My end product for our current independent reading project is as follows.
Basically, the premise of this project was to introduce us to the joys of writing annotated bibliographies! However, as our instructor wanted to keep the project short while still having us read a decent sum of books, we were told to read children's books.
This project of mine is very strange, but it made the maternal unit laugh so I think I'll share it with all of my dedicated blog followers.
Haaaaaaah, jokes about how no one reads my blog never gets old. Heheheheh.
Introduction:
A “never-ending series” (yes, I
coined the term and it is very creative) is a book series
characterized by several criteria. Firstly, it is a series that
contains an obscenely large amount of books. Some series, such as
Nancy Drew, contain over one hundred books. Others either haven't
reached that level, but are on their way. At the very least, these
never-ending series tend to have books that number over fifteen
discrete volumes.
Many never-ending series are
contrivances of publishing companies, conceived for the sole purpose
of making capital. Books like Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys are the
quintessential examples of this, as they were both written by ghost
writers, and the series continued far past the time when it might
have been kinder to let them die in peace. (Though it is interesting
to note that Nancy Drew never declined in quality over the years.
Perhaps they couldn't sink any lower). Other books, such as the
Scooby-Doo books or the Magic School Bus chapter books, were made to
capitalize on a successful television show or previous set of
children's books aimed at a different age demographic. The American
Girls books also capitalize, in this instance on the assumed inherent
property of young girls to desire large, creepy dolls. Other books of
the never-ending series variety started out with a legitimate
artistic vision and then seem to have either gotten snatched up by
companies for merchandising. Some books merely continued for 40 odd
books past where anyone cared about them anymore.
Generally, another characteristic of
these books is that they are all discrete volumes. One can typically
just pick any book in the series, be it number one or 37, and
completely comprehend the plot. They're not unlike sitcoms in this
regard, despite that they are numbered serially. However, I was
surprised by some of these books. For instance, The Magic Tree House
series actually seems to be setting itself up for some over-arching
plot. Jack and Annie discover mysterious M's in the tree house that
they think may relate to the tree house's owner. I thought that was a
nice touch, as it adds a dose of reality to an otherwise sterile
bubble. Take Nancy Drew – The Secret of the Old Clock is
completely irrelevant to The Ghost of Blackwood Hall. There
isn't even any change in Nancy's little world. She never makes new
friends, breaks up with Ned, goes off to college, goes to
school...nothing.
Interestingly,
despite the fact that these books are primarily tripe, children seem
to love them. It's very strange. I don't understand it. Then and
again, I don't really understand why children do anything, including
things I did as a child myself. (I think it might have something to
do with the fact that they're kind of stupid). Regardless, publishers
seem to have latched onto this money-making opportunity with great
zeal, so instead of spewing out interesting, insightful books that
won't put parents to sleep as they read them to their children night
after night, they can publish little cookie cutter stories that kids
lap up like kool-aid.
Fine, fine, I'm
speculating a little. I don't have any statistics or hard evidence to
support this little hunch of mine. I'm sure they're actually fine
books for children that get them interesting in reading. For the love
of Pete, though, if I ever have to read another Junie B. Jones book I
may have a psychological episode. That little girl is the most
obnoxious, hyperactive, unintelligent brat with whom I have ever had
the misfortune to come into contact. I hope no children ever think
that she is a good role model merely because she's in a book because
then we will be plagued with a torrent of little demons in
child-skin. We will probably all be driven insane before we can find
the source of the problem, sort of like in a zombie apocalypse.
Annotated Bibliography:
“Never-Ending Series”
Betancourt,
Jeanne. Western
Pony.
Illus. Vivien Kubbos. New York: Scholastic Inc., 1999. Print. Pony
Pals.
Lulu
is concerned that her friends and ponies are leaving her in order to
fawn over a cute Western boy. The story is resolved when her friends
stop acting like groupies and spend time with her again. Though the
plot is unimaginative and unexciting, the writing is actually fairly
decent for a book about an alliterative pony club. Part of a series
of 44 books.
Dadey,
Debby, and Marcia Thornton Jones. Santa
Claus Doesn't Mop Floors.
Illus. John Steven Gurney. New York: Scholastic Inc., 1991. Print.
The Bailey School Kids 3.
Several
misbehaving third graders with a penchant for maliciously leaving
food stuffs in irregular places get their just desserts when Mr.
Jolly becomes the school janitor. Amidst speculations that Mr. Jolly
is Santa Claus, the children are involuntarily imbued with Christmas
spirit regardless of their irreligious family preferences. Part of a
series of 80, not including supplementary volumes.
Dixon,
Franklin W. The
Tower Treasure.
1927. New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 2003. Print. The Hardy Boys 1.
Adolescent brothers, Frank and Joe, with no special talents or
interests, get roped into an exciting mystery when their friend's
car is hijacked. They then get to work with their famous detective
father and end up solving the mystery by having eyes that see things
(obvious things). The book is filled with the most inane dialogue
ever contrived. Part of a series of the original 200, but 330 if one
counts The
Hardy Boy Case Files spin-off
series.
Gelsey,
James. Scooby-Doo
and the Howling Wolfman.
New York: Scholastic, Inc., 1999. Print.
Scooby-Doo and the gang visit a
traditional Western ranch that is seemingly being terrorized by a
legendary wolf-man with a penchant for horse-shoe thievery. Skeptical
of such unlikely claims, the gang investigates and finds that the
masked marauder is merely the sous-chef with aspirations of
beginning a chain restaurant. Part of a multi-book series. Exact
number was not available, but as a child I had over 20 of the books,
with many more listed on the inside cover. The writing is mediocre
and uninspired; basically, the books are just the television series
in text form.
Keene,
Carolyn. The
Ghost of Blackwood Hall.
1948. New York: Grosset and Dunlap, 1995. Print. Nancy Drew Mystery
Stories.
Nancy
Drew is part of the epic series by Carolyn Keene, or Mildred Wirt
Benson. Nancy meets with a woman who has had jewelry stolen under
unusual circumstances, and slowly uncovers the workings of an
elaborate scheme that swindled vulnerable women out of their money
through fraudulent séances. The writing is unexciting and the
dialogue is sickening tripe, but the mystery (plot) is well crafted.
Part of a series of 175, not counting the 124 books in the spin-off
series The Nancy Drew Files.
Kinney,
Jeff. Diary
of a Wimpy Kid.
New York: Amulet Books, 2007. Print. Diary of a Wimpy Kid 1.
Greg Heffley records his embarrassing,
sometimes ludicrous adolescent life in an amalgamation of cartoons
and text. The writing is humorous, and the novel well put together.
Though there are only 5 books currently in the series, more keep
spilling out. I include it as a potential candidate for a
“never-ending” series in the future. Despite its current
popularity and money-making potential, though, it will still have a
step above, say, Nancy Drew, in that it wasn't conceived purely to
make capital.
Martin,
Ann M. The
Ghost at Dawn's House.
New York: Scholastic Inc., 1988. Print. The Baby-Sitter's Club 9.
Adolescent girls with interests in
baby-sitting meet regularly to form the entrepreneurial
Baby- Sitter's Club. In this volume, Dawn (a baby-sitter) discovers a
secret passageway in her house and believes it is haunted.
Eventually it is discovered that the noises emanating from the
passageway are actually caused by a discontented child making it
his hideout. The writing is fairly sophisticated, switching from
first person to third person to journal entries. Interspersed
throughout the narrative are helpful baby-sitting hints. Part of a
series of 213.
Moore,
Eva. The
Truth About Bats.
Illus. Ted Enik. New York: Scholastic Inc. , 1999. Print. The Magic
School Bus 1.
Mrs. Frizzle's class takes a trip to
Yosemite in a flying bus to study bats. As with most
television-series spin-off books, the story is essentially the
television episode in text form, except much less interesting.
Although the Magic School Bus was originally produced as a picture
book for children, the book I refer to was the first in a series of
spin-off chapter books, based heavily on the children's show. Twenty
books are specifically in the young reader chapter book series.
Osborne,
Mary Pope. The
Knight at Dawn.
Illus. Sal Murdocca. New York: Random House, 1993. Print. Magic Tree
House 2.
Jack and Annie discover a magic,
time-traveling tree house. They visit it in the night and spend some
time messing around in the middle ages before returning to the
present. The premise is a good one, and the writing is fairly in
depth (for example, showing character's emotions versus stating
them). However, their adventure seems rather ludicrous and poorly
thought-out. (Oh, come on, a bunch of knights putting children in
the dungeon for no reason? The medieval era was barbarous, but
that's just silly.) Part of a series of 48, but one that appears to
have a coherent, over-arching plot.
Park,
Barbara. Junie
B. Jones and the Yucky Blucky Fruitcake.
Illus. Denise Brunkus. New York: Random House, 1995. Print. Junie B.
Jones 5.
Junie
declares herself the winner of everything and proceeds to lose at
everything. Visiting the school carnival, she fails to win anything
and sulks. Eventually, she wins a cake at a cake walk, but, in her
characteristically poor judgment, selects a fruitcake for a prize.
She maintains her optimism about life when she discovers that
fruitcake doubles as a high chair. The fact that the book is written
from the voice of an unintelligent kindergartener is a fairly
brilliant literary device, and one that I find to be incredibly
annoying. Part of a heavily merchandised series of 29 books.
Roy,
Ron. The
Absent Author.
Illus. John Steven Gurney. New York: Random House, 1997. Print. A to
Z Mysteries.
Dink
and his friends have to solve the mystery of why the author he
invited for a book signing failed to show. It is finally revealed
that the creepy woman that asked to follow them around was actually
the author, and had contrived the entire mystery. Actually pretty
decent for a second-grade mystery, though it was a little
disappointing that I had solved the mystery by the third chapter.
What did I expect? Part of a series of slightly more than 26 due to
spin-off books and additional volumes.
Stine,
R. L. Horrorland.
New York: Scholastic Inc., 2009. Print. Goosebumps.
Julie
discovers an old camera at a yard sale that an old woman warns her
not to take. Regardless, she does, and discovers that whenever she
takes a photograph of someone, something horrible happens to them.
She also discovers that her rival from school is stalking her,
which is honestly way creepier than her evil camera but for some
reason doesn't seem to bother her as much. The writing nondescript
but decent. Part of a series of 62.
Thaler,
Mike. The
Science Fair from the Black Lagoon.
Illus. Jared Lee. New York: Scholastic Inc., 2004. Print.
Hubie lets his imagination run away
with him as he tries to design a science fair project. The book is
interspersed with pictures in the margins that only tangentially fit
into the narrative, and make for a confusing read. This book (and
its relatives) are a continuation of the picture book series
intended for younger children. This series of ~10 books is intended
for 2nd-3rd graders.
Tripp,
Valerie. Felicity's
Dancing Shoes.
Illus. Dan Andreasen. Middleton: Pleasant Company Publications,
2000. Print. The American Girl's Collection.
Felicity, an unassuming, eighteenth
century colonial girl, thinks her sister's dancing shoes are magic
and allow her to dance better. In reality, her improvement was merely
the result of practice, and she learned a valuable lesson in hard
work and not assigning arbitrary, supernatural significance to
inanimate objects. Many such books are created as auxiliaries to the
main story line of the various American girls, all of whom have
their own particular doll and accessories. Fun fact: Did you know
that they use the same exact face mold for all the girls, and merely
change their hair, eye color, and skin tone? I feel like it's some
kind of statement on mass culture.
Warner,
Gertrude Chandler. Mystery
in the Sand.
Illus. David Cunningham. 1971. New York: Scholastic Inc., 1991.
Print. The Boxcar Children 16.
The band of self-sufficient children
and pre-adults hijack a kindly old man's metal detector and unearth
a golden locket. They subsequently discover that the locket belongs
to a reclusive woman that lives alone with her friend/house keeper
in an old house with a ton of cats.
The children reintroduce the recluses
to the joys of human company, with debatable success. The writing is
decent, but the dialogue is insipid and all of the main characters
are completely indistinguishable from each other. It would probably
be easier just to refer to the children by number. The books are
part of a series of 125.
[For the record, any formatting errors in the above bibliography is the result of copying and pasting into this blog.]
I
Read a Children's Book to a Reluctant Child:
A Planning Debacle
with a Slightly Disappointing Result
I had a great plan
for this. At first, I was uncertain as to where I would find a child
to read my book to. I was a little concerned that my sister was
reaching the upper limits of childhood, and I have no other relatives
of the appropriate age range. Therefore, I had the brilliant idea of
reading to one of the bus children. One of the denizens of that
little hell is named Cameron. Cameron is the type of bus-child that
is trying to grow up faster than he really should, and it makes him
look very stupid. He wears gangster-style flat-brimmed ball caps and
leather jackets, which, if you picture on a slightly pudgy eleven
year old, looks fairly ridiculous. He also constantly smooths his
bangs over one eye, a weird habit. Furthermore, he actually seeks me
out upon occasion to try to mess with me. It would be hilarious if I
wasn't in always the terrible moods brought on by the demon-infested
bus.
For example, a
month or two ago, the little devil decided to sit down across from me
and ask me a series of pointless, mildly intrusive questions about my
life while his friend snickered from a seat over. I answered him
monosyllabically with increasing incredulity as he interrogated me
about trivialities, like my favorite school subject, or why I knit on
the bus. Eventually, when it became apparent to me that he was
insincere and merely concerned with his own amusement, I ignored him
and went back to reading.
More recently (as
in last week), I had the following conversation with him that led me
to believe that he'd be the perfect victi- I mean, audience for the
book reading.
The scene: I was
seated, hunched up in the grey plastic seats in the only comfortable
position possible for anyone over four feet. I was unobtrusively
reading the packet for mock trial, when I see the sudden presence of
brown, glossed hair in my peripheral and hear my name.
“Hey, Maddie.”
I look up, as is
the instinctive response. There is Cameron, looking at me
attentively.
“Hey, Maddie,”
he says. “Is there anything I do for you? Like, something I could
go and get you?”
I stare at him for
a few seconds, eyes narrowed, puzzling out what his statement
intends. I haven't spoken to him in several weeks, and mostly avoid
eye contact when possible. Eventually, I respond with a simple,
confused, “What?”
He looks
legitimately helpful, but I wonder if I see the curve of a smile
around his lips. His friends are sitting a seat over, and I recall
the previous aforementioned incident involving him. I can't help but
doubt his intentions, especially considering the apparent absurdity
of his question.
“You know,” he
says blandly. “Is there anything I can, like, go and get you?
Something I can do?”
I stare at him for
another few moments, baffled.
“We're
on a bus,” I explain
curtly.
Cameron shrugs
innocently, as if he were only trying to be helpful. “Oh, okay.
Well, whatever. I was just wondering.” He turns back to his friends
and their conversation, leaving me blinking at him and wondering what
just happened.
After a few
moments I turned back to my mock trial packet, shaking my head and
dismissing it as the insanity of children.
It occurred to me
about a week later that his bizarre, nonsensical offer would provide
the perfect opening to take him up on his helpful offer, and read a
children's book to him. I could even go about it in a degrading way,
such as carefully enunciating simple words, and choosing a book such
as Pony Pals. I was pretty excited about this, too; what a lovely,
passive-aggressive way to confuse an overtly obnoxious child!
Alas. I had set
apart two days for the completion of this interview, and, woe,
Cameron was not present on the bus on either of those days. I'm
mildly distraught, as this was going to be a hilarious interview.
Instead, I am forced to resort to my only available option: reading a
book to my little sister. I hope that is an adequate substitute for
an evil bus denizen. I apologize for any disappointment inspired by
this tragic turn of events.
The
book I have chosen to read to her is The Hardy Boys: The
Tower Treasure. It was the only
age-appropriate book (besides Nancy Drew) that I had in my
bibliography. I hope you can excuse me for only reading her one
chapter of the book, as it is a rather lengthy tale and my sister
doesn't particularly like to sit still and/or listen to me.
The following is
the transcript of her reaction, as best I could record. For
notarization of the verity of the event, I have included both her and
my mother's signatures, as well as a drawing of her for
identification purposes.
Date:
January 10th.
Year: 2012.
Time:
Scene: [Emme has
just arrived home from basketball practice, and is bustling about the
kitchen. She pours popcorn into a bowl as I skip down the stairs.]
Me: Hey, Emme! How
are you today?
Emme: Uh, good.
Me: So, Cameron
wasn't on the bus today, and thus I couldn't read the book to him. I
guess that leaves you!
Emme: Okay. Could
you read while I do my homework?
Me: Uh, yeah. No
problem.
[We sit down in
front of the fire. She does math work while I begin to read Chapter
18: A Startling Deduction (from the Hardy Boys). A few lines in, I
get bored and start making Frank's voice really deep and Joe's voice
really high and nasally. It kept me from falling into a boredom
induced coma.]
[I sustained two
interruptions from the narrative.]
Emme: What is 5
divided by three?
Me: Five thirds.
[laughs maniacally for a moment]. Get it? Five thirds is just 5
divided by 3... okay. In decimal it's 1.666666666.
[I continue
reading].
Emme: [exclaims in
response to Joe Hardy's statement of “Boy, this [sandwich] is
good!”]
This is a terrible
story!
Me: Yes! Yes it is!
[I finish reading
the chapter. Emme shakes her head as I announce the end, and then she
proceeds to regale me with a tale of perfectly legitimate
mathematical notation not recognized by a frustrating teacher.]
Five minutes later:
Me: Hey, Emme. Pop
quiz, tell me what happened in the chapter I read you.
Emme: The people,
Frank and … John or something...
Me: Joe.
Emme: Uh, the Hardy
boys go to the rail roadtracks because they're on a case for their
dad or something, and they talk to the railroad instructor – I
don't know what he was –
Me: Railroad
director, ticket booth person, whatever.
Emme: Okay, I
wasn't sure. So, they're talking to the train station director person
and he was all like, whoa, you're the famous Hardy boys people, and
uh, okay, hold on a sec...okay. So, and they're all like, oh my gosh
that guy, Red Jack or something, he must have hid his treasure in the
mine...no, wait...
Me: Water tower.
Emme: I was
thinking oil tower, but, okay. That was what it was. Anyway, he hid
it there 'cause that was the last place people would suspect it.
Me: Good
comprehension. You remembered more than I thought you would.
Emme: Heh. I was
kind of listening.
Me: Thank you for
participating in this interview.
Emme: Heh, okay.
Evidence of
Child's Involvement and Legal Accountability Form:
By signing this
document I certify that all of the above events are true and accurate
to the best of my knowledge. I also agree that the following
illustration of Emmeline Perkins is an accurate representation of her
and does not in the least resemble a gremlin. Furthermore, I agree to
give Madeleine Q. Perkins full publication license and immunity from
legal action regarding the above interview and below illustration. In
the event that an occurrence (including but not limited to
earthquake, flood, combustion (intentional or spontaneous), lightning
strike, trampling, consumption, epidemic (including but not limited
to cholera, malaria, diphtheria, or fungal infection), or exposure to
extreme winds) destroys this waiver and all evidence of its previous
existence, or all people who can register the existence of this paper
through the process of comprehending electromagnetic radiation, I
will testify that I signed this document and will agree to abide by
the statements it contains.
Debra
J. Perkins:
1/10/12
(maternal unit)
Emmeline
M. Perkins:
1/10/12
(sister)
Here is the drawing of my sister. She is real.
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