Bartography

Two things keep me from really knowing how well each month’s history books go over with their intended audience: my absence five days a week and seven-year-old S’s reticence when it comes to talking about books he’s read.

If I ask directly, “Did you read such-and-such?” or “What did you think of that book about so-and-so?” he clams up. (Parental moment of clarity: So that’s what it takes…) Not only that, but I think I can hear the thought form in his noggin, “Ah, this book must be important to Dad — now I’m definitely not going to talk to him about it.”

For all of us, reading is a private act — and for some, it’s more private than for others. That’s not so say that it can’t also be a public, community, family act, but we’re all entitled to our privacy, to read what we want to read, to read into those things what we want to read into them, and to hold close our thoughts about those things we read. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Still, occasionally I tease out some insight into what, if anything, S got out of a particular book by bringing up a related topic at the dinner table and seeing what he chimes in with. But at least as frequently I won’t know if he even read a certain book until he brings up some minor point about it weeks or even months after I brought it home.

Anyway, all of this is a roundabout way of saying that, of the books I brought home for 1850-1900, the only ones I know were hits with S were the books about Teddy Roosevelt and the Brooklyn Bridge, both of which he requested for his bedtime story — the clearest giveaway.

I’ve been at this for nearly a year now. For you newcomers, here are links to my previous posts on U.S. history reading, which is my main contribution to the homeschooling of our two sons.

Prehistory-1621: The List and The Wrap-Up
1622-1750: The List and The Wrap-Up
1750-1800: The List and The Wrap-Up
1775-1825: The List and The Wrap-Up
1800-1850: The List and The Wrap-Up
1825-1875: The List and The Wrap-Up
1850-1900: The List
1875-1925: Stay tuned.
1900-1950: The List and The Wrap-Up
1925-1975: The List and The Wrap-Up
1950-2000: The List and The Wrap-Up
1975-present: The List and The Wrap-Up

With the Civil War and the decades-long run-up to it behind us, I had hoped to find some books for this month’s U.S. history reading that overtly addressed Reconstruction. In May we’re covering 1850-1900, and how this country went about (imperfectly) putting itself back together is a pretty key theme for that time period.

But aside from Tonya Bolden’s new Cause: Reconstruction America 1863-1877 — which appears to be aimed at readers somewhat older than seven-year-old S (let alone two-year-old F) — I came up empty-handed. (As always, I’d love to get your recommendations.) Still, I came up with several promising titles covering other aspects of the era.

• More Than Anything Else by Marie Bradby and illustrated by Chris Soentpiet. A fictional tale about young Booker T. Washington, in the vein of The Day of Ahmed’s Secret.
• You’re On Your Way, Teddy Roosevelt by Judith St. George and illustrated by Matt Faulkner. I remember being fascinated as a boy by Roosevelt’s transformation from a sickly youth into a man who redefined “robust.” We’ll see how well this newish telling of his story goes over.
• Steamboat! The Story of Captain Blanche Leathers by Judith Heide Gilliland and illustrated by Holly Meade. We read another recent title, Ste-e-e-e-eamboat a-Comin’!, not too long ago, and it went over better with F than with S. Blanche Leathers’ story offers much more technical detail, which may win S over.
• A Weed Is a Flower: The Life of George Washington Carver by Aliki. Like her William Penn book that I brought home a few months back, it says a lot that this biography is still in print four decades after publication.
• The Brooklyn Bridge by Elizabeth Mann and illustrated by Alan Witschonke. The lone ringer, a returning favorite for a budding engineer. It’s a beautiful book to boot, as is every title I’ve seen from Mikaya Press.
• A Full Hand by Thomas F. Yezerski. I’ve come to appreciate historical fiction a lot more in the past year, and I’ve got high hopes for this one. The illustrations remind me of previous winners The Ox-Cart Man and The Amazing Impossible Erie Canal.
• Across America on an Emigrant Train by Jim Murphy. This one looks like it has it all, not just emigrants and trains, but Robert Louis Stevenson and buffalo slaughter as well. Maybe a bit too advanced, maybe not, but anything by Jim Murphy is bound to be good. I would read the man’s old grocery lists, if not for that restraining order.
• When Esther Morris Headed West: Women, Wyoming, and the Right to Vote by Connie Nordhielm Wooldridge and illustrated by Jacqueline Rogers. This makes two months in a row for Wooldridge, whose John Ericsson bio was a hit with both boys in April.
• Kid Blink Beats the World by Don Brown. If my boys go on strike this month, I’ve got only myself to blame.

I’ve been at this for nearly a year now. For you newcomers, here are links to my previous posts on U.S. history reading, which is my main contribution to the homeschooling of our two sons.

Prehistory-1621: The List and The Wrap-Up
1622-1750: The List and The Wrap-Up
1750-1800: The List and The Wrap-Up
1775-1825: The List and The Wrap-Up
1800-1850: The List and The Wrap-Up
1825-1875: The List and The Wrap-Up
1850-1900: You’re reading it!
1875-1925: Stay tuned.
1900-1950: The List and The Wrap-Up
1925-1975: The List and The Wrap-Up
1950-2000: The List and The Wrap-Up
1975-present: The List and The Wrap-Up

The way this month’s U.S. history reading went has made me one happy man. Both boys were enchanted by at least some of the books I brought home — with seven-year-old S, that’s not always the case, and with two-year-old F, I hadn’t really expected it to be.

S’s favorite had to be the three-book Prairie Skies series, which places the reader at the heart of the battle in the mid-1850s over whether Kansas would be a free state or a slave state. I’d initially brought home just the first book, but S devoured it quickly and demanded the others. He hasn’t said much about them, other than that the third book has the most dramatic tension. I haven’t yet finished that one myself, so I’m eager to see just what he’s talking about.

Roughing It on the Oregon Trail tied in nicely with S’s fondness for his Oregon Trail CD-ROM, and you should have heard his excitement when he recognized Jim Bridger‘s name — which he’d learned from the game — in the four-page author’s note for The Sweetwater Run.

To which I must add: the author’s note! Holy moly — he let me read him the author’s note! I don’t remember the last time that happened, and I’m pretty sure I can count the total number of occurrences on two fingers. Unfortunately, a well-past-F’s-bedtime situation arose, keeping us from reading the last few paragraphs, in which the author explains the fictional elements in his story of Buffalo Bill’s boyhood involvement with the Pony Express, but maybe I can still sneak those paragraphs in. Or maybe I won’t have to sneak at all.

Both boys enjoyed Thank You Very Much, Captain Ericsson and Sparrow Jack, two tales of very different contributions by immigrants — ironclad battleships and inchworm-eating birds — during that 1825-1875 period. And while S wasn’t impressed by the spare text of Cecil’s Story — “This is boring” — F loved it. More, perhaps, than you would think a two-year-old would (or should) like a story about a boy whose father is disfigured in the Civil War, but I’ll take it.

Real quickly-like, because daylight savings time has done a number on my sons’ bedtime (and thus my evening blogging time), here are the books that I might (or might not) be reading with 7-year-old S as we move into the period of U.S. history between 1825 and 1875:

• Roughing It on the Oregon Trail by Diane Stanley and illustrated by Holly Berry
• Thank You Very Much, Captain Ericsson by Connie Nordhielm Wooldridge and illustrated by Andrew Glass
• Prairie Skies: Pioneer Summer by Deborah Hopkinson and illustrated by Patrick Faricy
• The Sweetwater Run: The Story of Buffalo Bill Cody and the Pony Express by Andrew Glass
• Li’l Dan, the Drummer Boy: A Civil War Story by Romare Bearden
• Cecil’s Story by George Ella Lyon and illustrated by Peter Catalanotto
• Sparrow Jack by Mordicai Gerstein
• Ten Mile Day: And the Building of the Transcontinental Railroad by Mary Ann Fraser

And just for myself — since I figure battlefield photography would be a bit much for a child who still thrills to Bob the Builder — I brought home the riveting Photo by Brady: A Picture of the Civil War by Jennifer Armstrong.

There’s still time for me to add another book or two to the shelf for this month. Bartography readers, what have I missed?

All my U.S. history book-selecting for 1800-1850 didn’t amount to much. Seven-year-old S had me read him the Erie Canal and Charles Goodyear books once each, and he may have listened in on one of my many readings of Apples to Oregon at the request of two-year-old F.

But for the most part, the books I had so carefully chosen simply could not compete with the bedroom floorful of Nate the Great and McBroom books that S picked for himself (or asked me to find on his behalf). And so, my older son must face the remainder of his eighth year with a less-than-limited grasp of the first half of 19th century America.

I think he’ll survive.

There’s been a great discussion at Big A little a this weekend about Books your parents want you to read, and I’m glad I was able to offer up a perspective that has been, frankly, hard for me to come around to. I like to share my knowledge and interests with S, but I’ve learned not to take it personally when his enthusiasm could fit on a comma without even hiding the tail. I’ve come to recognize that what really matters is that he be comfortable with his own knowledge and interests. And if verbal output is any measure, boy, is he ever.

Of course, I’ve also learned to be as sneaky as I am stubborn. And this evening, when I just happened to allow him a glimpse of the illustrations of the Civil War navy battle in the picture book I was reading, his curiosity was piqued. Guess whose requested bedtime story tonight was about the inventor of the Monitor?

With the last of the 1700s behind us, my sons and I have moved fully into the 19th century with this month’s batch of U.S. history books, which cover 1800-1850.

As with last month, we’ve got a mix of returning favorites and titles that are new to us, as well as a mix of nonfiction, historical fiction, and tall tale. I’ll report back in a few weeks on the titles that went over best with seven-year-old S and two-year-old F. In the meantime, here’s a rundown of the bounty from our local libraries:

• Abe Lincoln: The Boy Who Loved Books by Kay Winters and illustrated by Nancy Carpenter
• The Amazing Impossible Erie Canal by Cheryl Harness
• Trail of Tears by Joseph Bruchac and illustrated by Diana Magnuson
• Voices of the Alamo by Sherry Garland and illustrated by Ronald Himler
• Barefoot: Escape on the Underground Railroad by Pamela Duncan Edwards and illustrated by Henry Cole
• A Place Called Freedom by Scott Russell Sanders and illustrated by Thomas B. Allen

(A note about this one: One of the first results you’ll see in a web search for this title is a New York Times review by Christopher Paul Curtis casting doubt on the historical accuracy of Sanders’ tale of an early African-American settlement. However, I did find an article about New Philadelphia — the first such town — that suggests that A Place Called Freedom may not be farfetched after all. It’s too bad there’s no author’s note from Sanders to provide context or background for his story.)

• Margaret Knight, Girl Inventor by Marlene Targ Brill and illustrated by Joanne Friar (I’ve also got my eye on Emily Arnold McCully’s brand-new Marvelous Mattie: How Margaret E. Knight Became an Inventor)
• A pair of eager-to-please biographies by Robert M. Quackenbush: Quick Annie, Give Me a Catchy Line!: A Story of Samuel F.B. Morse and Oh, What an Awful Mess!: A Funny Book About the Invention of Rubber, about Charles Goodyear
• Mr. Emerson’s Cook by Judith Byron Schachner
• Apples to Oregon by Deborah Hopkinson and illustrated by Nancy Carpenter
• By the Great Horn Spoon! by Sid Fleischman

I had already picked all these books when I discovered a suggested reading list of American Historical Fiction in Picture Book Format from the University of Iowa. I’ll undoubtedly turn to this list for ideas next month and beyond, and as always, I’d love to hear your suggestions of great books I missed this time around.

For six-year-old S, the big winners in the 1775-1825 derby were Jean Van Leeuwen’s Nothing Here but Trees and Scott Russell Sanders’ The Floating House.

These two picture books have a lot in common. They’re both historical fiction, as opposed to the nonfiction I’d previously gravitated toward. (For those of you just joining us, my contribution to our sons’ homeschooling is my monthly selection of a batch of books covering a certain period in U.S. history.) And they both tell tales of families moving west into the wilds of Ohio and Indiana during the early 19th century.

But the stories are distinct enough to each offer readers something different. In Van Leeuwen’s book, it’s the claustrophobic sensation of setting up a homestead alone in a place where the trees block out the sky. In Sanders’, it’s the wide-openness of drifting down a big river in the occasional company of other families.

Sanders, by the way, has written several picture books taking place on the early-1800s frontier. We’ll be reading a lot more from him.

This was also the month that two-year-old F really got into some of the books I brought home, especially Ox-Cart Man — one of the most beautiful books ever — and Stephen and Rosemary Benet’s Johnny Appleseed. Inspired by the latter, for days he’s been toting around a tin pot, though it’s too small to fit on his head.

A caveat about the Benet book, the text for which dates back to 1933: I wasn’t wild, so to speak, about the lines The stalking Indian,/The beast in its lair/Did no hurt while he was there./For they could tell/As wild things can,/That Jonathan Chapman/Was God’s own man.

Though an afterword by the Benets’ son Thomas tries to put the “wild things” bit into context, and though S.D. Schindler’s illustration of those stalking Indians is both warm and respectful, the fact remains that the poem refers to a specific group of human beings as “wild things.”

While that didn’t stop us from re-reading the book a good many times, I did feel obliged to read aloud the afterword and “discuss” — yes, with a just-turned-two-year-old — how standards of what’s acceptable change over the years. And all in all, I’d rather bring home Reeve Lindbergh and Kathy Jakobsen Hallquist’s version of Johnny Appleseed next year.

Finally, while library delays kept us from getting our hands on Old Ironsides this month, a post on Semicolon led me to Brinton Turkle‘s Thy Friend, Obadiah and Rachel and Obadiah, both of which went over big — with both boys.