Reader response theory

I wrote a Young Adult novel ten years ago. MAKING UP MEGABOY got a lot of attention because of its format (highly illustrated with a graphic novel feel), its point of view (seventeen different voices telling the story), its subject matter (a boy who kills a man), and its end (ambiguous). Reviewers loved it or hated it, and so did young readers. Published by DK Ink, an imprint that no longer exists, it drifted out of stock and then out of print. Persistent potential purchasers -- there aren't many -- may still find a paperback copy of it through Delacorte. Every now and then when there is another nationally publicized incident of a teen or child killer, somebody remembers Megaboy, but it has pretty much faded into obscurity.

I was surprised, therefore, to get a fat pack of letters recently from Mr. Hanson's seventh grade in Sheridan, Wyoming. The students had spent the fall reading and analyzing MAKING UP MEGABOY, and they had some pretty strong reactions. Strong enough that they wanted to write to the author and tell her what they thought.

Most of the students were frustrated and annoyed by the ending, or lack of it, as they saw it. One of the more vociferous readers wrote, "You are a fool though. You could have made a good profit off this book, but you had to write this with wacky mixed up, make your own ending up story. The end was disgusting and made me regret reading it, but why did you write this story this way? WHY RUIN A GOOD STORY? You seemed like you knew what you were doing, but I have my doubts?" Another wrote, "You need to write a second book. It would be nice so people don't get mad. And why did Robby shoot Mr. Koe?" And there were many more in this vein.

Not everybody hated the book. Elizabeth wrote, "This book is exactly the kind of book I like, it is a reallistic story with a bit of fantasy." And here is one of her classmates' letters in its entirety:

"I really enjoyed your book, but at the same time it kind of angred me. The reason it did that was, that I'm a person that likes to figure things out. Although at the same time it was very interesting and I lost many hours of sleep staying up and thinking about it not being able to get to sleep. The reason I liked it was that it just left you hanging there and made me want to read more. And it kept the reader thinking all through it. Thank you for writing that story. I had a great time reading it."

Most of the students also wanted to know WHY I had written the book. When I wrote back to the class, I told them in some detail why I was moved to write about a boy who killed, but I couldn't answer their most urgent question: why did Robbie kill Mr. Koh? I also told them how happy it made me to get their letters, even though most of these letters were critical. I told them that authors need readers, especially readers who take the time to discuss and think about their books.

I've been thinking a lot now about the relationship between writers and readers. There is a lot of literary theory on this topic, theory that distinguishes between "writerly" and "readerly" texts, that speculates about how and why readers respond to texts, that probes texts for what they say about their authors or that insists the writer's experiences and state of mind are irrelevant to the resulting work. My son-in-law who is the drama critic for a local free paper said that he turned down a job writing theater reviews for a start-up online publication because he liked seeing his words in print on paper and knowing that his words are getting into 125,000 households every week. He writes for a living but also for the satisfaction of being read.

This blog is read by a handful of my friends and relatives. I think I am writing primarily for my own purposes, to help me clarify what I know and to chronicle some events in my life. I make no pretense of writing in this medium for a wide audience. I don't expect readers to respond, but it is satisfying -- sometimes even thrilling -- when they do.

Teens, the same only different

When I was teaching classes in Young Adult Library Services in Croatia, I hammered home the twin mantras: "work with not for" and "listen to the teens." In both Zadar and Osijek, we invited local teens to talk with us about their lives; the photos show a panel of students in Zadar and two teens from Osijek. The library school students were surprised at the candor with which the teens shared details about their lives. This last weekend I read 30 papers from my library school students in Osijek, Croatia, and it was evident that they wanted to learn more. All but two of them chose the option of interviewing five teenagers, asking them the classic questions that Elaine Meyers and I posed in our book TEENS AND LIBRARIES: GETTING IT RIGHT.

1. How do you know when an adult cares about you?
2. What are the three things teens need to succeed at home, in school, and in the community?
3. What is the hardest thing about being a teenager?

Judging from the responses, there are some universal aspects to adolescence in Western society. Almost all teens talked about the ambiguity of being neither child nor adult. They realize that they are not grown but don't wanted to be treated as children either. They desperately want to be listened to and taken seriously. Like teens everywhere, Croatian teens complained that their parents make unreasonable (or unpleasant) demands on them and that they don't understand their lives because their own teen years were so long ago when life was so different. Drugs and alcohol are easily obtainable. Sex is definitely part of their lives.

What was different about the Croatian teens was the lack of caring adults other than their parents in their lives. There were some grandparents, but nobody else. No teacher, no athletic coach, no piano teacher, no neighbor, no priest, and certainly no librarian was there to care for them. Every single teen interpreted the adult in the first question as their mother and/or father, as though no other adult might care for them. In spite of their evident chafing under their parents' rules, they also saw the rule-setting as evidence of caring.

Croatian teens were unanimous in their dissatisfaction with school, a stressful place where teachers are cold and boring, where their own interests are ignored, where they must shut up and pay attention.

Like so many American teens, the Croatian teens read very little except when they must as a school requirement. They see the public library as an unfriendly, forbidding place (and all too often, it is -- for teens at least.) They are unaware of the one teen club in the central library in Osijek. The staff in the library's teen club see this as a problem of public relations and marketing.

Croatian teens are not optimistic about their future prospects. They are cynical about their government's ability or will to improve the quality of life in their country. They are gloomy about the economy and what it means for their own future employment. And most importantly, they have little sense of their own ability to improve things.

Social supports for teens are almost nonexistent in Croatia, but young people fill their spare time with all kinds of hobbies. They draw and build models. They write poetry. They sing and play musical instruments. And yes, they play computer games -- a lot. "World of Warcraft" is very big. A few, a very few, read.

The library school students rightly saw that the library might be a positive force in teens' lives by providing young people with a safe place to be with their peers and to develop a positive relationship with at least one other adult, the young adult librarian. However, like the teens, they were also pessimistic about their ability to change libraries enough to create the nurturing places that were needed. I can only hope that these students who have seen the need and crafted a vision to mitigate it will be empowered to do the small things that will begin to transform public libraries into significant suupports for teens.

Home sweet home

There is nothing quite like the comforts of home. Note the flip flop resting on the ottoman. The comfortable chair. The books. Out of the picture but definitely on hand: the TV showing my beloved "Law and Order" reruns, "House", and the network news. Other pleasures that I missed while I was away: cheeseburgers, hanging out with my grandkids, playing the piano, the LA and NY Times, celebrating Obama's sweet victory with friends and family.

Spending a month in Croatia was a memorable experience though. In some ways, it was like being a child again, in that state of simultaneously knowing and not knowing. Most of my familiar frames of reference were missing, making it difficult to read the environment. Some of this was language-related. I could walk through busy streets without knowing what was behind the closed doors unless there were really obvious clues in shop windows. Then there were the unfamiliar cultural phenoma. The first week in Zadar, there was strange and beautiful music drifting up to my second floor room from the banquet hall below. Men were singing in multi-part harmony, without accompaniment, for hours. It sounded live, not recorded. It happened again the next night. I did a little investigating and discovered that these were bachelor parties, attended by men and boys. There is the usual drinking and celebrating at these events, but the singing is also traditional in Dalmatia. It is called klapa. Most men seem to know the songs and seem to be able to sing them in all of their complex five- to ten-part harmony. I now have a CD of this music, and it brings back that strange sense of wonderment as well as pleasure in the sound.

I will also be thinking about the memorial in Vukovar to the more than 200 victims of a Serbian massacre there during the war in the early 1990s, after Croatia declared its independence and Serbia disputed its claims to its borders. The town itself was almost completely destroyed and has been only partially rebuilt. They have left the damaged water tower standing as a monument to the suffering of the town. The memorial to the massacre, however, is at a distance from the town. It stands on the site where the Serbs had taken men and medical personnel from the hospital in town, shot them, and buried them in a mass grave. There is also a kind of museum nearby on which the names and faces of the victims who have been identified are illuminated on the round walls of an otherwise darkened room. While I was there, a busload of Croatians arrived. One of the group spoke in Croatian; it felt like a prayer, but I can't be sure. Then a woman began to sing a hymn which I remembered from my childhood church-going days: "Nearer My God to Thee." Everyone joined in, and the sound was heart-breaking in its simplicity and beauty. Tears ran down my cheeks.

Of course, as a pacifist, I cannot help but be moved by the many destructive faces of war. And like many war stories, this is a complex one. There is some suggestion that the Croatian President Tudgman may have deliberately sacrified Vukovar, withholding the limited Croatian troops as a way of strengthening his portrayal of brutal Serb aggression.

I will also be thinking about the relatively large space given in Croatian public libraries to playrooms for preschool children. Preschool education is seriously lacking in the country, and children don't start school until they are six and a half. So the public libraries have filled the gap with these bright, spacious rooms filled with educational toys. Many libraries hire people with both early childhood education and library degrees to plan and run activities in these centers, as many as three or four hours a day for different ages. I observed toddlers playing with foam blocks in Zagreb and five-year-olds acting out "Sleeping Beauty" in Karlovac. Our Family Place libraries are a step in this direction, but Croatia has outpaced us in this matter.

People often asked me what I thought of Croatia, its libraries, and its people. I had to say that it was a land of great unspoiled natural beauty and a long and complex history. Its libraries have great promise as institutions that can help to promote the skills and values needed in a new democracy. Its people are often cynical as they contemplate their place in the world, but they are also generous, kind -- and great singers.

Eating in Croatian

In an earlier post, I wondered what my frame of reference would be for understanding Croatia. I have now been here for nearly four weeks, and I think I can say that I am looking at this country through its libraries and its food. Today we will talk about food.

The University of Zadar has made my hotel accommodations for me, and they have been arranged on the pension plan, meaning that I eat breakfast and dinner in the hotel. In Zadar and Osijek the breakfasts have been the typical European self-serve buffets: eggs, sausage, fabulous pastries, cold meats and sliced cheese, yoghurt, tomatoes, cereal, and much, much more. In Zadar, there was always fresh cantaloupe. In both Osijek and Zadar, there are locally grown mandarin oranges. It's all good.

My first day in Zadar I strode confidently out to find lunch. I first tried the little cafe near the hotel. No food there -- just coffee and gelato. I walked farther along the beach and found another cafe. Again, just coffee and other drinks -- no food at all. It took awhile before I figured out that the all of these appealing little cafes that said Cafe Bar or just Coffee Bar only served drinks. They are everywhere, filled with Croatians drinking and smoking (but only until March, 2009 when smoking will be banned in restaurants). No Starbucks but lots and lots of other places to drink good strong coffee.

Lunch remained a little elusive in Zadar. I could walk about 15 minutes into the Old City and find restaurants serving food or I could buy a burek ( rich cheese-filled pastry that everyone said is not Croatian at all, but Servian) at the local supermarket. Or I could sneak bread, cheese, and ham and a mandarin from the breakfast buffet. I was not going to starve.

Dinner in the Hotel Kolovare in Zadar was always filling and certainly edible but hardly representative of the best cooking in Dalmatia. For that, you need a good seafood restaurant or a konoba for truly authentic Dalmatian food.

My students and I ate at a konoba on the island of Sali. They tell me that it was typical of its kind. The stone walls, green shutters, white net curtains, wood benches are the standard decor. Food was served family style: black risotto made with squid ink, a cabbage salad, and fried calamari. All washed down with a local white wine.

Here are some other foods that are unique to Croatia that I relished: palacinkes (crepes filled with chocolate or in Zadar with marascino cherries -- incredible), cevapceci (spicy meatballs served with a pepper and tomato relish and onions), krafna (donuts!), calamari salad, amazingly fresh salads with simple lettuce and tomatoes, burek (flaky cheese-filled pastry), velvety prosciutto, and sheep's milk cheese from Pag Island. And drinks: honey grappa as an ice cold aperitif, slivovics (plum brandy), and a home made cherry liqueur.

I was told that the food would be completely different in Osijek -- more meat and potatoes. I've been here for four days, and you couldn't prove it by me. Again, I am eating in the hotel restaurant which is a much more elegant place than the dining room at the Hotel Kalovare. (I heartily recommend the Waldinger if you find yourself here.) On my first day, I had unwisely ordered the "chicken tortilla" at the Gallija Mexican and Steak Restaurant. Well, how could I not? Wouldn't you be curious? OK. It was a mistake. So to compensate I tried to order something called "Slavonian plate" for supper. It seemed to be an assortment of local dishes. "You don't want that," said the waiter. "It's too heavy." "Oh," I said. "What do I want?" "Fish," said the waiter. And he was right. It was a lovely river fish -- perch, I think -- perfectly prepared with a mound of roasted vegetable. And they have insisted I eat fish for the past two nights as well. Very tasty but not the meat and potatoes I was prepared for.

This would not be an easy place for a vegetarian, but for me, it's been good eats.

Field trip

Yesterday my students and I took a field trip to Sali on the island of Dugi Otok (Long Island). An hour and a half from Zadar, this village attracts tourists from all over the world during the summer season. Now, at the end of October, Sali has been mostly returned to the people who live here year-round, except for the occasional day on which they are invaded by thirteen library school students, a research assistant, and a visiting professor from the U.S.

We had gone to Sali to see its public library, part of the Zadar library system. We were met at the dock by Ante, the unconventional librarian for the island. Completely bald, wearing a black opera t shirt (from a performance of Wagner's Ring in Amsterdam), plaid cargo shorts, and black combat boots, he took us the few steps to his library which is small in physical size but gargantuan in its aspirations and energy.

Every inch of space is filled with something interesting to look at or do -- books, of course, CDs, DVDs, a flat-screen TV, piano and telescope (!), four computers, trophies, a few ratty armchairs and a sofa. Children's books are crammed into a closet. The walls and even the ceiling are covered with a crazy collage of pictures: the cast of the Lord of the Rings, old movie stars, historical photos of Sali, astronomical charts, photos of library events and library users -- anything and everything. When the weather is fine, Ante moves the library outside and hosts all kinds of events: pancake parties (pancakes, palacinkes, are very important in this part of the world), movie showings, pot luck dinners, talent shows, rallies before Croatian soccer matches (for one of which Ante's bald head was painted with the distinctive Croatian red and white checkerboard logo).

Ante seems quite cavalier about the infamous library "standards" which emanate from the Ministry of Culture and is happy to operate on a remote island far from bureaucratic oversight. He doesn't charge fines for overdue books and just assumes that the books will come back one day. They usually do. Once a couple of Swiss backpackers missed the boat back to Zadar. Ante let them sleep in the library. He hasn't waited for funding to come for a "Bibliobus" -- that's a bookmobile for those of you who don't speak Croatian. He just rigged up a kind of shelf in the back of a station wagon and used that to take books to the farther settlements on this long, narrow island.

Ante was born and raised on the island, living still in his boyhood home, a traditional Dalmatian house made of stone with a red tile roof. The students and I had an interesting discussion about whether anybody else could have achieved what he has done on the library. Do you have to have his insider knowledge and his larger than life personality? At first they thought that those were necessary prerequisites. But as we talked, we arrived at the conclusion that all that was necessary was a conviction to make the library an essential and organic part of the community -- and with sensitivity and commitment, any of us can do that.

Dalmatians tend to romanticize their islands where life is slower and more traditional than it is on the mainland. However, the opportunities to make a living on the islands are very few. Aside from tourism, which is seasonal, and a little fishing, there is not much to keep a young person in Sali. They must even commute to Zadar to attend high school.

Two of the students had connections on Sali and were able to get one of the traditional Dalmatian restaurants, a konoba, to open just to serve us lunch. We had the classic black risotto, a cabbage salad, battered and fried calamari, and local wine. We ate upstairs in a room with stone walls, the traditional green shutters and net curtains, wood beam ceiling. We ate and talked and toasted librarians everywhere.

Ne gevorim Hvratski

No, I don't speak Croatian. Not that I really need to say that sentence in Croatian; it is instantly obvious when I try to say anything, even the simple words of politeness -- hvala (thank you), molim (please), dobar dan (good afternoon). My accent is really very bad, no matter how I try.

So this post will be a musing on getting along in another country when you really, truly don't speak the language. I was told before I arrived that "everybody speaks English." Not true. Almost everybody speaks a little English but not always enough to really facilitate a conversation. When the Croatian working at the market stall speaks as little English as I do Croatian, we need to improvise. I pick up an apple and hand it to him, smiling and silent. He weighs it and puts it in a bag. In the torrent of unintelligible language from his mouth, I think I can make out the words "dva kuna." I fish around in my wallet for the 2 kuna coin. "Da?" I ask, not being absolutely sure I heard him right. "Da," he says -- and a whole lot more. "Dobro," I say, pleased that we have conducted this transaction successfully. "Bravo!" he says, laughing at my lame effort to speak his language. But it is a kind laugh, not a mocking one.

You will probably not be surprised that my food-related vocabulary has grown the most since I have been here. The menus in most restaurants list their offerings in Croatian, Italian, German, and English -- but not always and not always in the most perfect English. Swine cutlets, anyone? Anyway, one can just point to the menu entry and count on getting approximately what you thought you were ordering. I TRY to say the name in Croatian, much to the amusement of most waiters. This is not an easy language for the English-speaking tongue to master. All those consonants! All those diacritical marks!

I have dinner every night in the hotel because it is a full board arrangement, with a self-serve breakfast buffet and dinner included in the rate. The waiters tease me and try to help me learn a few new words every night. So far I have mastered the words for ice cream (sladoled), fish (riba), water (voda), soup (juha), salad (salata -- one of the few easy ones).

I am teaching my class in Young Adult Library Services in English. All of the students knew this when they enrolled, but they vary in their competency and comfort in expressing themselves in English. Some of the other faculty warned me that they might be shy or reticent, but they do their best to participate in the discussions that I require. I can tell, however, that they are relieved when I break them into small groups and tell them to feel free to speak Croatian.

As for me, it is a challenge to remember to speak slowly and clearly and to use language that is simple and relatively jargon-free. I worry that we are all missing some of the subtlety and complexity that we could enjoy if we were all fluent in the same language. In fact, some days I worry that I am losing my fluency in English!

I gave the students the task of teaching me how to say the word for library in Croatian -- a notoriously difficult word to pronounce. It is spelled knjiznica, with a diacritical mark over the Z. And the word for librarian is knjiznicar, with a different diacritical mark over the C. I can say it almost every time now and be understood, even if the accent is still very bad.

The only English language programming on TV is CNN and BBC World News and the occasional really dumb reality show on one of the German language channels, shown here with subtitles. I have never heard of some of these programs; perhaps they are exported directly to the European market. I miss my beloved Law and Order reruns, but I will survive.

First impressions of my first public library visit in Croatia

Martina is a doctoral student at the University of Zagreb, working as an assistant at the University of Zadar. She is passionate about public libraries and how they can transform communities and has wonderful stories to tell about how they did this in Zadar. Today she and her husband and one-year-old son Luka took me to Sibenik to see this beautiful old coastal city and to visit its public library.

Like many Croatian public libraries, the Sibenik library occupies a converted army building. Unlike many, it is in the center of town. The renovation results in a modern building of glass and steel. There are some oddities due to its former use. In the basement, for example, a former bowling alley has been turned into a storage space with compact shelving. For the most part, however, its former military function is not apparent. And isn't that a nice symbolic transformation? From a military operation to a library! I like that.

I wish Jonathan Furner had been there to help me make sense of what they called their scientific collection which to me appeared to be just nonfiction (books on winemaking, origami, and many other miscellaneous subjects). It used a classification scheme that originated in some Croatian academic setting. Because of this, the public was not allowed into this room but had to have books paged from here. When I asked if this worked for them, the librarians said it did. OK. Whatever.

There was a pleasant preschool corner filled with blocks and soft cushions and picture books. There was a children's computer lab crowded with boys using the computers the same way they do everywhere -- for games in noisy packs. There was another bank of computers with special software for children under the age of 8.

The collection looked like a collection anywhere, with books written in Croatian and others translated into Croatian. Harry Potter is still very popular, and the librarian showed me a scrapbook documenting a whole series of Harry Potter programs. Lots of children in wizard hats.

More impressive to me was a program on children's rights. Children from the ages of ten to fourteen had participated in a discussion -- or maybe a series of discussions, I'm not sure -- about rights and then produced their own Bills of Rights. They translated one of them for me, and it seemed very wise and also very childlike. This child included the right to eat candy along with a child's right to know his father and to visit both parents.

This library also hires an artist to work with the children on various creative visual arts projects. While I was there, the project was creating bookmarks; and the results were lovely. In an earlier project, the children had looked at incunabula from the cathedral library that is just a block or so away and then created their own illuminated alphabets.

There was so much to admire about the library and its staff who obviously care about the library, about their patrons, and about their city. What is missing? Teen services! After the age of fourteen, young people are "sent upstairs" to the adult section. There is no teen collection or programming.

Before I had come to Croatia, I had only read travel guidebooks about the country and the nonfiction accounts written by Rebecca West (BLACK LAMB AND GREY FALCON) and Robert Kaplan (BALKAN GHOSTS). I wondered in my last post how my impressions of the country would differ. In 1938, Rebecca West seemed to see this part of the world through a Freudian lens in which sex and death seemed to color her experiences. Robert Kaplan was influenced by Rebecca West and by his conviction that history dominated the present.

Yes, this country has a colorful and important heritage and a history that was often terrible. (My friend Ivanka's 96-year-old mother says she has lived through three wars and doesn't want to live through another one.) But there is something quite wonderful about a country that can turn its army bases into libraries and universities and recognize that its children have rights.

When I left the Sibenik Public Library, the librarians said they had a present for me. They gave me a gift bag. Inside were a children's picture book about a wonderful inventor from Sibenek who had devised the first parachute a very long time ago, a book the library had published about its beautiful old cathedral -- and some local brandy in a bottle that had been decorated by hand by one of the librarians. There is something quite wonderful about a country that produces books, inventions, and brandy.