I recently asked a graduate school friend his opinion about whether or not he’d consider me a capable teacher for a position at a charter school in North Minneapolis. In one word, he described me as “imperturbable,” followed by, “like a Russian poet, you can absorb unlimited amounts of suffering. A perfect fit.” Wow. Reflecting upon my last four years, I do feel as if I’ve trudged through hell and back, and I know I’m strong, but it’s not until another person recognizes the invisible force dwelling within, that you truly believe it exists.
After reading Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, I couldn’t help but see myself trapped in the intellectual and emotional mind of a fourteen year old boy. Confusion, sarcasm, skepticism, and innocence are recklessly thrust amidst the thunderstorm of incompatible emotions that make up Arnold Spirit. It’s no wonder bumps and bruises equal bravery and strength in his insecure world. However, while he witnessed drunken brawls, accidental deaths, and visible signs of life gone mad, I was simply a passive observer and a lucky recipient of the dysfunctional characteristics found amongst most children of alcoholics. By his age, I was left wondering why I felt inadequate and unloved when I’d seemingly been provided everything I needed. There’s no doubt about it, Junior and I would have been friends.
Knowing that this narrative is loosely based on the author’s life, I read carefully and cautiously, eager to know more about this oppressed little boy. Unsure of what to believe and what to cast aside as pure fiction, I navigated the monochromatic halls of Reardan High School and through throngs of inebriated Indians alongside Junior. His honest, uncensored account of growing up in a society where poverty and addiction reign, invites the reader to sympathize (or empathize) as he/she sees fit. Alexie is careful to talk like an adolescent and walk like an adolescent. It almost makes the reader believe that an adolescent has written this book.
Heartbreaking, but often times hysterical, I found myself muttering, “Awww” and laughing outloud in the most public of places. I can only hope that my gawkers caught the title as they attempted to casually stare at the caffeinated girl curled up in the corner with her book. I kept thinking to myself, “about damn time, “ as the story went from boners to beauty to beer in mere pages. It isn’t often I encounter authors that choose to confront the real issues nagging at the hearts and heads of coming of age adolescents. That, to me, is what is real. Anyone that has ever been an adolescent can identify with something in Junior’s world. Perhaps, then, this is all the more reason to expose schools to contemporary realism.
Once a teacher, perhaps you never take off that hat. Even though I don’t have my own classroom right now, I still tend to read with struggling students in mind. Students need to realize that reading doesn’t always mean falling asleep after five minutes or involve texts that might as well have been written in another language (i.e. too hard to understand). My friend, Laura, taught this book at an alternative school in Richfield to a mostly Latino population. The books was wildly popular, consequently rendering her with only half of the original copies. She had friends of friends in her classes asking to borrow the book. – students who have never read a whole book before. If that doesn’t scream “award winner,” I don’t know what the world is coming to.
One of the most striking things to me about this book is the wisdom woven within the words. Junior is an insightful character that has a visible journey from cover to cover, discovering and commenting on his identity throughout. He isn’t afraid to share his perspectives and how they change. The hopeless become the hopeful. In the beginning, Junior asks, “Who has hope?” (43), but by the end, he’s answering his own question. After an empowering moment standing up to an insensitive teacher, Junior muses, “It all gave me hope. It gave me a little bit of joy. And I kept trying to find the little pieces of joy in my life. That’s the only way I managed to make it through all of the death and change” (176). He finally understands what we all conclude in the end… perhaps life isn’t always about keeping score.
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