupid and ugly. And then you start believing that you're stupid and ugly because you're Indian. And because you're Indian you start believing you're destined to be poor. It's an ugly circle and there's nothing you can do about it. Poverty doesn't give you strength or teach you lessons about perseverance. No, poverty only teaches you how to be poor” (13).

My sister is a compassionate ministries pastor. My brother-in-law is a community development professor. I've been inundated with knowledge of poverty. I've worked with the homeless, I've worked with charities, I've rallied on behalf of the disenfranchised, but never in any of my conversations have I ever heard the problem described so perfectly. And what else does Alexie do? He has this moment illustrated with cartoons. Funny ones.

I wish I could say how and why this works. Yeah, on the surface, I get that he's simultaneously off-setting and deepening the sadness of the story with these illustrations. As a reader, we're both taken out of the sadness and thrust into it with the reminder that this is a kid talking. I see that. But, wow, the finesse with how he pulls this off is absolutely gorgeous. I think Alexie is probably a grand example of a natural writer: he just has a “feel” for when these illustrations would add or detract from the story. He walks a beautifully fine line. The one time I questioned his use of the illustrations was when his sister died. I was concerned that the drawing of his sister on the cover of the romance novel “burning love” was a little excessive and out of character. Even then, though, I didn't question it so strongly that I was taken out of the story altogether.

A brilliant move by the illustrator of this novel was the different style of drawing. When Junior was giving particular consideration to an issue, the sketch would be more refined, more exact, like his drawing of Gordy on page 117, or his drawing of him and Rowdy on page 218. His more cartoonish illustrations remind me of manic-depression. Some of the illustrations are just useful, funny sketches. They're not necessarily off-setting any darkness or anything like that. These are the typical pictures. Then, he'll draw something funny about an absolutely dismal situation, like when he's losing it over his sister's death on page 204. These are the manic drawings, the depression so deep that the sufferer has nothing left to lose with wildness, with irreverence.

Overall, I cannot say enough good things about this novel. The writing is pitch-perfect, the drawings are excellent and the subject matter is flawless. I have no intentions to teach, but if I did, this book would absolutely be on the curriculum.

Alexie, Sherman. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. 1st ed. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2009. Print.