Title correction: I’m envious of the book selection kids have these days.
Sure, the nineties were great for kids. We had Goosebumps, the American Girls, Animorphs, and reprints of The Baby-Sitters Club. We shivered to Bunnicula and laughed with pre-Captain Underpants Dav Pilkey. (Kat Kong was your true masterpiece, sir.) The Stinky Cheese Man and the Rainbow Fish made our teachers roll their eyes from having to read these too much. The Giver was our breakout YA novel and hey I might be aging myself a little here but these were my elementary years.
You know what we didn’t have? The Bad Guys series, which second grade me would have found the pinnacle of literature. Middle school me would have eaten up the Warriors series. We had no Wings of Fire or Dragon Kingdom, although Dealing with Dragons and the Pit Dragon trilogy fed my need for the winged beasts. Harry Potter we had, but Percy Jackson was a little past our time. We had Bone but no Amulet.
Yes, I’m name dropping a lot of titles here. They’ve been on my mind as I’ve started reliving my childhood though books (more on that in later posts) and in my sight as I’ve had to sort through every single dang one of these titles during the stampede that is summer reading at your local library. I just want to say there are so many books out there. I could never read them all if I tried, and now there are so many more. I can’t help but be glad for it.
I’m glad kids are still enjoying The Chronicles of Narnia and Redwall. Classics are great, and we could all remind ourselves of Ralph S. Mouse sometimes. But so help me, The Mysterious Benedict Society calls and my inner child is too powerful to be an adult about this.
I’ve always wanted to read every Newbery Medal winner. These books, along with the Newbery Honor novels, have always carried an air of prestige for little old me. If they’re deemed so worthy of praise, they must be the best of the best, the cream of the crop, the most favoritest of all.
But why stop there? John Newbery isn’t the only guy who loves children’s literature. I’ve read so many other novels with different award stickers slapped onto the cover, how can I pick just one awesome book over another?
Presenting the list of awards:
Batchelder Award – for translated books
Belpré Award – author or illustrator whose work best portrays Latine culture
Caldecott Medal – most distinguished American picture book for children
Geisel Award – for beginning readers
Kirkus Prize – for young readers’ literature
National Book Award – for young people’s literature
Newbery Medal – for distinguished contributions to American literature for children
Pritz Award – for the best book written for teens
Walter Dean Myers – for outstanding children’s literature
Newbery, followed by Caldecott, will dominate this list for a while. I look forward to watching the other awards find their way onto the list.
LET THE READING GAMES BEGIN!
If you’ve ever seen my page of past reading challenges, you’ll know that I love books for young readers. Working in a library so long and seeing what circulates, the quality (and quantity!) in children’s literature has expanded so much it’s positively rampant. But while I’ve dabbled in the newer publications since becoming an adult, there is one young reader I’ve been neglecting: Myself.
Would you believe me if I told you there are books that have been on my TBR from elementary school? You would? Oh. Well, would you believe me if I said I sat down and made a list of all the books I read as a kid, all the books I remembered wanting to read as a kid, and I arranged them in chronological order? You would?!
Look, I was bored at work and I like thinking about books.
I remember school years not by what I wore, played with, or what music I listened to. My memories are grounded in the novels I read. I can’t even remember which type of math or science I learned each year. It was always the books, the things I spent my mental energy on.
Maybe you’re the same way. I invite anyone to go back and reflect on the books that shaped their memories. Sit back, relax, and be a child again.
Why now?
My SO and I will move in together in June, and everything feels like a new beginning is, well, beginning! Moving (and unpacking) is stressful. Figuring out how to live with someone else is strange and stressful. Having to carry on with your life when everything has changed overnight is confusing, strange, and of course stressful. Going back to my childhood to learn about the books that have shaped me might ground me amid the chaos of boxes.
More importantly, will be an edifying experience. I look forward to writing posts and pretending I’ve had a profound experience with every old book.
Besides, the Summer Reading Madness shall begin at libraries all over the world. You know I must always join in.
You know, I had more of a rant here, but it didn’t happen because I don’t like blogging.
I was going to give an entire Power Point presentation on why I have never felt comfortable here on WordPress.
I was also going to rant about how my To Be Read pile will never satisfy me.
I was also going to skip posting here altogether, and that would certainly prove to myself that I don’t have fun while writing performative content under pressure.
Instead of all that, have the following rambles:
I need to stop working at a library because I cannot be stopped. I can try to go cold turkey, stop going to book sales, try to focus on the TBR I already own instead of acquiring new material.
Like that will ever happen.
Since I will be working at a library for the rest of my life, I might as well make something of it and blog about my reading experiences here. But how do I manage a blog when every time I want to start a new project I want to tear everything and really start ANEW?
My unfruitful attempts at catching up with all the posts I wanted to make in the Before Times (before 2020) has only reminded me again and again that I have never known what I was doing here. And while I want to tear everything down, the thought of doing so would (to me, at least) be an admission of failure.
That’s easy, isn’t it? Dumping everything every few years. It’s a cop-out, as much as I like to say that life is full of necessary change.
Setting aside the time to blog has been cathartic to others on the internet, so why can’t it be the same for me? Blogging, like journaling, only allows me to document my feelings, not let go of them. By purging my brain, I’m also creating a record of my past emotions. Creating a record makes these emotions permanent in time. That has turned out not to be good for me.
What helps me enjoy blogging is crafting a challenge. A challenge gives me a purpose. A purpose gives me a reason to come back again and again.
I will soon introduce a challenge that I’ve wanted to do almost my whole life. When I say “soon” that means in a few months, knowing me.
Hello! I re-introduce myself to the world by embracing the projects that entertained me the most: reading; recommending books; finding more books.
Don’t expect any fancy photography. I’m too busy reading. Don’t expect perfectly formatted posts, either. I’m too busy reading. Some posts may be late, or may be short. Again, too busy reading.
Befferkins, the Random 