Behind the Beautiful Forevers/Katherine Boo: Reflections

With Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Pulitzer Prize winner Katherine Boo does more than merely bear witness in Annawadi, the slum that grew up in the shadows of the Mumbai airport and features a sewage lake, horses painted to mimic zebras, and every possible form of corruption.

She does more than sit with the trash pickers, the schemers, the envious, the hungry, the souls who conclude that death is the only way out.

She tells a story. She involves her readers in the intimate dramas of an open-wound place. She compels us to turn the pages to find out what will happen to the prostituting wife with half a leg, the boy who is quick to calculate the value of bottle caps, the man with the bad heart valve, the "best" girl who hopes to sell insurance some day, the "respectable" rising politician who sleeps with whomever will help her further rise, the police who invent new ways to crush crushed souls.

She engages us, and because she does, she leaves us with a story we won't forget. Like Elizabeth Kolbert, another extraordinary New Yorker writer, Boo takes her time to discover for us the unvarnished facts, the pressing needs, the realities of things we might not want to think about.

But even if we don't think about them, they are brutally real. They are.

A passage:

What was unfolding in Mumbai was unfolding elsewhere, too. In the age of global market capitalism, hopes and grievances were narrowly conceived, which blunted a sense of common predicament. Poor people didn't unite; they competed ferociously amongst themselves for gains as slender as they were provisional. And this undercity strife created only the faintest ripple in the fabric of the society at large. The gates of the rich, occasionally rattled, remained unbreached. The politicians held forth on the middle class. The poor took down one another, and the world's great, unequal cities soldiered on in relative peace.

Like the photos featured in this earlier blog post, the picture above is not Mumbai; I've never been to India. It is Juarez, another dry and needing place on this earth.

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Juarez. Mumbai. The children with whom we fall in love.

Last week, over dinner, I was telling friends about Juarez—about the trip we took years ago to a squatters' village, where we met some of the most gorgeous young people I'll ever know. We'd gone to help build a bathroom in a community without water. The children emerged from homes like those above, impeccably dressed and mannered.

Yesterday and today I am reading, at last, Katherine Boo's Behind the Beautiful Forevers. I bought the book the week it came out. It has sat here ever since, waiting for me to find time. I am, as most people know, a devotee of well-made and purposeful documentaries. Reading Boo is like watching one of those. Her compassion, her open ear, her reporting—I'll write more of this tomorrow. But for this Sunday morning I want to share again the faces of the children I fell in love with, the children who eventually worked their way into my young adult novel, The Heart Is Not a Size. 

They are breathtaking. Still. And I, as a writer, remain most alive when I feel that the story I tell might make a difference.

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The Heart Is Not a Size/retold and illustrated by a dear reader

Yesterday at Villa Maria Academy I worked with 42 beautiful eighth graders—building writing exercises out of picture books, collectively pooling words for poems that would have made William Carlos Williams proud, studying some of the many ways that a story can begin.

Schools are supposed to teach many things.  In this classroom love is clearly a curriculum component.  There were future special education teachers in the mix, young women deeply concerned about world peace, students magnanimously enthused about a classmate's striking literary gifts, at least one dancer, and readers who did not need to be introduced to Ruta Sepetys or Kathryn Erskine.  They had found these authors on their own.

At the end of the session one student shared with me her winter project—a report of sorts on THE HEART IS NOT A SIZE, my Juarez novel. She had told my story in her own words and created beautiful accompanying illustrations, and when she got to the page that introduced the little girl whom I had based on the child photographed here, I stopped.  The likeness—the dark hair, the orange sleeveless shirt with the little bow—was so absolute that it seemed as if the Villa Maria student had traveled those dusty roads with us.


I rather wish she had.  I would have enjoyed her company.

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THE HEART IS NOT A SIZE is headed to Germany

I made oblique reference the other day to an unexpected gift from the land of publishing.  My agent now says that I can now specifically share the news:  THE HEART IS NOT A SIZE has been sold to Hanser, the German publishing house that also kindly acquired NOTHING BUT GHOSTS (due out this summer) and YOU ARE MY ONLY.

To say that I'm thrilled would be a giant understatement.  HEART was, for me, a very special book, given that it was based on experiences I actually had in a squatter's village in Juarez (the little girl above, for example, is a character in the book) and that it explores as well both anorexia and panic disorder, conditions with which I have had more than a passing acquaintance.

Many thanks to the Harper Collins team, to Jill Santopolo who edited the book, and to Amy Rennert.  And many, many thanks to Hanser for having such faith in my work.  I spend many hours of my days researching Germany as I write my Berlin novel for Philomel.  Hanser's kindness makes Germany feel even more like home.

Nothing substitutes for faith in the life of a writer.

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There's a Book reviews The Heart is Not a Size

I am grateful this morning for the extraordinarily generous words about Heart posted yesterday on There's a Book.  This is a reader who knows Juarez well, and who shares her own interesting perspective.  Thank you, 1st daughter.

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Border Crossing

The view from Juarez, looking toward El Paso.

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Bookalicious and Heart

Bookalicious isn't just an essential, edible name.  It's the site of an enormously generous reviewer.  Thank you so much for these words about Heart.

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The Heart is Not a Size and the BCCB review

My thanks to the reviewer of The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books, who penned these words about Heart:   “Kephart writes with polished style, particularly excelling in her portraits of the characters. The background setting is quietly moving, drawn with telling details rather than cheap color. Readers who were drawn in by Kephart’s smooth style and thoughtful characterization will find satisfaction in Georgia’s surprising summer.”

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Heart in the El Paso Times

My many thanks today go out to Ramon Renteria of the El Paso Times, who wrote this lovely piece about my journey to Juarez and The Heart is Not a Size. My thanks, too, to Amy Robinson, of Pasos de Fe, the organization that prepared a temporary home for us across the border in the summer of 2005.

Mr. Renteria makes reference, in his piece, to this essay, originally published in the always-impeccable Pennsylvania Gazette, edited by my friend John Prendergast.

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A Heart Giveaway at Miss Em's

When I titled my fourth young adult novel The Heart is Not a Size, I was referring to my characters, Georgia and Riley—each so different from the other, each tested by their experiences in Juarez, each finding their way back to a friendship.

Since publishing the book, however, I have learned (again) about the unbounded hearts of others—so gracious, so generous, so true.

Em of Miss Em's Bookshelf is one of those hugely hearted people. I'm guest blogging there about my love of all things Spanish today. A copy of Heart will be sent to one who comments. Please do stop by.

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Guest Blogging at HipWriterMama's House

Today I'm guest blogging over at the fabulous HipWriterMama's house, another blogger and writer who entered my world early on and stayed. She asked me to write a bit about The Heart is Not a Size, and I did. Here's a small quote from a longer piece that I hope you will stop by and read.

(My photo today is of one of the truly beautiful young women with whom we traveled to Juarez. It was toward the end of the trip, when the wood frame of the community bathroom we'd pounded together was finally upright, lifted toward the sky.)

I have always sought to write books that somehow make a difference, and if I can, with HEART, bring attention to Juarez, if I can help girls who are battling with the secrets with which Georgia and Riley do battle, then I will feel as if the journey that I took with HEART was ultimately the right one.

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The Heart is Not a Size: An Educator's Day and a Launch Party

The news from Juarez grows ever-harder to bear. This week, three U.S. Consulate Workers were murdered. Two were Americans, a couple shot down while returning from a child's birthday party. Their brutal murder left their own child orphaned in the back of their car.

Why?

I am eager to talk about this place, Juarez. Eager for The Heart is Not a Size to be released on March 30th. Eager to raise more awareness about what is happening, south of the El Paso border, where every life means something, where every life should be safeguarded.

I am grateful, therefore, to Maureen Montecchio, the community relations manager at Barnes & Noble Devon, who invited me to join her wonderful group of educators and librarians at her store on April 13th, at 3:30 PM. If you can, I'd love for you to be there.

I am grateful, too, to writer and teacher (and mom extraordinaire) Elizabeth Mosier, who reached out and said, We should have a party. She'd been saying that for months, but I'd been deflecting. Finally, she went ahead, she talked to folks, she circled back. We're having the party on April 20th in Haverford, at the beloved Children's Book World, 7 PM. We are going to have cake, because we love cake. We are going to talk about Juarez, because it matters, and about teens, like the two in my book, who hide dangerous secrets from each other. We hope that you will find time to be there with us.

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The Heart is Not a Size: A Lovely Blog Review

These beautiful words about The Heart is Not a Size conclude a week that was, for me, full of both tumult and deep graces.

Every writer living is grateful to sympathetic readers. I am particularly grateful today.

Thank you, Susan Uhlig. My box of Heart arrived this week. On March 10th, I'll be announcing the winner of the Heart giveaway contest.

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Win a copy of The Heart is Not a Size

Yesterday, Ruta Rimas, who has been seeing The Heart is Not a Size through its pre-publishing days at HarperTeen, wrote to say that an early copy of the hardback has arrived at her office.

Contest, I thought.

And so here is a question for any of you who might like to win a copy: Where in the world do you hope to go next, and why? Leave your answer in the comments section here, and I'll choose a name at random by March 10th.

Heart, for its part, takes place partly in Juarez, a place I visited in 2005. Here's a scene from the novel:

Despite the sun and the uptilting slope of the hill, these kids didn’t walk. Even the brother who was carrying his baby sister never slowed for a second, his body bent forward at the waist. There were brothers who came with brothers and clusters of girls and those who came from what must have been east by themselves, all of them dressed in parakeet colors, and I remember a pair of shining patent leathers, throwing the sun back up to the sun. I remember taking that photograph. Sun like bleach, like stain.

Riley’s sapphire eyes were platters; for one bright instant they turned and took the me behind my camera in—took me in, and I snapped that portrait. The loose hair at the back of Sophie’s neck corked, anticipated, seemed ready to flee, but it was Drake who went to tell Mack, and Mack who brought Roberto, and Roberto who called out to the children by name, waving them up the hill faster. The first to reach the top of the hill was a pair of brothers with bright blue eyes and red paisley bandanas that tied back their thick, black hair. Some buttons on their shirts were missing. Their pants were light and loose. When they got to where we were they hung their heads a little bit, but that didn’t disguise their smiles.

The others were right on their heels. A boy in a strawberry-colored sleeveless shirt who had lost his front teeth. The girl with the black patent shoes. Several children—both boys and girls—wearing the same red paisley as the bandana boys. There were streaming colors in the hair of the girls—crimson bows and silver strings, wide navy blue bands striped with mango—and I kept thinking how much those kids must have been loved, how beautiful they’d been made by their mothers before they’d left their shacks and gone into the streets and trusted us to receive them. I thought that, and I took photographs. Portrait after portrait, and then again I turned the camera to Riley’s face, as she stood there in the circle of children, as she reached her hands toward them.

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Remembering Juarez

They were in high school. They were in college. They were between the ages of 13 and 42, post-partying after a soccer game and celebrating a birthday. They were shot down in cold blood this past Sunday by gunmen who barricaded the street with their cars, infiltrated a concrete house, moved from room to room with guns held high, and let the bullets fly. Some 14 are dead; more are critically injured. One was named Adrian Encino, 17, a recently state-honored academic light, who died in his grandfather's arms.

Someone was looking for someone who perhaps testified in a recent trial. That's how one version of this story goes. Someone was looking, and so, of course?, a murderous rampage.

They call Juarez one of the world's most dangerous cities. The bloody border city, they say. The murdered women of Juarez, they remember.

Five years ago, I was there. Five years ago, the children of Juarez gave me some of the greatest happiness I've ever had—the greatest sense of purpose. They gave me the beginning of a book I'd write, a book about finding unexpected beauty in cities far from home.

I am sickened and saddened by the never-ending bad news of Juarez. 2,600 people murdered there in 2009. And what does this most recent massacre bode for 2010?

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Miss Em Reviews The Heart is Not a Size

and the Phillies win in the bottom of the ninth. I think I'll always conflate these precious things in memory now. A gorgeous review, a favorite reviewer, a favorite team, one night.

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The Reading Junky Reviews The Heart is Not a Size

The Reading Junky received an early copy of my fourth novel for young adults, The Heart is Not a Size, and begins her review with these words:

Beth Kephart fans are not going to be happy with this review. Don't get me wrong...

To be honest, that left me hanging, too. And then I read on.... I hope you will, too.

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The Heart is Not a Size Unveiled by Way of an Ed Goldberg Review

How do we meet people? How do we continue to know them? Years ago, it seems, Ed Goldberg, a Syosset, NY-based librarian and an avid reader/reviewer, asked if he might have a copy of one of my books. It was sent. He wrote a gorgeous review; it was posted. There was, after that, another book. Ed asked. It was sent. He read carefully and dearly once again, sharing his thoughts with me, then with the world, and in the meantime advocating my work to others. He became—over Facebook, on the blog—a constant presence and friend.

A few weeks ago, Ed asked if he might read Heart. It's a different book for me, purposefully so. I held my breath. I knew Ed was going to speak his mind, say whatever it was that he truly felt; he's that kind of ethical reader. Here, now, just as my dinner guests arrive, is Ed's review of Heart.

Kephart, Beth. The Heart is Not a Size. HarperTeen. 978-0-06-147048-6. 2010. $16.99. 256

Georgia, a high school junior, needs a life altering event, something that might end her frequent panic attacks. Described as plain and responsible, she is an avid reader of fliers tacked to shop bulletin boards. The flier from Goodworks about spending two unforgettable weeks in Mexico, “planting a seed” so that some small, impoverished community can begin to improve, intrigues her. She convinces her artsy best friend Riley, who overheard her own fashion-plate mother once describe her as average, to join her.

Anapra, Mexico, is an arid colonia on the outskirts of Juarez containing one-room huts pieced together from scraps of tin and cardboard. It is a land of dust storms and las muertas de Juarez, girls who mysteriously disappear, never to return. Georgia and Riley join nine other teens, whose goal is to construct a community bathroom for the Anapra people. A small seed, indeed.

In The Heart is Not a Size, Beth Kephart has written an engrossing novel contrasting the ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’, both groups surprisingly in need. The Anapra people need life’s most basic elements. A people with nothing, their hopefulness is evidenced in the way they dress their children in bright colors and the care they take in digging out after dust storms. Georgia and Riley, two girls with bright futures, are equally in need. Georgia’s panic attacks are debilitating. Riley’s reaction to her mother’s indifference is to stop eating. As Georgia watches Riley waste away, as Riley’s health is seriously endangered, Georgia can no longer remain the silent friend.

Kephart has veered slightly away from her usual poetic prose, although the care she takes with her wording is still quite evident. Heart is a faster paced novel of self exploration. Hearts know no size limit. They can encompass five year old Socorro searching for her missing sister’s spirit or the entire Anapra community. They can enfold Riley, an extraordinary person whose mother is blind to her wonders, or Georgia who must realize how smart and capable she really is.

The writing in Heart is so descriptive that after reading about a dust storm, I felt the need to wash the dust off my hands. The characters are wonderful, from the teens performing the community service to the Mexican men who sit on a roof watching them. The poet that Kephart quotes has prompted me to read Jack Gilbert’s poetry. Reading some books can be considered an enjoyable pastime. Reading others is more of a “reading experience”. The Heart is Not a Size falls into the latter category. Beth Kephart has not disappointed her current or future fans.

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The Heart is Not a Size/The Children of Anapra

The Heart is Not a Size will not be released by HarperTeen until March 2010, but it is often on my mind. In this brief video montage, I read from the book's prologue. The photos were taken in July 2005, during the trip to Anapra that inspired the story. The music, a haunting piece called "Alex to Himself," is by the supremely talented Jordan O'Connor.

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"In Ciudad Juarez, young women are vanishing." It's a front-page headline, LA Times, a story reported by Ken Ellingwood. "The streets of Juarez are swallowing the young and pretty," the story begins, and then, young woman by young woman, we are told the details. Of a studious, reliable college freshman who simply did not return from exams. Of a 17-year-old Brenda and a 16-year-old Hilda last seen downtown. Of girls as young as 13 simpy not coming home.

This breaks my heart. This is more bad news for a place beseiged by a viscious drug war. A place I loved after spending long, enriching days there with nearly two dozen teens a few years ago. Today I am remembering lost sisters, daughters, friends. I am hoping for an end to the madness.

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