To Night Owl From Dogfish by Holly Goldberg Sloan and Meg Wolitzer

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

So, imagine a book that is a bit like The Parent Trap, but with two gay dads. That’s at least a start to understanding what this book is about. Also, interracial relationships and friendships, child custody battles, and getting kicked out of summer camp. And discussion of menstruation and female products. 

 

Okay, okay, Fundies. Please take your hands off your pearls and untie your panties. Gay people exist, as much as you wish to pretend they don’t and imagine your deity wants you to persecute them. Also, people with different skin colors and ethnicities fall in love and marry, as much as your segregated colleges tried to prevent it. Even worse, no matter how hard you try to make your kids as bigoted as you are, the times they are a changing, even if you wish they weren’t. 

 

I mention this, because my parents’ generation of white Evangelicals would have lost their shit over books like this, despite there being no overt sex, no objectionable language, and an overall positive message. (In truth, my parents have made clear how much they object to the books we “let” our kids read, from Harry Potter on down. Since they don’t talk to me anymore, this blog will probably be how they find out we read this book.) 

 

I mentioned The Parent Trap, because there are some similarities, and the book makes a bunch of subtle but amusing references to that movie throughout - something that is bound to appeal to parents my age and older, I am sure. That said, don’t count on it being exactly the same. From the different setup to the surprising ending, there are many differences, and this book, because it is a book, has a lot more detail and a lot more digression than any movie could have.

 

Avery Bloom, aka Night Owl, is a twelve year old girl who lives in New York with her father, a borderline OCD Jewish architect. He is a loving and supportive father, but Avery seems to have inherited his discomfort with the unknown and unpredictable. 

 

Bett Devlin is her polar opposite. She lives with her father in Los Angeles, and is fearless, spontaneous, and a bit bossy. Also twelve, her dad is African-American and a building contractor. 

 

Oh, and both dads are gay. 

 

The book is told entirely through e-mails, voice mails, and letters, so the reader finds out about things in a somewhat sideways manner, and from multiple points of view, although Avery and Bett are the main perspectives. In the audiobook version, Avery is voiced by Cassandra Morris, while Bett is voice by Imani Parks. The other characters are voiced by a full cast. I won’t list all of them, but will note that this is very effective in bringing the various characters to life. I would definitely recommend this audiobook as well thought out and performed. 

 

My understanding is that the authors wrote the book kind of like this, due to geography - they wrote the book over e-mail, more or less - and based some elements of the book on their own friendship.

 

The book starts out with an email from Bett to Avery, with the subject “you don’t know me.” Which is true. What has happened is that Bett snooped in her dad’s email (he leaves the password in an easy to find place), and discovers that at a conference, he met Avery’s dad, and they fell in love. Bett’s dad is also a bit impulsive, and he convinces Avery’s dad to take a six week motorcycle tour of China with him - while their daughters attend a fancy summer camp and, the dads hope, get to know and like each other. What could possibly go wrong?

 

Bett is not happy about this at all, so she does a little poking around online and discovers Avery’s e-mail address, and writes her, firmly stating that the two of them will NOT be sisters, so they have to figure out how to break their dads up. 

 

The trouble is, eventually, first through e-mail, and then through the first part of camp, they go from enemies to frenemies, and eventually fast friends. Which is cool, until they manage to get kicked out of camp, everything goes wrong between the dads on the China trip, Avery reconnects with her biological mother who is a famous playwright, Bett’s grandmother gets cast in Avery’s mother’s new play, and….well, stuff goes down, let’s say. And the plot to break the dads up becomes a plot to get them back together. 

 

I feel like it would be a shame to give any more plot spoilers, because “what on earth is going to happen next because of these girls” is part of the fun of the book. I also won’t spoil the ending, except to say that it isn’t expected. 

 

The book is pretty funny - it has a light and humorous touch, despite dealing with some heavier topics. The story is straight-up fun. Both Avery and Bett are well written characters, very different in personality, yet their friendship feels very natural and real. The other characters also feel believable and true to life. There are no villains, and, with the exception of one bigoted parent of a minor character, the sort of people that seem like you would want in your life.

 

I do want to mention a few things that were particularly memorable. First is the complexity of sexuality for older generations. Avery’s dad didn’t figure out that he was gay until his 20s, and in that process, ended up having a one-night relationship with Avery’s mom. For my kids, discoveries like this seem to be a lot easier - they grow up knowing people who are out, and most of us parents now are more comfortable talking about sex than our parents were, and certainly than our grandparents were. 

 

Avery’s situation becomes complicated because soon after giving birth, her mom has to move to London for a career opportunity that she cannot afford to turn down. When things go on longer and longer, Avery’s dad ends up as essentially a sole parent, and the reconnection between Avery and her mom ends up never happening. At least until Bett takes matters into her own hands. 

 

At one time in my life, I would have found this unbelievable, and considered Avery’s mom to be a monster. But now, having done quite a few custody cases, I can see how the combination of geography and misunderstanding and immaturity in navigating difficult situations could lead to mistakes like this. One of the things the book handles well is the balance between the natural emotions of hurt and trauma and frustration and the desire of the adults to do the right thing. It is every bit as awkward as in real life, but the authors never give in to the temptation to assign blame or make a parent out to be evil. And they aren’t, just human. 

 

I also was impressed by the straightforward way that the book handles menstruation. There is an early discussion of it - Avery has started, but Bett hasn’t - then a more extended section in the middle when Bett gets her period, and the two of them have a good bit to discuss. The authors pull no punches, but just let the girls discuss it. There is no shamefulness to any of it, no implication that it is gross. It is just natural, and the girls deal with it. 

 

I was raised by parents who were not afraid to talk about sex or menstruation, and that is one of the best things about how they raised me. I don’t even remember how old I was when I first learned about menstruation, and it was never a really big deal. I think more boys need to be given accurate and non-sexist information, so they learn not to be mystified by the experiences of half their own species. I think my own kids have been raised that way - that is my intent at least. And having my teen boys listen to books like this can’t hurt. 

 

Likewise, the book is delightful in the way it doesn’t feel it has to tiptoe around gay parenting. For Bett and Avery - and I would imagine most kids of gay parents - there is nothing remarkable about their families. The only thing worth treating as an aberration is the occasional bigotry they encounter. They know their parents love them, and that families come in different configurations, and that only small-minded and small-hearted people feel the need to cast judgment. 

 

Without giving away too much of the ending, I really thought the way the authors ended the book worked well, and the message was really solid. The meaning of “family” is far broader than a mom and a dad and a kid or six. The idea that “family” meant a heterosexual nuclear family is really a very modern and Western Victorian idea, and one might even say an American idea. For most of history, families were multigenerational, often included stepparents and single parents, and extended beyond a bloodline to include cousins (broadly defined) and other members of the household who were not blood relatives but were part of the family in some sense. 

 

So regardless of whether Avery and Bett ever have married dads, they have, by the end of the book, become sisters in every way that actually matters. And other people have become part of the extended family too: Bett’s delightful grandmother, who finds her talent for acting and becomes a minor star. Avery’s mom, now back in everyone’s life. And whatever new spouses any of the above might someday have. 

 

More and more these days, I am finding this sort of family to be one that works for me. My family these days is less by blood, and far more by choice. Because of estrangement from some of my birth family, and the loss of my religious tribe, I have had to build relationships that are by choice, not blood, and find some of the roles in my children’s lives filled by non-relatives. Family looks different for us, and I expect that change will be our future as well. 

 

That is why books like this that celebrate friendship and complexity and acceptance and diversity are great. That is the real positive message this book brings. And, in this era of scorched-earth culture wars, so many of us appreciate a vision of a broader sense of community and family. 

 

Zeely by Virginia Hamilton

Source of book: I own this

 

Virginia Hamilton isn’t a household name these days, although she did win a Newbery for M. C. Higgins, The Great back in 1975. That is a shame. Hamilton was the first African-American female author of books for children to gain national recognition. The Newbery was only one of the many awards her books won, and she paved the way for a significant increase in diversity in children’s literature during my lifetime. 

 

Recently, the Library of America released a hardback edition of five of her novels. Since I like to encourage the publication of minority authors (and indeed any unjustly neglected author whose books are out of print or otherwise difficult to find), I went ahead and splurged on a new copy. My youngest still enjoys being read to, so I decided we should read one. We started with Zeely, mostly because it was the first one in the book. 

The original illustrations by Symeon Shimin

The book is about a journey of self-discovery, but it doesn’t have much actually happen. It is character and internally driven, not plot driven. Elizabeth and John, sister and younger brother, get on the train to spend the summer with their uncle Ross out in the country. Seeking to form an identity, Elizabeth decides that she and John will go by “Geeder” and “Toeboy” for the summer. 

 

One night, as they camp out in the yard under the stars, they see a mysterious tall woman in white, who they believe is a supernatural “walker,” potentially malevolent if it sees them. 

 

It turns out that the truth is a good bit different. The woman is Zeely Taybor, who works with her father at raising razorback hogs. Her family moved to the area from Canada after her mother died. Despite her impoverished circumstances, Zeely carries herself with a dignity that makes Geeder believe she is an African queen. 

 

When she and Zeely finally do talk, near the end of the book, Zeely shares two stories: one, a mythological origin story for the Watutsi people (her mother’s ancestors), and the other from Zeely’s childhood, when she would swim in a lake alone at night, before encountering a strange old woman. 

 

The stories are puzzling to Geeder at first, because Zeely doesn’t reveal exactly what they mean, or why she told them. Later, after processing everything, Geeder realizes that they are about embracing one’s selfhood rather than trying to be someone else. They are about seeing things differently, and in particular, seeing one’s own dignity and worth. For Elizabeth (as she resumes being), this includes seeing her heritage as an African-American girl as equal to the self-worth that Zeely shows. Because Zeely is a queen in the ways that really matter: not the petty ways of human politics, but in her kindness, gentleness, and her refusal to stoop to coarseness no matter her circumstances. 

 

We have read a number of books by black authors over the years, and have appreciated that many of the newer books aren’t focused just on social issues - racism, prejudice, unjust systems - but simply celebrate the lives of the people in the stories. I’m not saying there isn’t a place for the other kind - we have certainly read those too, and they are important for white kids like mine to read and understand. But I also love books that help us see our commonalities, and books like Zeely do that. 

 

Elizabeth and John are kids just like other kids, with their fears in the dark that they kind of sort of enjoy - that thrill of pushing the limit a bit. Elizabeth is clearly on the cusp of puberty, and not sure how to direct her emotional life as she becomes a woman. All of us have felt that way, honestly. That transition from child to adult is tough. We try on identities as we figure out who we are and who we want to be. My youngest is at that age too, and I hope she found some solidarity in this book. 

 

I definitely want to read the other books in the collection, as I somehow missed Hamilton as a child. 

 

***

 

You can peruse the list of books by black authors I have read and reviewed for this blog here. 

 

Sierra Nevada Sequence by Ardis Walker

 

Source of book: I own this. 

 

Have any of my readers heard of Ardis Walker before? If you haven’t heard of him - and his wife Gayle - you really should get to know them. 

 

Believe it or not, Bakersfield and Kern County weren’t always considered the backwards retrogressive uncouth members of the California family. For a time, we actually aspired to be a “progressive community” and put the memories of the mistreatment of the Okies during the dust bowl behind us. Don’t believe me? This sign actually existed, and I have friends who remember it. 

 

 

Not only that, Bakersfield claims as its own the former California governor and later Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Earl Warren. Yeah, that Earl Warren, who orchestrated the unanimous decision in Brown v. Board of Education. His court would go on to establish the series of precedents that today’s retrogressives HATE with a fury that is only matched by their racism and misogyny. Gideon v. Wainwright (right to counsel in a criminal case), Griswold (right to privacy and contraception), Roe v. Wade (freedom from forced pregnancy), and Loving (right to marry outside one’s race.) 

 

While Warren is justifiably famous, Ardis Walker should also be remembered as a great progressive figure from Kern County. 

 

Ardis was a relative of the infamous “Shooting Walker Clan” - his father Bill was the only brother not believed to have killed at least one man. Uncle Tom killed Uncle Newt before turning his gun on himself. Despite all the hullabaloo and bad publicity, Ardis managed to enroll at USC at age 24, and earn his engineering degree. He worked in that field for a few years, before switching to journalism, writing for a couple of local papers. He met and married Gayle, who taught at a local school. 

 

From there, Ardis proceeded to spend time in local politics, and ran a hotel up in Kernville. He also wrote poetry and non-fiction, and became active in the conservationist movement. During his stint as a county supervisor, he was instrumental in the establishment of California State University Bakersfield. 

 

And that is just part of his local impact. But there is more! Ardis testified in favor of the Wilderness Act (signed by President Carter) and ensured that the Golden Trout Wilderness and others in central California were protected. While Gayle wasn’t as visible, her work behind the scenes was important to the effort as well. 

 

So, there is your local history lesson of the day. 

 

I ran across this book in the discards for our local library. (And don’t get me started on how Kern has the lowest per-capita library funding in the state, or how our former District Attorney literally argued that every library in the county should be closed before her office lost a single dollar in the budget.) It was sad to see it there, but I was glad to rescue it and add it to my collection. 

Sierra Nevada Sequence is a set of 31 sonnets about Ardis’ beloved Sierra Nevada mountains and its flora and fauna. In addition to the 31 official poems, there is a sonnet dedication to Gayle, and an epilogue (also a sonnet) entitled “Vale.” This particular book contains the woodcut illustrations by Kirk Martin, and is number 290 of a limited run of 1000 signed by the author. I believe the original binding was replaced with that generic library hardback stuff from the 1970s. In any case, it is in excellent shape, and feels like a bit of history with Ardis’ kind of messy signature at the back. 

I am a big fan of sonnets, so I understood why Walker chose the form for this sequence. It is a bit difficult to describe them. There are some lines that feel awkward, but not badly awkward, and they are not on the level of the great masters of the form. But they are pretty good, which is more than I can say of plenty of lesser poets of the Victorian Era. Some are particularly lovely. All of them show an eye and ear for the magic of the mountains, and I felt Walker was successful at bringing to life particular places I know myself, or particular animals and plants, and the experiences of different moods in the Sierras. 

 

Here are the ones that I liked best, although I could certainly have chosen more than these. 

 

Asylum

 

Men tremble at their tasks if they but hear

The pounding pulse of wild winds passing by.

At thunder-clap they drop to earth and lie

Prostrate beneath a soul-engulfing fear.

Like conflagrations worldly hatred sear

Their souls. Pained hearts their dull forbodings cry 

Against dark clouds that bank the sombre sky.

Their stifled prayers arise, for doom seems near.

 

But men will walk the wilderness again

To heal the tortured mind. The firmaments

Sound harmonies eternal they can store

In troubled hearts. Above the starry plain

Sierra crests will lure pale penitents

With peaks all tipped in gold forevermore. 

 

In our own troubled times, it does my heart good to go to the mountains. I feel what he is saying here. 

 

The next one is definitely a favorite, on the same note.

 

Nativity

 

When faith expires I swear that I will go

Beyond the plain to where sierras rise;

A contrite heart will climb to meet the skies;

My eyes will seek a star whose hallowed glow

Lured wise men once. I, viewing all below

With vision almost Godly, will surmise

That works of peace hold greater enterprise

Than war-worn creeds embattled men must know.

 

Beside a secret spring on some far hill,

With song of bird and sigh of ancient pine

To mend my faith, the solitude will start

New symphonies for troubled minds, good will.

There all my hopes will shape a charm divine

To cleanse dull eyes, to lift a heavy heart.

 

I have been close to Rock House Basin, and want to hike there, if we can have a fall without so many wildfires. The whole southeastern sierra is a unique and often forbidding place, but with an isolated beauty of its own. 

 

Night in Rock House Basin

 

The sounds of night move softly on the land.

Wind whispers through the sage. A night bird cries.

On misty shades that mound against the rise,

A full moon crests; it shears its golden band

Along the jet-black ridge. On banks of sand

Beside the wash its pale reflection lies.

Far, far away, nose lifted toward the skies,

A lone coyote calls. We understand. 

 

In our wild hearts untamed by mart or mall

We, too, sing out our primal ecstasy,

Our spirits lifted in a cosmic rite

Of wilderness. Beyond the mountain wall

Is din of traffic. Here our dreams are free

To join the wilding symphonies of night. 

 

Those unmistakable times of day and night feature prominently in the sequence, as do the various animals that haunt them. Here is another one I thought was particularly good. 

 

Dusk Magic

 

What rarer ecstasy than wild bird song;

Or muted call of quail where, high and still,

A lonely hawk soars above a lonely hill;

Or spectral echoes where coyotes through

The air with melancholy? These belong

In far retreats we search beside each rill

For healing balm a wilderness can spill

On souls distraught by universal wrong. 

 

What new adventure of the spirit lies 

Beyond a mountain or across a vale?

Our path is dim, deserted long ago.

We walk where wild things move with mild surprise.

Our solitude inspires a vision pale

Of wanderers at peace in alpine glow. 

 

The last one I want to feature is bittersweet right now. The Golden Trout Wilderness, that gem that Ardis Walker fought so hard for, was devastated by the Castle Fire in 2021, which also burned much of the area around the community my wife grew up in. Hundreds of mature sequoias were killed (trees that, pre-climate-change, lived for thousands of years.) I haven’t visited that wilderness since then, in part because the trails were closed until they could be cleared of hazards - a daunting task in such incredibly rugged and remote terrain. Even if we stop damaging the environment further, these places will not be the same as they were during my lifetime. Still, some of the burned areas had more moderate temperatures, and that burning is beneficial. This last poem is about a unique resident of the watershed. The Kern River originates behind Mt. Whitney, and flows to disappear in the southern San Joaquin Valley. (Formerly in a seasonal lake, but these days, most us diverted for irrigation.) It has lacked a connection to the ocean, and thus developed its own species of trout over the many thousands of years since before the last ice age. 

 

Golden Trout

 

From primal shores, down ages dimly past

You fled your salt tide for our rendezvous.

What geologic eons nurtured you

In utter isolation where, at last,

You shed the steelhead, then the rainbow east

To match the sunset, don its oureate hue?

Across your par-mark shines the yellow spew

Of clouds embroiled on mountains dim and vast.

 

An errant soul, enamored of your spell,

Beholds the ancient miracles in store

Where meadowlands bear sun-reflecting dreams,

By devious ways, in ages none can tell,

I, too, migrated from a primal shore

To win perfection in your golden streams.

 

There are a few sonnets about bird species too, but I didn’t want to quote the entire book. It isn’t easy to find these days, unfortunately, but if you run across a copy, it is worth picking up.