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Patricia Hruby Powell

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Patricia Hruby Powell

“Dig” by A.S. King

June 14, 2020 By Patricia Hruby Powell Leave a Comment

The grandparents, Marla and Gottfried, sold off the family potato farm and developed it into a suburban subdivision to make a fortune. Their five children, who did not benefit from their parent’s new wealth, are all a wreck in one way or another, and their five children, the teens in the story, are a lot more together than the previous two generations, in “Dig” (Dutton 2019) by A.S. King, winner of the prestigious Printz Award.

The cover image at first glance looks like something anatomical, vaguely heart-like, but a closer look shows potatoes and their root system—the perfect image for this book.

So, there are twelve main characters plus two others—and they have actual names, but you don’t learn them until near the end of the book. The young adult generation in the story are Malcolm, the Shoveler, Loretta the Flea Circus Ringmaster, CanIHelpYou?, and the Freak. If I didn’t read in bed on my way to sleep, I would have made a chart and filled in their names as I went. And their lineage—which one is their parent.

I trusted, as I read this magical fabulously-written book, that it would come clear if I just let it wash over me. Well, sort of, but I still would have benefited from that chart. As it was, I actually had to keep thinking—THINKING—who was the parent of this one, who was the child of that one. But the microcosmic bits keep you going.

We get the history of the potato, which in itself, is fascinating, but is it as stupendous as the invention of the flush toilet, Malcolm wonders. The Shoveler wants to know who his dad is, while his mother is busy shoplifting porkchops. Loretta is a mess of flea bites, but it’s worth it because the fleas she keeps in her lunch box keep her going. CanIHelpYou? takes orders at a fast food window, as well as fills drug orders from her clients. The Freak “flickers” from place to place, visiting each of her four estranged cousins. This is the thread of magical realism that runs through the story. And we wonder why, until we finally get it near the end.

All of these kids and their parents could have their troubles ameliorated if the grandparents would part with a little of their cash—all except CanIHelpYou? who turns out to have immensely rich parents herself. The author addresses entitlement—specifically white entitlement—as well as racism and colonialism. Malcolm frequently visits Jamaica with his father who is dying of cancer, and maybe falls in love with a Jamaican girl. You might think I’m delivering a dozen spoilers here, but trust me, you’ll appreciate the help these spoilers offer. There’s so much to dig through here. Oh yes, and it’s a mystery.

Here is a perfect example of Young Adult literature being break-out literature—and it’s literature that will be read (by young adults and adults)—not sit gathering dust on a bookshelf.

 

Patricia Hruby Powell’s new and timely book about civil rights and the vote Lift As You Climb: The Story of Ella Baker releases on June 9, 2020. She teaches community classes at Parkland.         talesforallages.com

Filed Under: Book Reviews

Writing to Evoke Emotion – Writing Tip

June 2, 2020 By Patricia Hruby Powell Leave a Comment

Writing Tips

Writing to Evoke Emotion  

By Patricia Hruby Powell 

 

Readers read to have an experience—to go on a journey. Ideally, as writers, we take them out of their own lives and bring them into another. Most frequently, this is done when the reader engages so completely with the protagonist that the boundaries of the reader and the protagonist blur. Readers tend to feel what the protagonist feels and want what the protagonist wants. It works with some sympathetic secondary characters as well, but primarily it’s your main character the reader will identify with.

 

So, how do we emotionally get the reader into the world of our story? Showing rather than telling can be a great first step, because the reader can dive into the scene along with the protagonist and be there with them while the character is experiencing their own emotion. (See the Show-Don’t-Tell writing tip on my website).

We want to hook our readers—whether it’s our beta readers, agent, editor, or the general public. We must start at the onset and continue throughout the story. Here are some examples from books that do this job powerfully.

 

A Young Adult Example

In Laura Ruby’s young adult novel Thirteen Doorways, Wolves Behind Them All (Balzer & Bray 2019), the thirteenth word on page one is “orphanage.”Most of us are wired to care about the underdog. Injustice disturbs us. In the face of injustice, we might feel hurt, anger, despair, empathy, or all of those emotions. We immediately care about the unjustly orphaned character, Frankie.

 

Not every story is about an orphan, of course, but with the examples I’ve provided here and below you might think about how your own stories might hook your readers emotionally.

 

Back to Frankie. Not only is she orphaned, she can’t talk. Why? What happened? I care. I’m curious. I desire to acquire information. That desire is an emotional connection to the story.

 

The story continues, “And then the shot from her parents’ bedroom—so sharp, so loud, so wrong.” Then screaming. I’m riveted now. An orphan who is unable to speak after she hears a shot in her parent’s bedroom? That means Frankie wasn’t always an orphan. Most all of us value our parents. That moment when one becomes orphaned? Despair. A nightmare. And the result is that our character becomes mute? I identify. I’m stricken. I’m with Frankie. I feel emotional attachment to her. But what happened? Again, curiosity—I desire to know.

 

All of these emotions, I bring to the reading of this book. Some I consider more universal than others. Desire to know, desire for justice, despair. Some are more personal.

 

I read the word “gaslit” early in Ruby’s book and think, ahh, this is historic. I love historical fiction. That’s a personal preference of mine. The author describes cribs like “gravestones” and that cements the tone. Injustice poured down on orphans. And the way the author uses words! “Crawling, hot tears on her face.” I admire great use of language and image. That’s another emotion: admiration. I have confidence in this writer. She knows what she’s doing and I’m going on a well-guided journey into another world—I’m connected by emotion.

 

Of course, some aspects—arguably all aspects—are subjective to some degree. The reader brings his or her own experience to the story they’re reading. I love history, great use of words, and feeling I’m in good hands. Maybe most of us do. But consider this. What if the editor reading this as an unpublished manuscript was brought up in an orphanage, or her sister was adopted from an orphanage? It brings that editor that much closer to the story. This helps explain why a manuscript may resonate with one (editor) and not with others—for instance, the twenty who have rejected your manuscript to date. The next editor might have been brought up as an orphan and be the one who connects emotionally to your story.

 

And yes, in Thirteen Doorways, Ruby does a lot of showing rather than telling. This is why the reader can be inside the action, the story, the world, right along with the characters.

 

A Picture Book Example

Consider Laurel Snyder’s picture book, Hungry Jim (Chronicle 2019). It begins:

“When Jim woke up on Tuesday,

his tail had fallen asleep.

This seemed odd.

Jim had never had a tail before.”

 

I’m laughing. “Jim had never had a tail before.” Chuck Groenink’s nostalgic illustrations show Jim as a lion in a child’s bed—the illustrations are a huge part of connecting book to reader. Picture books have the advantage of dual-showing—both illustration and text. The author is telling in the above passage. But as the story continues, she shows Jim’s activity.

Humor is a great emotional connector. And the humor here is sly. Jim feels “beastly” and he wants to eat everything—including his mother. He’s in a mood. And he just can’t control it, until he does. And yes, the book is an homage to the great Maurice Sendak and Where the Wild Things Are (Harper Collins 1991). Humor brings delight—a strong emotion.

 

A Middle Grade Example

A Wolf Called Wander (Greenwillow 2019) by Rosanne Parry is a middle grade novel. I’m a sucker for well-done animal stories—especially wild animals. These were my favorite stories when I was young. Endangered wolves are the underdog. I’m there. I identify with wolves. This novel is told in first person by a young wolf, so yeah, I guess it’s anthropomorphized, but so gently. Our wolf shows his world from his experience.

 

The author has her wolf character use verbs that a wolf might understand by hyphenating English language verbs—because English can’t cover the wolf culture. You’ve heard that in the Inuit language there are two hundred different words for snow. Most English speakers don’t need two hundred words for snow because, thank heavens, we don’t have a regular experience with so many types of snow—they’re not part of our culture. Language reflects culture. Maybe we should consider Parry’s book a translation from wolf.

 

Our wolf says, “I crouch-growl-sniff” when he encounters an unknown scent. When he smells a human, he “crouch-freezes.”  When he encounters a female wolf, his excitement causes him to “yip-spin like a pup.” Our young wolf, who will eventually identify himself as “Wander,” encounters an “almost-wolf” with “a deep voice . . . strange to my ear. Oof, oof.” We the reader know that the creature is a dog because Parry translates from wolf so adeptly. But Wander knows the creature only through his wolf experience: as “almost-wolf,” a meek creature who stays with his human rather than run wild with Wander.

 

So, part of the reader’s emotional connection is the joy of understanding another species as depicted by the writer. Again, as a writer, I admire the writing. And we need to read as writers. We need to learn from what we read—whether consciously or unconsciously. Which means reading a lot!

 

And Wander is so lonely. He longs for his long-gone pack. Surely loneliness is a universal condition. We connect emotionally to the lonely wolf.

 

On top of the emotional draw that comes from “becoming” a wolf—the reader/writer admiring the writing, the feelings of loneliness and vulnerability—there’s the huge emotional connection brought on by the life-or-death circumstances. Wander’s very existence makes him vulnerable to starving or being shot and killed. We care so deeply for him. He must find food and hunt, or he will starve. Humans are his worst enemy. His mother told him early on that humans “can kill with a look and a loud noise.” They carry black sticks that throw lightning. “A flash of fire, a clap of thunder, and the wolves go down.” There is so much loss in his young life, you root for him with everything you’ve got. And again, you feel the injustice he faces—hurt, anger, despair, empathy.

 

A Nonfiction Example

Nonfiction writers must also create this same kind of hook. Consider 2019 National Book Award winner for young people’s literature, 1919: The Year That Changed America (Bloomsbury 2019) by Martin W. Sandler. We do not identify with one protagonist—as we might in a biography. Instead, we’re fascinated by stories that surround the facts. A desire to know and to discover the interconnectivity of historic events.

 

Sandler’s opening chapter would be humorous if it weren’t so horrific. A huge vat of molasses—2.3 million gallons—explodes in Boston’s crowded North End in mid-January 1919, burying people and horses alive or blowing them clear into the bay. If the reader is anything like me, they’re riveted.

 

But molasses? Yes, as Sandler shows, molasses connects us directly to many other issues of 1919—the year that changed America. Molasses had everything to do with the slave trade. Sugar cane was grown and processed into molasses by enslaved people from the 1600s through the 1800s, which led to the racial unrest and riots that would break out across the country in 1919. Explosives were made by mixing molasses and ammonium nitrate during World War I, which had ended a few months earlier, in November 1918. Soldiers were still arriving home from that war.  The Prohibition Act had just been passed by Congress so manufacturers were frantically making rum (from molasses) before the law would be ratified and the nation would cease to drink (legally).

 

Women were largely behind the prohibition of drinking, in order to protect their families from drunken husbands. And they worked diligently for women’s suffrage, which would become the 19th Amendment, passed in June 1919. Are you hooked? Are you curious? I hope so. There’s so much information to attain in such a riveting emotional ride—racial injustice, gender injustice, immigrant injustice, worker injustice, and information about our history.

 

In reading this book we marvel at the fact that molasses can connect so many issues. I’m thinking of the awe or surprise emoji. Awe is a good emotional connector.

 

Finding Your Emotional Center

 

Look at your own manuscripts or books. Do they have the emotional hooks you need to pull your readers into the story?  In my picture book Josephine (Chronicle 2014) I aimed to lure readers with Josephine Baker’s exuberance and her response to racial injustice. We can all be inspired by her living her dream. The book is a dance and, as I have written, “Dancing makes you happy when nothing else will.”

 

Loving vs. Virginia (Chronicle 2017) shows two people in love who can’t be married and live where they want to live. Both romance and love are great emotional connectors, as is injustice.

 

Struttin’ With Some Barbecue: Lil Hardin Armstrong Becomes the First Lady of Jazz (Charlesbridge 2018) shows a feisty piano-playing girl with an overbearing mother, who falls in love with the great jazz trumpet player Louis Armstrong. Injustice and love. It reads (or is meant to) like an early jazz tune. Music might be the ultimate emotional connector.

 

My upcoming Lift As You Climb: The Story of Ella Baker (McElderry/Simon & Schuster 2020) is about the African American woman who worked her entire life for African Americans’ right to vote. Again, injustice. Next comes my book about women’s suffrage (Chronicle). Unbelievable that only 100 years ago women couldn’t vote! Injustice. Look at your work and learn what hooks you emotionally. I seem to be injured by injustice. I want justice!

 

But maybe I’m moving on now. The life of dancer Martha Graham was about finding and presenting truth over beauty. Even though I’m a Graham-trained dancer, did I know that before I began writing about her? Not really.

So, check out your work. Where is your emotional heart? If you don’t see it in your writing, is it blocked in some way? Are you afraid to reveal it? I often think that I write to discover what I know. Or to discover what I don’t yet know. If your work is not evoking emotion in others, maybe you need to journal to figure out why.

 

I’d love to know where your emotional heart lies.

 

Patricia Hruby Powell, who writes in Champaign, Illinois, is comforted by her husband and her Tree Walking Coonhound. And really she’s pretty happy, maybe in part because she feels she’s connecting young people to their emotional hearts and helping them build empathy. At least she’s trying to do that. You can reach Patricia at phpowell@talesforallages.com or at talesforallages.com

 

 

Filed Under: Writing Tips

“Where the World Ends” by Geraldine McCaughrean

May 24, 2020 By Patricia Hruby Powell Leave a Comment

Nine boys (from nine to fifteen years old) and three men are dropped off at the nearly vertical Warrior Stac—one of the tiny rock islands of the St. Kilda Archipelago in the far northwest of Scotland. The year is 1727. Every summer a group of boys goes “fowling” to collect gannets, puffins, petrels and other birds for the meat, eggs, feathers, bones and oil to pay as rent to the owner of their island, Hirta. The amazing Geraldine McCaughrean spins her tale from a true event in “Where the World Ends” (Flat Iron 2017).

After a couple months the Hirta boat will fetch the men and boys home, with their haul of dead birds. But the boat doesn’t arrive. Day after day they wait.

Wise and humble Quill, one of the older boys, has become a natural leader. He comforts the younger boys with stories—although Quill doesn’t understand why they look up to him. He also fantasizes about the young woman, Murdina, who had visited Hirta last year from the mainland.

One of the men, who insists upon being called Colonel Cane, the grave digger in their small community on Hirta, names himself the Minister of the boys. He tells the boys the world has ended and their people have been taken by angels to Heaven and forgotten those on Warrior Stac. Of course the boys are distraught. Cane then requires the boys to confess to him. Jealous of Quill’s power, Cane banishes Quill.

As Quill climbs down the treacherous cliff from Midway Bothy to Lower Bothy, rage keeps Quill alive although he is “drowning in dark.” He finds a shallow cave to protect him from cold and stormy weather. The youngest boy, Davie, is the first to visit Quill.

One by one the other boys visit him in his exile and Quill comforts them by giving each a job according to how they are needed: “Keeper of Faces,” “Keeper of Memories.” He advises them “Do not dwell on the unbearable.”

Kenneth is the teen bully who was “the great snitcher, who used information like a crowbar to thrash his way through the world.” Even he visits Quill as does Quill’s best friend Murdo. But Murdo grows jealous of Quill. The reader will wonder is this a redux of Lord of the Flies?

This richly imagined world, to me, offers more, partly by imparting the technology such as ropes used to help scale escarpments—made on Hirta of sheep skin and horsehair. While exhiled on the stac, the boys string a horsehair taken from a rope through an oily bird, for a wick and it becomes a candle.

In time the boys give up hope, the birds leave for the winter, the storms arrive in full force—and the months pass. Starvation sets in.

Spoiler: The world had not ended, but a smallpox epidemic reduced their Hirta community to a handful of people and no one was able to captain the boat to Warrior Stac. In actual history, every man and boy returned home and found only one Hirta survivor. Both stories are riveting.

 

Patricia Hruby Powell’s Lift As You Climb: The Story of Ella Baker will be celebrated at her Virtual Book Release Party. Check https://talesforallages.com/ for link.

Filed Under: Book Reviews

“Degenerates” by J. Albert Mann

May 3, 2020 By Patricia Hruby Powell Leave a Comment

At the Massachusetts School for the Feebleminded, we become acquainted with four remarkable young women in the historical fiction, “The Degenerates” (Simon & Schuster 2020) by J. Albert Mann. Alice, who rarely speaks, is African American, has a clubfoot—a special talent of intuiting relationships between people. Maxine is a dreamer who protects her younger sister, Rose, who has Downs Syndrome and is termed “Mongoloid.” London is pregnant, and of Italian descent—but called “dago.” She curses like a yeoman and is wild, even crass, and yet lovable. Alice, Maxine, and London are fourteen, and Rose is a year younger in this story set in the early part of the twentieth century.

London is beaten by police and brought by wagon to the “School” and put in solitary confinement. She finds that three meals a day and the “pissed on” mattress are acceptable, but the confinement is unbearable. In time, once she’s released from the dungeon into the main school, a generous attendant gives her a book—“The Count of Monte Cristo” by Alexandre Dumas.

The others marvel at London’s ability to read. Rather than reading in this “school,” they’re trained to launder clothes, mop up excrement or take care of dying infants in the baby’s wing. London and Rose build an unlikely friendship likened to a “stevedore” and an “angel” while Maxine and Alice hold each other up with the help of very few words. Bullies in the school provide ever-present danger. Alice must be especially careful because her punishment would be so much worse than that of the white girls.

The staff describes the inmates as “tainted”; they’re diagnosed as “imbeciles,” “morons,” “idiots,” and “cripples”—terms that the author, in her endnote, reports have been taken directly from the historic writings of the doctors. As readers, we’re aghast at the injustice, but even more powerful, we fall in love with the four girls.

The author writes, “Anger wrapped itself around London’s heart like a cold fist and squeezed. She didn’t want help. She didn’t want kindness. Life was crap and she liked it that way. It was easier.” But loving sweet Rose makes her see life differently. And Rose has a plan. Maybe there was hope.

Maxine and Rose were sent to the “School” when their mother found it difficult to care for them at the same time as her many boys. Maxine expects her mother to fetch them home so she and Rose could help care for their younger brothers. But their mother never does come and Maxine knows it’s for her transgression—which remains a mystery to us until deep into the story. Alice has been here since she was seven years old when her brother dropped her off.

In spite of their bleak, violent, racist world, the girls experience deep humanity amongst themselves. They draw strength, inspiration and support from one another. We see that most of the inmates have been put away simply because they are inconvenient to their families. Maybe just maybe some of them will escape and find a way to live outside.

 

Patricia Hruby Powell is the author of the award-winning Josephine; Loving vs Virginia; and Struttin’ With Some Barbecue;Lift As You Climb releases June 9, 2020.  She teaches community classes at Parkland College.         talesforallages.com

Filed Under: Book Reviews

“Lovely War” by Julie Berry

April 12, 2020 By Patricia Hruby Powell Leave a Comment

A shy talented pianist, Hazel, falls in love with James, a gentle man who aspires to be an architect. But this is 1917 London and WWI is raging. James is unexpectedly called up and shipped out to France to fight in “Lovely War” (Viking 2019), by acclaimed author Julie Berry.

Aubrey Edwards, a Harlem ragtime musician, enlists and becomes a member of the United States 15th New York Infantry, an all-black regiment of soldier-musicians under the direction of the great jazz composer/band leader James Reese Europe. The 15th regiment is employed to both play jazz and dig trenches, rather than the “glorious” job of fighting.

Hazel, wanting to help the war effort and perhaps visit James when he’s granted a leave, travels to Saint-Nazaire, France to serve at a YMCA relief hut at an American training base. There, she meets Colette Fournier, a Belgian singer, who has lost her entire family to the Germans. Colette and Hazel become fast friends. They befriend the African American Aubrey and are both smitten with his piano playing—Hazel as a fellow pianist, Colette as a chanteuse. All three are breaking rules by meeting around the piano late at night. Need I say, the book is about war, love, and racial divide. Plus . . .

The story is narrated by Olympian goddess of love, Aphrodite—a story she tells her husband Hephaestus who has just caught his wife cheating with Ares, god of war. Rather than living on Mt. Olympus, the gods reside in a luxurious Manhattan hotel room in the 1940s during WWII.

Back in France, WWI, Hazel watches Colette and Aubrey fall in love. In the gods’ world Aphrodite invokes the four lovers’ story of struggle during wartime, to plead her case to her jealous husband. We fall deeper in love with Hazel, James, Colette, and Aubrey. When white racist American soldiers witness black Aubrey with white Colette together, Aubrey is whisked away to play jazz throughout Europe lest he be murdered by racist white American soldiers at the base. Colette and Hazel are accused of being wanton women by the proprietor of the boarding house and cast out.

In the meantime, James turns out to be a skilled sharpshooter, requiring him to be placed in intensely dangerous battle situations.

War brings tragedy, of course. And war promotes intense love. Berry is a master of weaving historical details into well-crafted beautifully-written fiction. If you love war history or jazz history—and even if you don’t—you might want to experience hope in the face of destruction. Highly recommended.

 

 

Patricia Hruby Powell is the author of the award-winning Josephine; Loving vs Virginia; and Struttin’ With Some Barbecue and the forthcoming Lift As You Climb.  She teaches writing classes at Parkland College.         talesforallages.com

Filed Under: Book Reviews

“Brave Face: A Memoir: How I Survived Growing Up, Coming out, and Depression” by Shaun David Hutchinson

February 9, 2020 By Patricia Hruby Powell Leave a Comment

Shaun David Hutchinson wrote “Brave Face: A Memoir: How I Survived Growing Up, Coming Out, and Depression” (Simon Pulse 2019) revealing his life in a small town in Florida in the 90s.

Hutchinson felt that books and movies told him what he was supposed to want: “fall in love with a girl, and want to have sex with her.” He set on his path to marry (a woman), have a family and live happily.

With an early girlfriend “kissing . . . gave me that sweaty/nauseated/horny feeling that made me unsure whether I was going to puke.” He drops her. He tries another and drops her. Whereas he wasn’t an unpopular kid, these events don’t increase his social status.

At home, he can’t do simple chores or take part in the family community. He has yelling fights with his mom. “I felt like she was dropping the weight of the world on my back while I was already carrying twice that amount . . . there was a short circuit in my brain somewhere.”

At school he finds solace in the drama club and finds close frienships. Then he finds debate, which helps develop his analytical thinking.

Still, as a straight kid he performs a monolog from “I Hate Hamlet,” playing it for laughs limp-wristed, bare midriffed, in short shorts. He loves the outraged laughing response of the audience. Later he says, “I wasn’t gay. I couldn’t be gay. Being gay . . . was a role I’d played for laughs.” He’d be a lawyer or an actor.

In 1994 the Department of Defense instituted the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, confirming that being gay was shameful. Movies showed gay men as “flamboyant comedic reliefs whose sole purpose was to help satisfy the needs of straight people.” Or gay men were “portrayed as promiscuous sexual deviants and drug abusers . . . it’s how I saw them too.”

His older half-brother comes out to him. “I assumed that he was going to wind up the way I believed every gay man wound up. Lonely, sick, addicted to drugs, or dead.” He does not empathize. By his own admission, he’s arrogant. When he steals magazines displaying naked men it does not occur to him that he’s gay. But he gets caught

He gets himself into some rough situations and here’s the necessary spoiler. He attempts suicide and nearly succeeds. There are links to suicide prevention and depression support groups in the book.

It’s a relief for him—and for the reader—when he finally starts coming out. At which point I realize, right, you come out many times—there’s your family, your groups—it’s not just one big hurrah.

Fortunately, being gay has been normalized to a degree—especially in urban or college town settings, but, still it’s difficult. Everyone deserves to see themselves in literature. You might want to give this book to some kid who you think might benefit.

 

Patricia Hruby Powell is the author of the award-winning Josephine; Loving vs Virginia; and Struttin’ With Some Barbecue among others.  She teaches community classes in writing at Parkland College.  talesforallages.com

Filed Under: Book Reviews

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