If some books are good for you, are others bad?

Any librarian who sees kids eagerly grabbing commercial series paperbacks off the racks experiences some decidely mixed emotions.

On the one hand - hurray! These kids are treating books like hot commodities, and that's got to be a good thing, right? Books as cool objects of desire - yes!

On the other hand, what if it's some fairly mediocre literature they're checking out - indifferently written, incoherently plotted, and commercial to the core?

Can kids actually be harmed by this stuff? Can young minds be warped by terrible writing? Are these books the equivalent of candy, to be snatched away from kids with loud warnings? Careful, you'll get brain caries! Try this nourishing fare instead - and here we hand them a title we deem more healthful for young minds.

Nope, I don't buy it. Although there are some absolutely awful books out there, I don't shudder even a little when kids pull those bright, tattered copies off the rack. Books can be mediocre, but all reading is good. We all know a version of this mantra (I'm quoting a version from Jim Trelease's The Read-Aloud Handbook):

"The more you read, the better you get at it; the better you get at it, the more you like it; and the more you like it, the more you do it.

The more you read, the more you know; and the more you know, the smarter you grow."

The type of reading material isn't specified - anything that grabs the reader will do. And although there are plenty of good books in our libraries, a child has to feel confident about her reading before she will tackle them and she has to be fairly certain that reading is a fun and pleasurable activity. Those Spongebook books on the shelf have a familiar character on the cover and are being toted around by lots of classmates - they feel safe to read.

Remember, the more kids read for pleasure, the better they get at it, and the better they get at it, the more confidence they'll feel about reading. And the more confidence they feel, the more likely it is that you'll be able to convince them to read some of your own favorite titles or some titles (without commercial characters on the covers!) that other kids have read and loved.

Give kids the reading material they want - series paperbacks, graphic novels and manga, magazines. Encourage them to read whatever the heck they want. Don't feel guilty or worry that their minds are being destroyed by mediocrity. They are coming to the library! They are reading! They think books can be cool! These are the building blocks upon which to build your campaign to expose them to ever more challenging, ever more wonderful books.

A Reading Life is a Life Worth Living

Please read my musings on the ALSC Blog on why it's so important to at least make the attempt to hook kids on books - because a childhood spent immersed in books leads to an entire life enriched by words.

Does order create readers - or does reading create order?

Here's an SLJ Extra Helping article that discusses study showing that orderly homes could lead to better reading skills for the kids who live in them.

As the article points out, this is one of those "what came first - the chicken or the egg?" conundrums. Is it really the orderliness that leads to better reading, or is it that parents who read to their kids and encourage literacy are more likely in general to have orderly homes?

Chaos and noise set all my nerves jangling - and how can one read when all hell is breaking loose all around? - but I'm not sure that cleanliness is a prerequisite for reading households. In my family, we use the time we could spend dusting or cleaning windows on - reading!

What it boils down to is that families need to be able to carve long moments of uninterrupted peace from an otherwise crazy, cluttered day in order to read together. Even if it's just 30 minutes at bedtime, kids and grown-ups sharing books together can create their own oasis of harmony and order.

Children's books - an enduring addiction

My mother is a librarian. When I was in my last year at UC Santa Cruz, finishing my double major in Philosophy and German Literature (very practical, yes?), my mom suggested (and I can just imagine how she mentally rehearsed this so as to sound just the right helpful yet nonchalant note) that I consider going to library school after I graduated. "Even if you don't want to become a librarian, that degree will tide you over until you decide what you really want to do."

So canny! She knew I'd be hooked, not by library school itself but by the job. While attending library school, I worked as a "student librarian" at the Los Angeles Public Library, a now-defunct position that allowed me to be page, clerk, and assistant librarian all in one. I attended meetings, worked at the circulation and reference desks, put away thousands of books, and presented my first storytimes.

And somehow, I knew without even thinking about it that I would become a children's librarian. It wasn't the storytimes. It wasn't even the kids (I was remarkably indifferent to kids at the time, being barely grown-up myself). It was the books. Children's books.

As a child, books were my salvation. Not from my circumstances - my family was loving, my community was eccentric and wonderful, my friends were close - but from... my own brain, I suppose. From the beginning, books were a way not only to immerse myself in other worlds, but to escape from a time from the ceaseless churning and worry and analysis of my own mind. Reading was also a way to tune out other people. Ever since I can remember, I've only been able to handle being with my fellow humans (even my most beloved family and friends) for a certain amount of time before I need to get away and soothe my frazzled nerves. Books were and are my drug of choice. I took books with me out to eat with my family, on trips to my grandparents, and even to Disneyland. I was told to "get your nose out of that book" more times than I can count - even my book-loving parents felt that a child should try chatting at the dinner table once in a while.

My childhood relationship with books was so strong, so necessary, so much a part of who I was, that it seems to have created a permanent love for children's literature. At about age 12, I leaped from children's books to adult SF and fantasy and then on to "the classics." At age 22, I began reading children's literature again. I haven't stopped. Most of the books I read are for adults (I'm an addict - I read everything), but if I'm not currently reading a children's book, there are a pile of them in the wings.

Children's books are books that are stripped bare of extraneous stuff - plot fluff, long descriptions, existential meanderings. The focus is on characters - the things they do, the way they think, and the people they encounter. When I read a children's book (and I'm talking about the good ones here), I'm sucked in immediately, the same way I was when I was a child. What is it that is so enthralling? Is it being allowed to experience childhood again, as portrayed by gifted writers who seem to have retained an intimate knowledge of their 9-year-old or 11-year-old selves? Is it that pure, stripped-down quality of the plot and writing? Is it that note of hope at the end? Is it the joy of sharing thousands of books with my own kids and the kids at the library? Or is it just that I'm permanently stuck at age 12? Or is it age 7? I think I fluctuate between the two...

Children's books are some of the best books around. They provide more intense, world-changing, mind-expanding pleasure and thought per word than any other kind of book. Is it the form? Is it the audience? Is it the writers? I have no idea. I just know that it is so.

(Yep, those photos are of me reading, circa 1972 or 1973. My husband says he gets that "don't bother me, I'm reading" look from me on a daily basis)