100 books like Terrible Things

Many have studied how in 1963 African Americans marched to gain equality, especially in southern towns, like Birmingham, Alabama. But I never knew that the first main march involved thousands of children and teens who marched so their parents wouldn’t lose their jobs. These brave youth found the courage to face their fears and the hatred of whites who fought to keep them separate and unequal. Their protest march encouraged adults to join them. Hateful efforts to stop the march were broadcast across the country, ultimately changing the direction of the civil rights movement. Bold pictures show everyday children and civil rights leaders finally gaining rights to playgrounds and diners and eventually better schooling. An important story, simply written—and about children who made a difference.

The time is nearing for the lemming community to take the great leap—to run to the cliffs and keep going, plunging into the water below. Why? Because that’s what lemmings do. In his brilliant allegory, Alan Arkin explores what happens when one young lemming asks, “Can lemmings swim?” What happens when one suddenly realizes he’s uncomfortable with following the crowd and has the courage to say, This isn’t right and I don’t want any part of it. Arkin’s book has always been a source of hope for me, hope and belief in the power of the individual resisting what sometimes feels like society run amok.

“They say the people could fly. They say that long ago in Africa some of the people knew magic. And they could walk up on the air like climbin on a gate. And they flew like blackbirds over the fields.” These beautiful words and those that follow have remained in my heart from the moment I first discovered this story in Hamilton’s 1985 folktale collection. The inspiring messages of hope, faith, and the innate desire for freedom are powerfully conveyed through Hamilton’s fine storytelling and the Dillons’ elegant art. I love the feeling of triumph as “old and young who were called slaves” join hands, rise in the air, and fly away to freedom.

Based on actual slave documents, Ashley Bryan, through his accomplished paintings and poetry, imagines the lives of eleven men and women sold at auction in 1828. We learn the market prices of the eleven, but Bryan goes deep, showing us the true value of each unique individual. The soul and spirit of this lovely book lay in the astounding resilience, the survival of hope and dreams in the hearts and minds of these enslaved people. Amidst the ugliness of slavery, Bryan manages to leave me uplifted, even joyful — joyful about the unwavering human belief in and desire for freedom.  

In Georgie Radbourn’s America, baseball (even the mention of it) is illegal, Winter is eternal and everyone over the age of eight must work in factories. All this because of dictator and embittered former baseball player Boss Swaggart. The people fear Swaggart and his Factory Police too much to resist. Georgie is born into this world, so he knows nothing else. Still, something in him rebels.

Shannon’s Orwellian tale is about baseball, yes, but it’s more than it appears (as is true of the best books). It’s about how we often don’t grasp how much we love something until it’s taken away. It’s about how, without the things that give us hope, spring never comes. It’s about how one brave person can triumph and inspire courage in others.

During times of war, children often wonder what they can do to help. When Polly’s father joined fighting in World War I, she planted food, stopped eating meat on Mondays, and wrote to her father overseas. But she wanted to make more of a difference. After her teacher asked kids to save their peach pits for soldiers to use as filters in their masks, Polly suggested her town hold a peach pit parade to gather more peach pits. She made signs, wrote to newspapers to announce the parade, and sent notices to other classrooms, schools, and Girl Scout troops. In the end the parade gleaned enough peach pits to filter hundreds of gas masks—all from one girl’s idea. I try to emphasize that each child can make a huge difference with seemingly small and everyday actions.

Most people learn in school about Paul Revere’s ride in 1775 to warn colonists that British soldiers were coming to attack them. But few learn about the 16-year-old girl who made a similar run to gather militia for a surprise attack. Sybil supposedly rode alone at night about 40 miles in pouring rain, ultimately gathering 400 men to battle the British soldiers. She rode farther than Paul Revere in worse weather, and didn’t get captured as he did. This ordinary teenager, Sybil, was able to complete an ordinary feat.

I have been a Patricia Polacco fan for years. Her books show real situations that kids face growing up. One is dealing with a bully. That takes courage. This story recounts how a girl named Lyla gets caught up with being popular, only to find that kids in that group can be nasty to others, especially her best friend Jamie. Lyla decides that she doesn’t like when Jamie is bullied by this group and finally tells them. Similarly, her best friend tells the principal when this group tries to make it look like Lyla cheats, but he knows differently. Bravery shows itself in many ways. In this case it’s speaking the truth and standing up for others.

There is a common assumption among a younger generation brought up on the horrors of the Holocaust or Shoah that the Allies waged war to save the Jews. As Aronson shows in this candid and carefully researched volume, nothing could be further from the truth. The war waged by Hitler against the Jews was well-known, but the Allies did very little to try to end or modify the outcome. For anyone interested in the war, understanding the fate of the Jews in both German and Allied terms is bound up with wider issues of strategy and politics. Aronson tells a slice of the wartime narrative that many might want to forget. It is also a reminder that the war and the Holocaust were bound together, not separate histories. This perspective has not won general acceptance, but it should. 

Zable writes of the haunted consciousness of post-conflict generations, in his case, the holocaust.

He argues that great stories must have both terror and beauty, or they merely add to the darkness. It is easy to see the terror, but what of the jewels? I grappled with this question too - how do we rightly remember victims of extreme violence? When I looked to Zable, I found a work imbued with poetry and lyricism.

Jewels and Ashes is a transcendent retracing of the terrain of his parents and grandparents.