Summer Re-Reading: American Monsters

A few summers ago, my interest in cryptozoology was rekindled. Initially nurtured in my childhood by a steady diet of my parents’ copies of World News and the National Enquirer, this interest has re-emerged thanks in part to a new interest in folklore as well as listening to a number of excellent crytpid and folklore related podcasts and reality television shows. Once a niche filed of ineterst, well-written and academic reading about such creatures as the Mothman, Bigfoot and others has also  become much more readily available. Though there was magic in the halcyon days of Bat Boy, the writing has also become more polished, professional and consistently entertaining.

Due to the clean writing style and accessible nature of her writing, Linda S. Godfrey has quickly found her way to my nightstand as one of my go-to cryptid informer and literary palette cleansers. “One of America’s foremost experts on mystery creatures”, Godfrey’s books take a journalistic approach to retelling anecdotes and presenting histories of a variety of “monsters”, both familiar and unfamiliar. American Monsters: A History of Monster Lore, Legends, and Sightings in America spans an extensive timeline of experiences, often relayed through first-hand accounts of a multitude of incidents with mysterious creatures. While re-reading sections this summer, I was also pleased to see the number of secondary sources from smaller publishes she references, in particular, those dealing with local or regional folklore.

"Wendigo" illustration, page 254.

The encyclopedic text is divided into three parts, Air, Sea and Land, and further organized into chapters. Each chapter is then broken into small accounts of related creatures ranging in length from one to four pages. The anecdotes also include reference to numerous sources, information from which is used so effectively I found myself keeping a small "to read" list of these small press publications. This org -group. The book opens, for example, with “Part One: Monsters by Air”, beginning with “Chapter 1. Feathered Fiends” before moving into tales of Bigclaw, the Micmac Culloo and other historical Big Birds. In a language that is conversational and a tone that is suggests a suspension of disbelief, the writer comes across as neither pandering nor naive. Godfrey clearly lays out the experiences of  individuals in a manner that evokes each the eerie mood of each encounter and evokes the historical and cultural context from which each emerged.

One of the book’s chief accomplishments, beyond being wildly entertaining, is taking advantage of opportunities to add additional layers of insight to those topics readers might incorrectly presume they have heard everything about. The expert here is clearly Godfrey and she’s come equipped with multiple approaches to each subject. An excellent example of this is the section entitled “Challenge of Chupacabres.” Having seen the X-Files episode as well as one or two short videos on YouTube, it might be easy to assume one has all the relevant information necessary to make a personal call on the existence of this “hell monkey”.  While not offering a definitive answer on the existence of chupacabres, Godfrey does provide some examples of encounters and sightings with ancillary creatures that may be related to the Chupacabra phenomenon. Throughout the text, Godfrey also provides samples of photographic evidence and illustrations that range from the evidentiary to the ornamental. (As an aside, that evidence which is referenced throughout, but not included here, is readily available via a quick online search.)

American Monsters is a very entertaining and informative summer reading selection which continues to foster a personal interest in unusual creatures and the zeitgeist from which they sprang. In so many ways, each story is telling a small piece of the American story, which I continue to find fascinating. My guess is that if you take the chance to pick-up this unique tome, you will find the same.

*Originally posted 7/23/18, Revised 7/16/2020

Spring Break Reading: The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane**

Prior to saying goodbye to my eleventh graders before our ten day Spring Beak, I suggested that they find a book or two to read during our time apart. Though more than a few groaned, a few asked for suggestions to which I replied a number of titles from high school cannon, such as I know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou, and even a classic from middle school that most had not, surprisingly,  even heard of, The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton. At this point a couple of students began reminiscing about titles they had (shock of shocks) enjoyed reading that I had not heard of. One young lady mentioned her affection for a book read in middle school entitled The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. As she began describing the book as being about a "rabbit doll that gets lost," I scribbled the title in my notebook for future reference. Maybe it was the promise of a rabbit protagonist or the recollection of my own prior devouring of the wonderful The Sage of Waterloo by Leona Francombe, also about rabbits.  These factors along with the student's passion for a book read years ago moved it to the front of my spring break reading list.

Right to the top of the pile.

A longtime high school teacher, I have often searched for "lighter" fiction for sharing with students, and as a reader I, too, struggle with finding meaningful books with slightly less angst. I continue wishing for lighter literary entres to consume. Given both these factors, in addition to considering myself a reasonably "well read" person, I am embarrassed to share that I had not heard of writer, and Newbery medalist, Kate DiCamillo previously. If The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane is any indication, I have been missing out by having not picked up any her many titles before. My student was telling the truth, and showing a pretty good memory in giving me a short synopsis; the book is indeed about a somewhat snooty, China rabbit (not a "doll" as he reminds us at every turn, though something he'll need to come to terms with) who goes missing. During a decades long journey, Edward comes to learn the value of loving and being loved.

This 211 page book is a joy, and like most good books, defies being placed into a box. I found this book in the children's area of my local bookstore, and after reading am going to share it with my mother who, like I, is beyond the publisher's target audience. Edward's travels take him through multiple relationships and a variety of lifetimes, but never loses a sense of the timeless. DiCamillo's narrative is further enhanced through the inclusion of illustrations by Bagram Ibatoulline. Beautifully rendered in black and white, Ibatoulline's illustrations avoid anchoring the story and character in a specific time period, and do nothing to mitigate the reader's ability to imagine the events as taking place right now. Perhaps it was my nostalgia but I found the drawing reminiscent of Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit art (my son's nursery had a border of the characters).

As a middle-aged high school teacher, I was impressed by DiCamillo's willingness to avoid writing down to her audience. There are heavy questions posed and big themes explored throughout, such as love, death, regret a nd patience. Lines such as "How does a China rabbit die?" (page 47), seem perfectly at home in DiCamillo's world of China rabbits and hobos. Vocabulary such as "ennui" (page 3), "discerning" (65) and "contrarian" (194), suggest an excellent opportunity for readers of all ages to add valuable words to their working vocabulary.

I am grateful for the quick conversation with one of my student's for leading me to this beautiful book. I strongly recommend The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo with illustrations by Bagram Ibatoulline to readers of all ages looking for a powerful complex read disguised as a children's book about a China rabbit!

**Originally posted March 13, 2018

Summer Reading: Harvest Home

A few weeks ago I purchased a lovely worn copy of one of a recent current grail title: Harvest Home by Thomas Tryon. Tryon’s second novel has appeared on numerous folk horror reading lists uncovered during my dive into the genre. Despite its presence on so many lists it was surprisingly difficult to find a copy to read. After discovering that the local public library system possessed three copies, all of which were out, I decided to go online for a copy. Turns out it was the correct choice as not only did I enjoy it, but I am confident others in my circle will too.

Told as an extended flashback from the first person perspective of the novel’s protagonist, Ned Constantine, the story's structure takes us from his family’s purchase of a home in the secluded village of Cornwall Coombe in Part One entitled “Agnes Fair” through the terrifying revelation as to what exactly “Harvest Home” means in the eponymously titled Part Five. Tryon deftly places breadcrumbs such as “Viewed in the light of what occurred later, it was a fool’s Paradise” (152) and “I never got to Hartford… for it was the fateful night that saw my fall from favor” (278) to let the reader that, despite what is to occur, Ned has survived. Of course, surviving does not necessarily mean unchanged.

The aspect of the story that works best for me is Ned’s building paranoia regarding the shifting allegiance of his wife, Beth. Their relationship is further complicated when it becomes clear that she, and his daughter, are being slowly manipulated by the town’s leader, the elderly (and initially very kind and supportive of Ned), Widow Fortune. As the Widow insinuates herself into the Constantine family’s lives, Ned (and we) recognize that all is not what it appears. Equally frustrating is the pig-headedness of Ned’s decision making that ultimately result in the grim finale which begins when he feels a “shiver, like a strange paralysis, creeping up [his] body.” (386) In the end, Ned’s paranoia about having his loved ones turned against him by larger (small town) social pressures is well executed by the author.

This is, of course, a folk horror novel, and Tryon does a very credible job building this world of corn cob totems (160) and Eleusian Mysteries. The author uses a neighbor character, Robert Dodd, a former college professor who is now blind and housebound, as the primary vehicle for delivering the eerie exposition regarding the community’s rituals and pagan belief. Goddesses, fertility, psychedelic mushrooms and “corn stalk cosplay” all play a role in fully developing the system of beliefs that drive the community forward into the future by staying set firmly in its past.

When released in 1973, Harvest Home was the successful follow-up to Tryon’s debut novel The Other (1971). Quickly adapted into a popular television min-series starring Bette Davis, it demonstrated itself to have some cultural resonance too. Harvest Home, like most successful that maintains its appeal, subverts a number of horror conventions a trick made slightly more difficult to in a contemporary context due to its impact on books and movies that followed. Though some of the narrative twists and turns were expected, if you have seen The Wicker Man (1973) or Midsommar (2018) you’ll see them coming too, the sense of dread Tyron builds was surprisingly not ameliorated. The fact that my own prior reading provided clues to later reveals, speaks to the gripping nature of Tryon’s storytelling.

Everyone has experienced the disappointment and regret that comes with looking very forward to getting something that fails to live up to expectations (come to think of it that could be a theme for this book!). I am happy to share that this is not the case with Thomas Tryon’s Harvest Home, a 400 page book I breezed through in three days despite frequent stops to jot down notes and savor the storytelling. Highly recommended!

Summer Reading: Backwoods Witchcraft

Backwoods Witchcraft: Conjure and Folk Magic from Appalachia by Jake Richards found its way to my desk after I came across the title while researching folk horror short story collections. Unlike those stories I initially sought, Backwoods Witchcraft is presented as a non-fiction account of the author’s own childhood growing up in Appalachia. Richards uses anecdotes, recollections and stories from his youth serve as the vehicle through which to share the charms and conjures he believes still work today.

In many ways your enjoyment of the text as a whole rests on how open you are to a friendly conversation on things that appear to be beyond belief. To his credit, Richards’s conversational style makes it a much easier sell than you might think. Reminiscent of the Justin Wilson Cajun Cooking television shows I enjoyed watching on PBS as a child, I easily accepted the invitation to enter his world. I regularly watched Wilson’s show on PBS for much the same reason I enjoyed Richards’s book; both “hosts” sprinkled in regional stories and history along with their “recipes”. Just as I never actually prepared any of the dishes Wilson colorfully prepared on his show (though as an adult I will not turn away Cajun food), in all likelihood I will not be attempting to remove warts using Quartzite as Richards’ Papaw showed him how to. Given the author’s friendly, conversational writing style, Backwoods Witchcraft reads as if you are sitting at the dining room table chatting over a cup of coffee. Richards anticipates many of the queries an outsider might have, and as a result the text works as a fascinating piece if backwoods Americana. “The stories and tricks,” as the author notes on page 33, “are passed down in families and communities, routinely offered as wives’-tale cures, or simple reminiscing of things that helped folks get along in their daily life.” Whether from Louisiana, Appalachia or Western New York, it’s these stories that bind each of us to our respective communities. Richards’ extends his own sense of belonging and community to include the reader.

For a book subtitled “Conjure and Folk Magic,” it was curious how much of the mystical qualities of stones, waters and individuals was dependent on Richards’ Christian faith. Digging deeply enough into any charm or cure and you’re likely to find a strong reliance on the brand of Christianity practiced by the residents of Appalachia. For example, when instructing the reader about gazing (a means of divining the future with a bowl of water), Richards shares that the ceremony begins with recognition of the “the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” (136) Whether the reader believes the power suggested in the stories will depend greatly on one’s orthodoxy of beliefs in tenants of Christianity. Both rely on faith to have an impact. Richards Christianity is one deeply intertwined with Native American tradition and an appreciation for the power of Nature. This eclectic heritage makes for a type of Christianity that is both diverse and, in some instances, almost New Age. While one charm may have Richards invoking the Holy Trinity, the next is just as likely to point out the positive attributes of leaving pumpkins on the porch to keep the haints at bay.

Backwoods Witchcraft: Conjure and Folk Magic from Appalachia by Jake Richards is a very accessible look behind the veil of a unique set of American traditions. Unavailable at my local library, I purchased my copy from Aamzon.com, and I suspect that, much like a reference book, as I come across unfamiliar traditions and concepts in other reading, I will find myself returning to the table for a follow-up chat with Richards’s book.

Summer Reading: The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All

Thanks to a slow week administering exams and the need to close-up shop in advance of the impending summer school break, my personal summer reading season has begun early. Truth is, I live in a yearlong reading cycle, and with current events being what that are, this has never been so true or vigorously adhered to. My "Must Read" table overflows with books awaiting opening. Ironically, I continue to cleanse my mental palette of orange, homicidal, lying monsters by mixing in cosmic horror. The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All by Laird Barron, published in 2013, is the third of his collections, after Occultation (2010) and The Imago Sequence (2007) I've read.

Both collections of short stories were a terrifying, uncomfortable pleasure to read and The Beautiful Thing is no different. When I recommend Barron's stories to others, it is often with the with the suggestion that Barron's short story work (I've yet to read his well-regarded novels) are perfect for those who appreciate the literary stylings of H.P. Lovecraft. (I also share that the dread and discomfort that comes with Barron is much more visceral, at least for this reader.) If anything, this most recent collection brings Barron's vision into more direct alignment with Lovecraft's. There is little need for me to formally review this collection, there are plenty of reputable reviews online to be read if that is the desire. I do have a couple of thoughts however from the perspective of the "guy sitting on his porch after having been given a good fright."

Lovecraft's influence is most overt in the collection's seventh story "Vastation" (which means "the action or process of emptying or purifying someone or something, typically violently or drastically"), a collection of reminiscences from the perspective of self-ascribed "herald[s] of the Old Ones" (199). Here, a timeless entity of sorts recounts experiences from the distant past, present and future as he prepares our world for cleansing. The unique point of view shifts from the Dark Ages to the future of robot cats adding a layer not explored by Lovecraft (whose Cthulhu mythology was only made more concrete after his passing). Balancing grotesque imagery such as the Mushroom Man's mission to "liquify our insides and suck them up like a kid slobbering on a milkshake (200) with light humor in the form of the unnamed (maybe "McCoy" as in the real McCoy?) narrator's affection for Fat Elvis and his own robo-cat, Softy-Cuddles.

Beyond the fantastic imagery, cosmic horror and scary "magical realism" in The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All, this collection does two things I always appreciate in writing:

Saturn Devouring His Son 

by Fancisco De Goya

1. I really dig when author's prompt me research in order to fully grasp what's happening. Each of Barron's stories includes a cultural allusion or use of diction that had me going to the smart phone, not so much for basic comprehension but for a sharpening of understanding. This especially rewards when considering the titles  The previously mentioned "Vastation" for one or the need to refresh my visual memory regarding Francisco De Goya's painting Saturn Devouring His Son. Doing so only brings into even greater clarity the creepy image created by Barron's words at the conclusion of "Jaws of Saturn". 
2. Despite the collection nature of short stories, Barron weaves symbols and motifs throughout. In both the narratives and publishing artwork the ouroboros makes appearances. I also found it cool to come across the image of staring at a single red dot against a wall as a portal to other worlds a number of the stories. Again, this is not meant to be mind-blowing observation on my part, but a recognition of the care taken in selection and creating a tone (and message?) for the text as a whole.

I continue to enjoy the short stories of Laird Barron. My past experience with Barron suggests that he is the rare horror writer whose work benefits from re-reading (Occultation remains on my "Must Read" pile despite having been read and re-read). A quick note for any of my high school students still reading: there is R-Rated imagery and activity throughout Barron's stories. As I say in class when discussing "adult-ish" content, I can't recommend it to you yet, but as soon as you turn 18... check it out!

Hallow-Reading: The Dreams in the Witch-House

Just as with certain superior recording artists there are “no B-sides”, some writers seem to hit on all cylinders regardless of the piece. While “At the Mountains of Madness” is understandably viewed as one of his masterpieces, H. P. Lovecraft wrote many other stories that despite slightly less literary love, seem, to this reader, equally impressive. More than just my restating the obvious (“Lovecraft is a great horror writer”), with each new story I read buried deep in anthologies of his work, I am sure I have not always appreciated just how “great.”

Take “The Dreams in the Witch-House,” for instance. (Note: Upon researching some information on the story, I was surprised to discover that many reputable Lovecraft scholars deem this particular story to be one of his lesser efforts.) As a fan of Lovecraft’s mythos, as well as those other works clearly influenced by his writing, I found the description of the cosmic environments to be illuminating. Perhaps it is too overt in its depiction for those who like more nuanced horror, but the “vast converging planes of a slippery-looking substance” (At the Mountains of Madness and Other Tales of Terror, page 153) populated by geometric creatures bathed in violet light and “iridescent bubble-congeries”, made concrete for this reader that which has not always been so clear. This approach is as effective as the more subtle approach, albeit in a different way. Much of the content and details in “The Dreams in the Witch-House” also provides a “Who’s Who” of Lovecraftian ideas. In some ways this is an excellent follow up to “Mountains” as it takes some of the cosmology eluded to in the first and grounds it in a more accessible folklore (witchcraft). In addition to the expected supernatural/fantastic elements inherent in the horror, familiar settings such as Arkham and Miskantonic University connect the story to the Cthulhu Mythos by grounding the action in a real-er world.

My favorite new comedic creature as
visualized by digital artist
 Carlos Garcia Rivera.

Few writers are as closely associated with their literary creations as Lovecraft is with his Great Old One, Cthulhu. In addition to vividly capturing the cosmic nature of Lovecraft’s aesthetic, “The Dreams in the Witch House” also introduces a terrifying creature, though of much smaller in cosmic and physical stature than Cthulhu, Brown Jenkin. “That shocking little horror,” Brown Jenkin, is described as being “no larger than a good-sized rat”, having “horribly anthropoid forepaws”, and a “tiny, bearded human face.” (145) Unlike some of Lovecraft’s creature creations, due in part to its rat-like nature, visualizing Brown Jenkin is much easier to do than others. The familiar of the witch of the title, Keziah Mason, Brown Jenkin enters the small room of the story’s protagonist, Walter Gilman, via a series of rat holes. As a familiar, he serves the role of Mason’s herald, visiting Gilman without his master at varying points of the story, often terrorizing Gilman in his sleep. For the reader, Brown Jenkin also plays serves as comic-relief, even if gruesomely so. “The sinister old woman and the fanged furry little animal” are quite the duo. If the evil witch is the "straight-man", Brown Jenkin is the comedic player. While requiring a leap, this dynamic is not one I generally associate with Lovecraft’s work so was pleasantly surprised by it. Perhaps it is Brown Jenkin’s tendency to “titter” maniacally throughout the proceedings that gave me a vision of the wisenheimer side-kick archetype. Of course by the story’s conclusion, no one’s laughing at Brown Jenkin or his “four tiny hands of daemonic dexterity”! So taken was I by this monstrous little creature that upon meeting him in the story, I immediately texted a friend of mine who has also read a few Lovecraft stories: “Where has Brown Jenkin been my whole life?”

The lesson here (beyond the coolness of Brown Jenkin) is that like those aforementioned B-sides, it pays to read deeper cuts by authors you enjoy. I know that as a result of this experience, I am going back through those other anthologies looking for any more gems.

Summer Reading: Logan's Run

Like most 40-50 somethings, the 1976 movie Logan's Run starring Michael York, Jenny Agutter, and Richard Jordan (who also played favorite literary character from Frank Herbert's novel's Duncan Idaho in David Lynch's movie version of Dune (1984)!), was a very important part of my nascent science fiction fandom. Despite being the tender age of 7 at the time, between the film version, Marvel comic book (which ran seven issues in 1977), and equally short-lived television series (14 episodes), Logan and Jessica's search for Sanctuary was a big part of daily neighborhood games of "guns".  (Back-in-the-day, my friends and I would gather with all of our plastic arms, break into groups and simulate life-and-death chases of one-another throughout a three-block radius of our hood... these were very different times.)

Logan's Run #2 cover by comic book legends
cover by George Perez and Al Milgrom.

Recently a summer school colleague stopped to share his excitement at hearing that Logan's Run was once again in the Hollywood hopper for a potential blockbuster remake. After sharing memories of Logan's Runs past, I mentioned that I had heard that the new movie is to be based on the original novel rather than the more familiar iterations. I expressed a desire to read the original novel by William F. Nolan and George Clayton Johnson, but had always had difficulty finding an affordable edition. Later that day he sent me a link to a recent re-release he'd come across on Amazon. Three days later it arrived in my mailbox and I jumped right in...

Released as part of Vintage Publishing's "Vintage Movie Classics" collection of "novels that inspired great films" in 2015, this edition of Logan's Run includes a foreword Daniel H. Wilson as well as publication details for the original novel and the movie adaptation. The differences between the familiar film and the original movie are many, ranging from key characterization to the scope of the world in which the action takes place. The general plot and narrative drive remains the same in all version of the story: in a secretly dystopian future, policeman Logan "ages out" and as a result of first trying to find a mythical utopia ultimately joins another runner in seeking the right to grow old all while being followed by former partner bent on bringing both he and his lady-friend to justice.

Given that the 1976 film is so familiar, the easiest way to share thoughts on the novel are to point out two key differences between the two.

• In the movie, when characters turn 30 years-old, an event communicated to those around them through the change in color (red to blinking red to black) of the crystal imbedded in the palm of their right hands, they are expected to participate in the Carrousel celebration. During this public display, their lives are extinguished. If one fails to participate, individuals become "runners" who are then targeted by policemen called "Sandmen." The future-cops are tasked with apprehending and killing runners on the spot, thus maintaining the social construct that no one lives past 30. This is actually a pretty significant point of deviation from the novel. In Nolan and Johnson's book, the age of termination is 21, an aspect that better communicates an important part of the novel's world controlled by youth theme. The movement through a prescribed color-themed lifespan is further developed and Logan's personal at each seven year increment are shared via flashback.

• Just as Logan's backstory, as well as that of the culture he resides in, backstory is more fully developed, the world of the novel is much more expansive. This aspect of the novel is among the more intriguing elements. Rather than quickly moving from the Dome City to Washington, DC, with only a couple stops along the way, in the novel, we follow the runners from Los Angeles to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean and across the United States. I enjoyed the use of actual historical locales like the Crazy Horse Memorial in South Dakota as an important locales. Additionally, the inclusion of robotic Civil War re-enactors in Virginia. These touches gave the story a much broader feel and a clearer American tone. 

It is clear that most of the decisions made in adapting the novel in 1976 were made for budgetary reasons including the hiring veteran actors who could no longer pass at 21 rather than less marketable teen unknowns. For the time, the special effects in Logan's Run (1976) were very impressive, even earning an Academy Award. With the unlimited budget afforded novelists, characters and setting could be much more imaginatively depicted. A prime example is the character Box who controls the icy area called Hell. In the movie, Box is a not-so-menacing chrome robot, in the novel a grotesque combination of machine and human parts.

William F. Nolan and George Clayton Johnson's Logan's Run is a very slight volume, clocking in at a breezy 166 pages. The narrative is presented in a serialized structure using a conversational writing style that includes few creatively modernized words that are easily understandable given their context. As advertised on the back cover, this novel is indeed a "page-turner", and I read a few entertaining hours.

The challenge now would be to track down the two sequels penned by the first's co-writer, Nolan: Logan's World and Logan's Search. Published to coincide with the release of the movie, neither has been re-published since and are only available on E-Bay and Amazon for up to $60 apiece. Until I come across the for a more reasonable purchase price at a used book store or garage sale, I'll need to access the guns game brain of my childhood to envision the further adventures of Logan and Jessica...

Summer Reading: Assessment 3.0

Each summer I intentionally mix a little professional reading into my bedside book pile. In many instances, the titles I choose for this purpose are read with the thought of using them to enhance the  range of content for the courses I teach. More and more frequently, however, books are chosen in an effort to improve my teaching craft. Late this spring, a coaching/teaching peer of mine from a neighboring district began chronicling his move toward a "grade-less classroom" on his personal blog.

In an effort to reach out to like-minded educators, he also invited others to dialogue about their own efforts on Twitter. Though I have often thought (and read a little about) the use of anecdotal evidence and conferencing in place of traditional numbers as a means of assessing and motivating student learning, the excuses I could (and continue to) tell myself far superseded my will. I also was unclear as to what primary text could best articulate a practical approach.

Assessment 3.0 by Mark Barnes was the book he suggested I start with.

As the subtitle Throw Out Your Grade Book and Inspire Learning suggests, this is a book of interest primarily to educators. I read this as a means of personal professional development over the summer at the suggestion of a colleague. Short (124 pages including appendices), Barnes’ book is written in very accessible language for teachers of all experience levels. The author uses examples from a variety of educational levels as a means of validating his assertion that using his model of assessment (SE2R) will lead to more independently motivated learners.

The approach employed by Barnes in delivering instruction and feedback can be distilled down to "four simple words," which when combined result in the aforementioned acronym SE2R: Summarize, Explain, Redirect, Resubmit. Assessment 3.0 guides the reader though numerous situations across multiple disciplines and grade levels using this technique to promote the creation of an ongoing, objective conversation about learning. The final result, if properly facilitated, is mastery learning on the part of the student.

As a widely read piece of educational literature, there are quite a few excellent summaries and thoughtful analysis on the validity of Assessment 3.0, much of it written by teachers implementing it. Though I am currently just researching and evaluating the potential, I did have two thoughts:

• The greatest challenge to change is time, and Barnes addresses that concern head on, by acknowledging and asserting that "Yes, You Have Time For Feedback" (64), and furthermore, offering some suggestions as to how to meed the added expectation of responding in "more than simply written descriptors of work." (61) The central point of his concept is that the work, whether by student or teacher, should be meaningful and that this targeted conversation is a way to make it so.
• While a well-intentioned (if traditional) educator, I continue to operate under a number of the misconceptions (preconceptions?) regarding effective student assessment and learning that Barnes' work seek to counteract. This doesn't make me "bad," or even ineffective, but it does shed light on the truth that there are areas for improvement. Throughout Assessment 3.0, Barnes cautions against an all-or-nothing mindset, suggesting the practical, intellectual and cultural transition necessary for the shift to an SE2R-centric approach. I am excited to follow the implementation of my colleague at another school district, but the extensive leg work and culture building with administration and colleagues he has taken on prior to doing so reminds me that I am still only cherry-picking.

Ultimately, good books, like good teaching, provoke more questions (the result being the dialogue key) than answers. As an introduction to grade-less (number-less) teaching Assessment 3.0 makes a compelling argument for more research on the subject by interested educators such as your's truly.

Summer Reading: Lovecraft's Monsters

Recently I shared with an old friend my struggle finding Lovecraft-inspired material not written by the author himself. For every "Worms of the Earth" by Robert E. Howard there are a myriad of lesser attempts at aping H.P. Lovecraft's unique vision.

Given the wealth of Cthulhu mythos "fan-fic" available, the challenge is not in finding content, but rather in discovering stories that entertain without proving too derivative. A few days after this conversation, I returned to a Lovecraft anthology I had purchased many months earlier that had been repeatedly relegated to my "to be read" pile after only two of the stories had been read. Fortunately, this proved to be a mistake on my part. With a long car/train ride ahead of me, I once again picked up Lovecraft's Monsters and after enjoying the next two stories I turned to and was heartened by what I read.

The secret of quality Lovecraft inspired stories, to my personal tastes at any rate, is demonstrated by the majority of stories in this collection, edited by Hugo and Bram Stoker Award-winning editor Ellen Datlow. The challenge met by many of the pieces selected by Datlow is transferring elements of Lovecraft's work, such as mood and subtle characterization, into a setting or circumstance that, while clearly influenced by the source, extends those ideas into a new direction including culture, setting and time period. The organization of the text as a whole, including the front (Foreword by Stefan Dziemianowicz) and  back matter ("Monster Index"), contributes to a high quality presentation of the stories, even if a few fall flat for this reader.  

Each story is preceded by a single panel image that foreshadows a key event in the story to follow. While not always the case, many of the images are of the monsters encountered in the story to follow. When this is not the case,  the aforementioned "Monster Index" by Rachel Fagundes fills in the gaps by including both narrative and visual sketches of key Lovecraftian monsters that appear throughout. A  handy cross-referencing of

John Coulthart provides evocative
and creepy illustrations such
as this one that precedes "Red 
Goat Black Goat.

monsters with the stories in the anthology allows for the reader to choose those stories that feature favorites first. As an effective collection probably should, Lovecraft's Monsters is both a fine collection of ancillary stories by writers others than Lovecraft as well as a good introduction to the world of the author. When a recognizable monster, such as The King in Yellow or Azathoth, included in the back of the collections

Some stories such as "Only the End of the World Again" by Neil Gaiman and "Black As the Pit, From Pole to Pole" by the duo of Howard Waldrop and Steve Utley take a monster mash-up approach by pairing Lovecraftian creatures with more familiar ones (the Wolf Man and Frankenstein's Monster respectively). While entertaining and clever to this fan of Lawrence Talbot and the traditional horror icons, it is the more straightforward "new" tales that kept me reading. In each case, the author chooses to mix another literary genre with a dash of Lovecraft to effectively deliver compelling new takes on familiar creature. Standouts include:

• "Bulldozer" by Laird Barron, pages 33-62. Set in the Old West, this is the story of a "Pinkerton man" on a "hunting expedition to the West." (48) As a bulldozer, a colloquialism for an investigator/security, our protagonist Jonah Koenig is on the trail of a criminal. This is not just any ordinary bad guy, however, but an individual who very clearly has taken part in rituals and dark magic related to Belphagor, one of the seven princes of Hell. Employing a contemporary narrative structure to the story (translation: unusual chronology of plot points), Barron ratchets up the tension and drama. As a fan of the neo-Western, I found this one very engaging. 
• "That of Which We Speak When We Speak of the Unspeakable" by Nick Mamatas, pages 303-312. Mamatas' vignette is a snapshot of a trio of revelers awaiting the end of the world, beginning of a return of the old Gods, depending on how you look at it. The characters reflect this dual anticipation in that one welcomes them, acting as a self-appointed prophet, while others fear for what is to come. The contemporary setting and familiar perspectives on the nature love in modern society help to make this a particular relatable story. While some of the stories in the anthology only suggest Lovecraft's creatures (for example "Bulldozer"),"That of Which" explicitly namedrops the shoggoths who arrive to welcome the new day (night). 

Other standouts include "Red Goat Black Goat" by Nadia Bulkin (65-76) and "The Same Deep Waters As You" by Brian Hodge (79-115). Whether a Lovecraft enthusiast or seeking an introduction to his rich world of dark magic and monsters, Lovecraft's Monsters, edited by Ellen Datlow and published Tachyon is an beach read... especially at dusk.

Summer Reading: Walkabout

They came to the humble bushes first, the twitching, quivering leaves

tumbling to the sand as they approached. Then came the straw-like mellowbane,

and growing amongst them grass of a very different kind--sturdy reed-thick

grass, each blade tipped with a black, bean-shaped nodule: rustling death rattle, astir

in the sunset wind. (Walkabout, page 56.)

Nearly eleven years ago now, I made the move from teaching eighth grade in the middle school down (physically to a lower floor) to the high school. Currently, I teach five sections of eleventh grade English, and having concluded all of my assigned summer reading books, am on to other reading. Last week I once again came across a title I'd salvaged from the school's discard pile many moons ago, Walkabout (1959) by James Vance Marshall. My recovered copy is in near pristine condition, having not (if ever) been read by students, it's internal coding (86-1) revealing that the school acquired the book in 1986.

My familiarity with the novel comes from prior numerous viewings of the 1971 film adaptation by the same name directed by Nicolas Roeg that it eventually spawned. The movie version of Walkabout has since become a personal favorite that I enjoy watching annually. Given the film's mature subtext, subtle nudity, and themes, I was very surprised to find it in a middle school book room. With the political climate in some schools, I would be surprised to find it in the stacks of more conservative high school libraries, let alone on some approved reading list

Marshall's Walkabout is much more of a traditional young adult survival novel than the film, though a number of the coming-of-age themes explored with greater depth in the film are present. The basic plot elements are the same: two children get lost in the Australian Outback and are helped by an Aborigine on his walkabout. The specifics, such as how the two find themselves in that predicament, as well as their nationalities, among other things, however, result in two very different narrative experiences. Just a few are considered in the quick table below:

The brief excerpt at the top of this post is illustrative of Marshall's vivid and poetic descriptions of the Australian outback; a necessity when the setting is itself a significant character. Though a survival story, the environment is presented less as overtly hostile and more as an aggressively nurturing co-facilitator of experience. Even once they are joined by the "bush boy," Peter and Mary embrace the beauty of their prison even as they search for a way home. The direction Walkabout's plot takes also marks it as an unusual reading choice for middle-schoolers. Unlike other adventure survival reads, The Cay by Theodore Taylor comes to mind, Marshall offers little clear resolution to the subtle internal turmoil between Mary and the boy; no satisfying bridge is built across the cultural divide. As an adult reader, however, one is likely more well-equipped by experience to see some connections being drawn.

The novel Walkabout by James Vance Marshall is a breezy read at a tightly written 158 pages. A descriptive writing style and carefully researched cultural information about the fascinating Aboriginal people make this an easy novel to recommend. I also highly recommend Nicolas Roeg's 1971 film of the same name for a very different, and decidedly more mature, exploration of some themes only touched upon in the book.

Summer Reading: Hillbilly Elegy

After sitting on my bookshelf for almost six months, I finally dove into Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by J. D. Vance. Much like another book I recently read, How Dare the Sun Rise: Memoirs of a War Child by Sandra Uwiringiyimana with Abigail Pesta, this novel is a by-the-numbers memoir. In both instances, it is the content that distinguishes each. Both Vance and Uwiringiyimana come from very different perspectives. Both novels concern their respective protagonists real struggle with adversities, and while How Dare is the story of an immigrant to the U.S., Hillbilly Elegy tells the author's story of growing up in Appalachia, an American local that often feels alien.

Despite being smack-dab in the center of the United States, J.D. Vance and his family struggle with achieving an American Dream recognizable to most. As described by Vance, much of what is "normal" within the context of his community is very different than the America with which the general reader might be familiar outside of exploitive reality television. Alcoholism, abuse and poverty all contribute to the family's problems, and each issue seems ingrained in the way of life depicted. Ultimately, Vance uses his personal hardships, as well as those of his close-knit hillbilly family, as a vehicle for bringing to light the social problems of his hometown. The thing that the author points to as having eventually saved him are the values of his Hillbilly community as embodied by his cantankerous, angry and loving grandmother, referred to throughout by the sobriquet Mamaw.

In many ways there are two books under a single cover: one is the story of Vance's relationship with this key figure in his personal development and the other a social commentary. For my money, the latter which is far more compelling. If much of the text is somewhat detached in its voice despite employing very conversational language, when illustrating his relationship with Mamaw that Hillbilly Elegy comes to life. Mamaw is a beautifully developed "character." Presented as an imperfect maternal figure that continues to push Vance toward some semblance of success, it is clear that both Mamaw and Vance sense that the price for any upward mobility would be their relationship.

Widely available on the shelves of your local public library, I recommend Hillbilly Elegy as an interesting summer read. Vance's story is compelling, especially as part of wider consideration of the kaleidoscopic American experience.