Emancipate those books!

Recently, our washing machine's motherboard conked out, so M. and I have been visiting the Manoa Laundry, something we've not done for the past four years. While we were dismayed to find the laundromat sadly decrepit and a shadow of its former clean, well-lighted self, its rolling carts grimy and stripped of their laundry hangers and several of the washers and dryers broken, I chanced upon a serendipitous discovery: a cache of books, Post-its waving like banners from the covers. Emblazoned on them was the following message: "I'm free! I'm not lost. Please pick me up, read me, and help me with my journey."

Inside, I found a bookmark that directed me to the Book Crossing website. Apparently, the site has existed since April 2001. It's an old-fashioned idea--recycling books that one no longer wants--with a digital age, social-networking twist. The wonderfully sustainable premise of Book Crossing: to spread and share literary "wealth" by releasing books for free into the wild. Book emancipators register books on the website, and each book receives a unique Book Crossing ID number. Once you find a book, you have the option of contributing to an on-line journal that tracks the journey of that book, and follow the progress of the text, post-release. Very cool.

To quote Sting, "Free, free, set them free..."

Michael Pollan, _The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals_

After languishing three weeks on the Hawaii State Public Library request list, I finally obtained a copy of Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals It was well worth the wait, as this is an excellent read: easily the most provocative, well-written book I've read in a long spell: informative, investigative journalism, written with panache and wit. The four meals referenced in the title represent four different pathways by which food reaches our tables: industrial-conventional, industrial organic, small-scale farming, and the old-fashioned hunter-gatherer foraging method. I savored every page, from Pollan's wry detailing of his family's McDonalds meal, consumed in typical American-millenial style--in the car, to his experience decapitating chickens, to his stalking of chanterelle mushrooms in the urban environs of Berkeley. Pollan helps us traverse the complex minefield of modern food by asking thoughtful, critical questions about what we choose to consume and the costs of those choices.

Those desiring to read even more of Michael Pollan's work can find a wonderful cache of on-line essays at http://www.michaelpollan.com/.

Sarah McFarland Taylor, _Green Sisters_

Taylor, an assistant professor of religion at Northwestern University, writes an ethnography detailing the intersection of American Catholicism, eco-consciousness, and environmental activism.

Diana Abu-Jaber's _Crescent_

Initially, I confess that after the first few chapters, I was ready to write Diana Abu-Jaber's 2003 novel, Crescent, off as pleasant, albeit gossamer-light, frothy "chick lit": a formulaic plotline, where an attractive, talented, but jaded and lovelorn chef finds amour at first sight with a dark, handsome, literary guy with a mysterious past, and they live happily ever after.

However, I'm happy to report that as it progressed, the novel grew on me and revealed a lot more complexity than was apparent at first inspection. A text rich with allusions, the title Crescent captures the three intersecting worlds of the book: the romantic, the political, and the culinary.

A crescent moon, literally, is a lunar phase: a new moon that is waxing. As a metaphor, it represents a fresh start in life, perhaps even a budding romance, as in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, where the Amazon queen Hippolyta affirms to her beloved, Theseus, that "the moon, like to a silver bow/New-bent in heaven, shall behold/The night of our solemnities." In Shakespeare, the moon bears witness to Hippolyta's and Theseus' wedding and heralds their deepening affection for each other. In this novel, Sirine, the 39-year-old protagonist, hovers on the cusp of middle age. Single and unattached, sought after by many of her cafe customers, yet curiously aloof, she finds love unexpectedly with Hanif Al Eyad,or "Han", Iraqi intellectual and newly-hired linguistics professor in the Near Eastern Studies department at UCLA.

The crescent also has political and religious implications. In conjunction with a star, it is a symbol associated with Islam and Arab countries, and discovering one's Arab identity is a recurring thread throughout the novel. Hanif also bears a crescent-shaped scar by his eye, a remnant of political persecution under the reign of Saddam Hussein. However, before its connection with Islam, the crescent moon was a symbol of Diana/Artemis, the goddess of chastity, and thus it also could connect to Sirine's solitude.

Finally, the crescent moon also has culinary connections, as it shares its shape with gh'rayba, shortbread cookies infused with orange-flower water. Apparently, Abu-Jaber also is a food writer; no surprise then, that the spicing and textures of food are sensuously and lavishly rendered. Food serves as a metaphor for Arab identity and culture, yet as with Proust, it also serves as a trigger for memory. Readers will undoubtedly also find linkages with the film Chocolat , with its pretty confectioner who infuses love into her candies, and Laura Esquivel's magical-realist Como Agua Para Chocolate , where food absorbs the emotions of its makers. In fact, not only does Crescent's format echo Esquivel's novel: both are narratives followed by a cookbook chaser, but Abu-Jaber also gives a sly nod to Esquivel, as Sirine receives an unnamed book as a bridesmaid's present, "about a woman who cried into her cooking and infected her guests with her emotions".

While reading, I also noted several similarities between
Crescent and Shakespeare's Othello . Both works explore themes of exile and straddling cultures, and without disclosing too many "spoilers" for the novel, Crescent, like Othello, also has jealousy, betrayal, a misplaced love token, and has a character, Nathan, who obsessively records every small detail of Hanif and Sirine's relationship, echoing the way that Iago enviously marks the love between Othello and Desdemona.

In regard the book's architectural structure, Abu-Jaber interweaves two narratives, one real, the other fantastical. The fantastical strand, reminiscent of the tales in Scherherazade and the 1001 Nights, features Abdelrahman Salahadin, an ancestor of Sirine's paternal uncle, a Near Eastern scholar, translator, and storyteller. The magical-realist episodes, which begin every chapter of Crescent, chart the adventures of the nomadic, wayward Salahadin, as he travels the world and eventually lands in Hollywood, assuming a new identity as Omar Sharif (yes, I'm serious; you'll have to read to find out how...) While the Salahadin stories seem a bit disconnected at first from the romantic narrative of Hanif and Sirine--there's arguable abruptness created in the narrative, due to the lack of transition between the fantastical and the real--astute readers will discover that the two strands not only parallel each other, but also echo Homer's The Odyssey . No accident that Sirine's uncle describes Hanif as "a hero. Like Ulysses" (18)? Sirine's name, too, sounds like the fabled "Sirens", the women that almost fatally lured Ulysses to his death; yet in this case, the parallel is purely a playful one on Abu-Jaber's part.

So, in sum: Crescent provides excellent summer reading: perfect beach fare with its sensuous lyricism and romance, yet just enough political and literary substance to assuage any guilty pangs.

Reflecting on Technology, Learning, and Education

Yesterday, our English Department had a student guest presenter, a Hogwarts junior, who talked about her experience using various technology tools--blogs, Twitter, podcasting, videoSkyping--and how technology has transformed her learning.

While there were arguably rough moments in terms of her presentation, I admired the student's desire to share her experiences with us (a gutsy move!) and felt her genuine enthusiasm and passion for her projects. In addition, she underscored several important points re: the intersection of writing, learning, and technology, and to her credit, did so more articulately than a few paid adult educational technology consultants I've seen. The salient threads:

1. Writing becomes more meaningful when it is purpose-driven and
generated from one's passions: if teachers can discover and foster
those passions in their students, the caliber of work will increase.

2. It is vital for humans to build a sense of community and converse
with kindred spirits; technology helps to transcend the borders of
geographic distance and time and broadens one's audience.

3. Sometimes the best education comes from our self-directed projects;
it's important for us to find personal meaning, outside of extrinsic
motivators (the A, the accolades, etc) in what we do.

4. While we should uphold standards for student work, our teaching--and
our own learning/professional growth--is enhanced when we provide
flexibility and creativity in how students demonstrate their learning
and meet those standards. There's more than one way to exhibit
excellence. While technology opens rich possibilities for both
research and expression, strong foundational skills in reading,
writing, and speaking remain essential. In fact, they are crucial, now that communication venues and media have increased exponentially, making publishing instant and easily accessible.

As a speech teacher, I was also reminded of the continuing importance of
oral, versus. virtual, presentation and the discussion our department had when
we first considered the junior/senior Speech course some years back: that students
can be so amazingly articulate and cogent in print, yet oral persuasion--and sparring/fielding impromptu questions with intelligent adults!--presents a different set of challenges that often thwarts the best of us.

So here's to straddling both worlds, techie and oratorical, and to upholding the cause of joyful, real learning.

Wild About Worms

In case you've been wondering why there's been such a paucity of posts on "Muse of Fire", it's because I've been shifting energies to "Earth Dragon", a blog documenting my Wodehouse Sustainability Grant from Hogwarts Academy. Check it out.

Baracking the Vote: The 2008 Hawaii Democratic Caucus

On Tuesday, February 19, my toddler and I attended our first caucus. Although I've voted in every single election since I turned 18, bucking Hawaii's trend of low voter participation, I've never bothered attending a caucus. Perhaps it's because I shy away from pigeon-holing myself as a card-carrying anything, preferring the freedom of voting case-by case, rather than according to Party loyalty. However, my caucus apathy also stems from the fact that the presidential nominee already is a "done deal" before Hawaii even commits its delegates.

This year, Hawaii had a chance to shape political outcomes, as the Democratic presidential race between Barack Obama (Punahou '79) and Hillary Clinton (Wellesley '69) has been particularly competitive. The popular voice, for once, could sway the course of events, shifting much-needed delegates to either nominee: how could we pass up the opportunity to voice our opinion? As I told my toddler, "If you don't make your choices, someone else will make them for you."

And so we drove into Palolo Elementary School's driveway at the stroke of 6:30 p.m., when District 20's site opened up for registration. In our possession: a completed blue Democratic Party registration card. We arrived just in time to snag the last space in a schoolyard quadruple-parked with cars, end to end. The school swarmed with people, queuing for WikiWiki Voter Registration forms and blue Party cards. Squeezing our way through the teeming masses, we made our way to the registration table, where a volunteer received my registration card, checked my ID against a list of registered voters, and waved me to a table marked Precinct 1. For the second time that night, we slid into the last possible space.

Seconds later, the cafeteria became standing-room only. Energy electrified the room, cafeteria benches protesting the weight of adults squeezed side by side, excited conversation punctuated by panicked cries for more registration cards, forms, and voter sign-in sheets, and frantic queries to find one's precinct. In other words, absolute chaos.

About ten minutes after we'd sat down, our precinct official ushered the whole lot of us, three tables worth, into the schoolyard, as apparently the Party'd not anticipated the massive overflow of people, and needed to clear space at the front. No room at the inn! As we passed the monkey bars, the toddler queried, "Mama, why are they sending us to the playground? I thought we were going to the Democratic Caucus." Out of the mouths of babes!

Our official whisked us to the covered basketball court and informed us that we'd have to wait there until 7 p.m. "And we've run out of ballots", he said, "so you can just write the name of your preferred candidate on a sheet of paper, if you have one. I'll come back at 7, and then you can vote, and either leave or stick around for the Party meeting...Have you all signed in?" "Huh? What sign-in?", we collectively responded, and our Senator, Les Ihara, scuttled off in search of sign-in sheets...

So there we were, a motely, working-class mix: patrician, lavender-coiffed Japanese ladies in their eighties rubbing elbows with the Rasta dreadlock guy practicing skateboard tricks, 100th Battalion veterans, middle-aged men clad in well-worn zoris and their best shorts, and a posse of activists sporting Obama t-shirts. Students on laptops sprawled on the asphalt floor, while professionals checked email on their Blackberries, to the live slack-key strains of a guitarist playing "Island Style" in the corner. My toddler, the youngest one there, coolly absorbed the collective insanity. One man smiled at us, and tilted his chin in her direction: "Ey, anyone check this one's ID?" Everyone laughed. Then, in the absence of any organization, our neighborhood galvanized in fine grassroots style. "Anyone get peppah?" someone called out, and a lady riffled through her handbag, triumphantly brandishing a pad of paper pilfered from the Las Vegas Fremont Hotel: "Get! Ho, I was feeling so bad fo' taking this, but lucky, yeah? Comes in handy..." So we mingled, laughed, and conversed, ripping our papers to share with our neighbors, passing around pens, and generally had a great time. Neighbors took it upon themselves to make sure that everyone had signed in and that newcomers were apprised of the procedure. When our precinct official returned at 7 p.m., he was shocked to find us lined up and ready to cast our makeshift ballots into his ripped manila envelope. "Whoa! You guys are the best precinct ever!" he said, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

My toddler deposited my ballot in the envelope: a first exercise in democracy. Shades of elementary school elections!, I thought, pondering just how simple it'd be to rig the proceedings, slipping a few extra papers into the envelope. No need to sign one's ballot, not even an inked finger to prevent multiple voting, a la Third World elections-- just sheer integrity and trust metaphorically duct-taping the process together.

That was it. We beat our retreat out of Palolo Elementary at 7:03 p.m., inching our way through the driveway congested with prospective caucusers, onto double-parked 10th Avenue, and went home.

Aftermath:
A political whirlwind has preempted the toddler's usual school-teaching activities with her stuffed animals since the evening of February 19. She's held her own caucus, and Lianne, the teddy bear, is running for U.S. president: a female candidate and a true third party choice, giving McCain, Clinton, Obama, and the newly-entered but omnipresent dark horse candidate Ralph Nader (again?!) a run for their money. The tabby cat, Mr. Mao-Mao, would've run too, but I informed the toddler that he doesn't meet the age requirement, being only 2 years of age. So apparently, he's now working for the Obama campaign...