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Ms. Beatrice Hempel, teacher of seventh grade, is new--new to teaching, new to the school, newly engaged, and newly bereft of her idiosyncratic father. Grappling awkwardly with her newness, she struggles to figure out what is expected of her in life and at work. Is it acceptable to introduce swear words into the English curriculum, enlist students to write their own report cards, or bring up personal experiences while teaching a sex-education class? Sarah Shun-lien Bynum finds characters at their most vulnerable, then explores those precarious moments in sharp, graceful prose. From this most innovative of young writers comes another journey down the rabbit hole to the wonderland of middle school, memory, daydreaming, and the extraordinary business of growing up.… (more)
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I absolutely loved the parts about Ms. Hempel in the classroom.
This is an enjoyable read that I think would appeal to teachers and their students, or to those of us who worry how much effect we have on the world.
On a high note, the writing is beautiful and I can see where this would be a good read for a teacher.
But it just never hit a crescendo for me. I thought the plot meandered and was just too drawn out for me.
Despite these drawbacks, I enjoyed the story and the character of Ms. Hempel, especially in the first two chapters: Talent and Accomplice. The language in these two stories, both of which were published independently, is beautiful with some phrases that I had to reread several times, just to savor the words.
"That is what is marvelous about school, she realized: when you are in school, your talents are without number, and your promise is boundless. You ace a math test: you will one day work for NASA. The choir director asks you to sing a solo at the holiday concert: you are the next Mariah Carey. You score a goal, you win a poetry contest, you act in a play. And you are everything at once: actor, astronomer, gymnast, star. But at a certain point, you begin to feel your talents dropping away, like feathers from a molting bird."--From Talent
"Uncomplimentary words, however, seemed to overshadow the complimentary ones. That wasn't it, exactly. But whereas an ancient compliment would suddenly, unexpectedly, descend upon her, spinning down from the sky like a solitary cherry blossom, words of criticism were familiar and unmovable fixtures in the landscape: fire hydrants, chained trash cans, bulky public scuptures."--from Accomplice
Recommended
However, a prevelant theme seems to be the idea of middle/high school being the last time that you feel "extraordinary." You get a solo in chorus ... maybe you're going to be a great singer! You're dad thinks you're the smartest kid in the state ... maybe you are a genius! And because you believe in your own potential, it's often a time in your life when you do amazing things. Some of the kids in these tales are indeed extraordinary, and Ms. Bynum shares their stories with rare grace and insight.
And then college comes along, and adulthood, and you lose your sense of being extraordinary; and, because you no longer feel extraordinary, you give up believing you can do extraordinary things. This seems to be the fate of Ms. Hempel, whose life - as depicted in these vignettes - seems to be a quest to be recognized as extraordinary by someone for something - whether for being a rebel, a goth, an ethnic minority, or a fiance. The irony is that, since she is always measuring herself against the standards of society and/or the perceived potential of the children she teaches, she never does come to understand that the one thing that *does* make her extraordinary is the way she teaches.
She rails against the complications of life, longing to return to a simpler place/time, even though she is wise enough to understand that the "simpler times" she imagines never actually existed. Again, ironically, she never seems to learn that, like any book worth reading, life needs to be full of complications, because without complications you don't change, learn, or grow.
And that's my biggest frustration with the book. Ms. Hempel doesn't learn, and she doesn't grow. So, even though I appreciated the skill and craft that went into each one of these deftly-told tales, couldn't help feeling disatisfied in the end. Call me ageist, but Ms. Bynum, like Ms. Hempel, is in her mid-20s, and I can't help wonder if the reason her character doesn't grow is because Ms. Bynum hasn't yet grown. This feels like the juvenile effort of a writer who knows a great deal about literature but not a whole lot about life. Can't help but wonder what Ms. Bynum may one day be capable of, once she attains the sort of self-knowledge and wisdom that comes not from talent, but from time. The things Ms. Hempel might accomplish then ...!
I like to figure out connections between each book I read and its predecessor, and
However, once I got over my worries, I was pleasantly surprised by the depth of feeling, the detail and the unique insights which were offered in this book.
Each of the stories offer glimpses into Ms. Hempel's life, so in one chapter she is attending her wedding shower and in another she is telling a colleague not to worry, that she has gotten over breaking up with her fiance. Although such an approach could lead to a fractured whole, it does not and instead it makes it seem that Ms. Hempel is in fact a real person and we are just checking in with her, at various parts of her life.
Although the majority of these stories address Ms.Hempel's life as a teacher, there are also elements which address her aspirations towards punk rock as a teenager and her conflicted identity growing up with a Chinese mother and a white father.
Although I enjoyed all of these other views Ms. Hempel's character, the former teacher in me definitely enjoyed those portions of the book the best. The following paragraph had me laughing out loud on the bus in recognition: "Ms. Hempel was sometimes astonished by the thoughts she'd have while walking to work: one morning she looked longingly at a patch of ice on the pavement and realized that if she were to fall and fracture her leg in several places, then she wouldn't have to go to school. And maybe, if the doctors put her in traction, a substitute would be hired for the rest of the year".
I would definitely recommend this book to anyone who has worked as a teacher for any part of their life, but I also think it will spark a feeling of recognition in anyone who has struggled with finding their path in life.
But it's entirely possible that it happened indirectly: that this book got assimilated to the canon of American Liberal Literature, to which great purgatory moderately well written, lightly entertaining books about Democrat party approved themes like education and gender go when they die. And since this book is not only about a woman, but by one, that's its obvious resting place.
Except this is more intellectually challenging and rewarding than anything Franzen or the other GWAMAs of ALL has ever written. The episodic structure mimics the life of a teacher (one year at a time, each year succeeding the other in a weird change-but-no-change kind of way, until you realize that something incredibly strange has happened). Unlike most art about education, we see the teacher develop, rather than the students--indeed, (spoiler) she develops right out of being a teacher. The tediousness, hopelessness and outright fear of being an educator come through clearly: what right do we have to teach others? is this weirdly public life anything other than a performance? how does one balance the yearning to be loved with the need to be, often enough, hated? and how does anyone ever get to be an adult when the adults themselves are borderline failures?
Add to all that the lightly written ruminations on history and authenticity (i.e., both constructed, but not for all that meaningless), and it becomes clear that the right comparison is that other apparently charming, but deeply disturbing novel of education and social history, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.
*: see Heather Lelache in Ursula Le Guin's 'Lathe of Heaven'
**: Great White American Male Autho