One of the two books I'm reading this week for my Multi-Cultural Children's Lit course is Bud, not Buddy an award-winning novel by Christopher Paul Curtis. Set during Depression era Michigan, the main character of the novel is an orphan so dismayed he hasn't been able to get along well in any of his foster families - and so unwelcome in the orphanage - he leaves his hometown of Flint, Michigan on a search for his father. Though the reading level's suited to somewhere around ages 10 – 12, the main character is so strong – and often funny – and the story line authentic, it's a satisfying read.
I have a feeling how it'll turn out. If I'm right it won't diminish the book. For its target audience the denouement wouldn't be as obvious as it's looking to me. Then again, I could be wrong. I'll know soon enough.
For this course I have two or three (who can keep track?) major projects, one of which is to write a 7 – 10 page bibliographical essay on a topic/genre/author of my choice, about a group often marginalized in our society. I'm choosing to concentrate on gay/lesbian teens. There's plenty of material, so I'm all set. Though it's not due 'til April, I thought I'd go ahead and start reading the books (at least TEN for the assignment) and taking some notes.
So far, so good as far as almost keeping up with the coursework. I'm learning which readings are essential to the courses, so I'm concentrating my time on what's most important to complete the assignments and participate in the online discussions. I literally have hundreds of pages of reading per week, all three courses together. If I had nothing else in my life that would be fine. As it is, I have to choose what to skim and what to read more intently. It's all part of the graduate school experience. You just have to learn the pattern.
Oh, and the exhaustion? Yesterday I was walking through the house yawning, eyes closed, and ran into a doorframe. That's the latest in my series of stupid acts. That, and not being able to remember basic words. My doctor assures me it's not dementia. I'll have to trust her, because from where I'm sitting it looks an awful lot like it.