Behind the Lines--Oh no they didn't! Get it, Lines/Lines.

Behind the Lines by Andrew Carroll
2005 (audio book)
Weight: 5.6 oz
Method of Disposal: Donating or giving away

I think about my brother often, and I think about him in different ways. I think of him as a child. I remember playing a post office game. There was some piece of furniture outside the door of my room with small drawers on the bottom. We would leave each other letters in the drawers. Is this where I developed my love of letters and of sending/receiving mail? I think about bodysurfing in the ocean and wiping out. Sometimes, I think of the mean sibling antics. I remember crying, as he threatened to “turn me off” with a remote control or key. The taste of batteries after he convinced me to lick them, they taste like candy. I especially like nice memories, like him giving me one of his favorite toys for my birthday. I saw a piece of the truck sticking out of the poor wrapping job, and I knew exactly what it was. I was so happy. I wanted to be just like him, have toys like his, hang out with him and his friends. He once saved up his allowance money to buy me a beloved Aladdin’s lamp, where the genie could come out and go back in his bottle.

 I think about him as a teenager. His massive Kurt Cobain poster and his constant strumming of an electric guitar. His girlfriend, his El Camino, and the Mane and Tail he used to grow his hair out long. We sometimes got in all out brawls. I once threw a tire at his head. Another time, I screamed at him and his friend, silencing them for once, and then walked straight into a shut door with such force that I fell to the ground, taking away all the ground I had gained. I also remember that when my mother told me that her and my dad were going to divorce, I grabbed my cat and ran, crying, to a nearby lake. My brother came after me to take care of me and to tell me it would be o.k.

Before he went away for boot camp, we watched atomic dog and talked about personal things, like my trying to come to terms with my queerness. He thought it was fine, better than fine, and was very comforting. He commented on how obvious I was, with all my Gillian Anderson pictures plastered on my walls. He noted that often the men in my posters were covered. I felt like he had become my best friend but then he had to go away. I wrote him letters all the time.

I often think about him as a soldier. I think about when he went to Iraq and how I had never been (and have not been) so scared in my entire life. The night before he left, I drank a bottle of vodka and had to stop at a KFC on (or near) base to vomit on our hike to the going away ceremony. I hated saying goodbye and could not look at him without bawling, full on weeping. I had to walk away and then run away. Another soldier was screaming at his mom in the parking lot, telling her he wished he would never see her again. I could not imagine it. I was in college dealing with relationship troubles, roommate situations, and ant invasions. He was getting shot at, sometimes I would see him in the local newspaper or on the news.

He is still a soldier, and he is also now a husband and a father. He is still amazing, and I am overwhelmed with love and protective feelings when we get the chance to hang out. The last time I saw him he read me a book while I drove. We learned all about plane crashes and why they happen.

Sometimes, when he is far away, I do ridiculous things trying to feel close to him. Things that make no sense. I buy things I would not usually buy—the consequences of being born into capitalism. Spend Money, feel better. I bought this audio book when it was on sale. I hope that I will never understand war fully. I do not want to know what it is like to lose friends, to have to kill people or be killed. I wish so much that my brother did not have to see the things he has, the things I rarely hear about, because he loved his country and his family. I do not want to know what that pain is like, but I do want to understand and know to the best of my ability. Does that make sense? I do not want to turn my back on one of the many facets of his life. I bought this book and others like it, trying to feel connected or get a glimpse. Sometimes, I would read or watch whatever I bought right away and other times it was too painful, and I would put the items away until I found them again.

The other night I noticed Behind the Lines on my bookshelf, amongst the actual books, and I took it to work. I listened to it while I cleaned out puppy cages and later in my car on a drive to Loganville. There were times when it brought tears to my eyes and once I even laughed. Components of it aggravated me. It seemed to have a Christian bias, didn’t it? There was an attempt at diversity. In some ways it was successful, but not in all ways.  The letters were from soldiers, civilians, people on different sides of the war.  There were men and women.  Some letters seemed to be selected with such an obvious purpose, like the one from a Japanese girl in an American camp stating that she was lucky to not be on the outside. With no other letters beside it I felt like it was such a placating, let us not think about what we did, moment. There were a lot of good things too. I have more positive feelings about it than little critiques. The letters spanned many wars and years. Soldiers of the past and the present were tied together by their feelings of love, fear, remorse, camaraderie, pride, hope. Overall, I liked it, for lack of a better word. They were actual letters and they all contained so much value and so much truth—some truth told through thinly veiled lies.

So many different people. I thought about the letters I received from Iraq and the many I sent. The letters that went to boot camp. The rare Yahoo Messenger conversation or e-mail. The photographs. And, while this book did not bring me closer to my brother in any unexpected way, I did find myself missing him again. That is why I was drawn to it after all. I did remember how grateful I am, despite anything else in life, that he is back, safe, with a loving family, and happy. I wished on every star, eyelash, and penny thrown into every pond from the day he left until the day he came back that he would come back alive, but also happy. How lucky am I?

"Having Fun Isn't Hard When You Have a Library Card!" -Arthur the Aardvark

The Librarian of Basra: A True Story from Iraq by Jeanette Winter
2005
Weight: 12 oz
Method of Disposal: Giving to Sarah G.A.

I love this book. It is a book about a library in Basra and the people who love it. War creeps into the city and the people and books are in danger. Everyone flees the library except for the librarian, Alia. She gets people to help her move all of the books into her friend’s restaurant next door. Soon, the library will burn down. In a quiet moment, she gets a truck and moves 30,000 books out of the restaurant and into her home and the homes of her friends. She keeps the books safe and dreams of peace.

In a note from the author we are told about the real Alia who managed to save 70 percent of her library’s books before it was burnt down.

This is a children’s book about war and while I would like to protect kids from the atrocities adults commit, it is impossible. Children are hearing about the wars we have been fighting, they are seeing it on television, they are watching parents and siblings leave and sometimes not come back, they are playing video games, and repeating information they overhear to their peers at the playground. They know about war. The children growing up in the United States now only know a world in which U.S. soldiers are fighting overseas. They do not know war like the Iraqis know war. They cannot imagine what it is like in Afghanistan for the people who live there. This book, and others like it, offer the children a unique perspective they may not find in many other places. This book gently describes the fear, the danger, the humanity, the desperation involved in war. It is very very gentle. The child is also able to relate to the people of Iraq, instead of always being asked to other them.

If you are curious about children’s books that describe war, you might also check into Alice Walker’s Why War is Never a Good Idea. This one is less gentle. The images really show you something about war, and it is not something anyone wants to see. It will also be more controversial, I am sure. There are many arguments that people will make for what does make war a necessary, though deplorable thing. With both books, adults should read them first and think about how they will discuss them with children before they sit down and do it. I know some people are also upset with the Librarian book, but it is truly ridiculous. It is a great story. It presents a truth. An important truth and an incredible, real woman. It does not disrespect America, our soldiers, or Americans, as has been suggested.

I have decided to give this book to my dearest Librarian, Sarah, because I know she will love it too. She has a child on the way, but I am hoping that by the time her kid is old enough to read this book it will be unnecessary. I chose this book to get rid of because I went to my local library the other day and “renewed” my library card. I use parenthesis because I got my card the first week of my first year of college and never used it for years. I never even went back to the library. Libraries terrify me. I cannot tell you why. They should be my heaven on earth and probably will be eventually. Free books for days. Now, I get shy, anxious, and nervous. My friends, Tracy and Lynne, went with me the other day. I got my library card and three books. The Shock Doctrine, a book on rats, and another book on animal emotions. I chose books quickly because the library was about to close, but I am pretty excited to get started on all of them. You get a good, long time too. Three weeks. Who knew?

Thanks for the pictures, Lynne!

Star Light Star bright

Witness Iraq: A War Journal February-April 2003
2003
Weight: 3.3 lbs
Method of Disposal: Donate?



My brother went to war in Iraq when I was in my junior year of college, and I was devastated. I felt like I lived in a state of panic, and it was hard to discuss it with some of my anti-war peers. My roommate at the time actually got angry with me when I asked to watch my brother on the news one night, because it cut into her ER time. She grumbled something about him killing people for a living. I hadn’t seen my brother in a year, and he would be on television for just a few minutes.
There were plenty of supportive and caring people, more than there were people like my roommate, but it seemed like no one really understood what I was trying to tell them if they hadn’t been through it. I only knew one other person, my dearest Liz M, who had a brother deploy and come back.

When someone you love is at war you become hyper-aware of locations and casualties mentioned on the news. You notice when there are gaps in email and chat messages. You send hundreds of letters, and you may even find yourself wishing on every falling star you see, drinking every shot with a “return home safe” toast, and pleading with the universe every time the clock strikes 11:11.

If you are me, you lack any tools on how to deal with the situation. You might start to do absurd things like purchase random books you really don’t want or watch documentaries you know you shouldn’t. Witness Iraq was one of those purchases. I didn’t want to see it, much less own it, but I felt compelled. I couldn’t stop myself. It was an absurd attempt to get closer to someone who seemed impossibly far away. It would not be the first or last time I would try to buy understanding, time, and proximity with no success. I have trouble letting this book go, even though I can never bring myself to look through it now, because of all the pain it and others like it hold within their pages. It seems important to have a constant reminder of that fear and worry, but I really don’t know why. It cannot be healthy.
My brother is currently safe and sound, with his baby and his wife, in the country he grew up in. It is still such a relief, though I always feel a twinge of dread in my gut reminding me that it could happen again. I find myself, still, quite enamored with and dependent on eyelashes, ladybugs, wells, dandelions, and birthday candles.