Yeah right, but the title works for my post. And I do like A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. Read it.
Oh beware, all ends of the Earth, for I am training my sister to walk in my footsteps, and mostly by example. "Oh dear," cry the critics and hand-wringers, "whatever can she mean?" Let me tell you, critics and hand-wringers, let me tell you.
As you may (or may not) know, I love to read. I love books, poetry, plays, musicals, good film adaptions, authors, writers, characters, symbols, recurring themes, archetypes, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. (Did you get the reference?) I often find it hard to express this love of mine for various reasons, for example, most are not well read enough to engage in an entertaining conversation about, oh, say the influence of the Bible on novels. Another issue is that I sometimes have so much I want to express that I try to communicate it all at once and consequently the listener receives none of the intended messages. However, the greatest barrier I face is that most people just don't care, which doesn't bother me; we all have our specific interests and pursuits, and mine are most likely not theirs. It is understandable that most people do not care about the limits of human justice in The Count of Monte Cristo or that they don't want to hear about Nathaniel Hawthorne's wife and her effect on his literary works. Most people don't find Elizabeth Gaskell and her use of dialect as fascinating as I do, nor do they care that An American Tragedy is based on a true story and that The Odyssey is a lesson on the importance of hospitality and manners. Don't even get me started on E.M. Forster! Point is, I don't have many chances to gush about these passions of mine; maybe in language arts a few times a week, or when one of my friends patiently endures a rambling, fervent lecture on the life of Harper Lee, or if my mother has a moment to spare. Not many chances. :)
Being the kind of girl I am, I did (yes, did) nothing about this "predicament". Well, nothing until the opportunity smacked me in the face - literally. One summer evening my sister was playing in my room to avoid her other sister, and I asked her to get me such-and-such book off my shelf, and as she turned around with the book she hit me in the nose with it. After momentarily wallowing in my own suffering, I took the book (collection of Shakespeare plays), thanked her, and began to read an analysis of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Now, my sister is a very inquisitive little girl, akin to Curious George, and therefore she asked a multitude of questions: "What are you reading?" What's it about?" "Why doesn't she like him?" "Why does her dad like him?" "Does she really like him? ...Gross." "Where do the fairies live?" "So he's really a person but he gets turned into a donkey?" I ended up drawing a character map and giving her the whole story by way of synopsis, memorized monologue, and dialogue excerpts. I filled her in on some Shakespeare-language and let her toss Shakespearean (I know that's not a word, but I'm using it regardless) insults my way. I enjoyed myself immensely, and her education didn't end there - oh no.
Shakespeare books help immensely, especially this one. (Because it has pictures.)
You can't read just one Shakespeare play, it's simply impossible. By choice or by force you will read another, and another, and another... You might end up reading all of them. Well, Lily has read As You Like It, Hamlet, King Lear, The Merry Wives of Windsor, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, The Tempest, Two Gentlemen of Verona, and Twelfth Night. That makes nine, and she's seven years old. I could have just backed off and said my work is done, but I didn't want to: I saw opportunity. So what? So I invited her to watch period dramas with me, and asked her what she was reading and had her explain her books and the characters. I even made motions to introduce her to Charles Dickens through the film adaptions of Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, and Our Mutual Friend. You might say that seven is too young to be exposed to Charles Dickens, but if I'm not mistaken, Mozart started composing before he was seven. I'm not trying to make a prodigy out of my sister, I just want to have someone who, in a few years, I can share some passions with. It's a noble endeavor in my opinion, and I am confident that she will prove to be a true champion of literature and an enjoyable person to be around. Not that she isn't already, but... *Sherlock's we-know-what-is-going-on face*
There are still so many authors, writers, poets, and playwrights to introduce her to... Maybe my next project will be introducing her to Austen... Too bad she's too old for this darling picture book:
Although I guarantee I'll be using this web when we get to Pride and Prejudice.
Much love,
Scout
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