Letters About Literature

2008 Winning Entries

Humanities Tennessee is pleased to announce that nearly 1,100 students from across the state entered this year's Letters About Literature contest.

Tennessee boasted a distinguished panel of judges this year, including acclaimed poet Blas Falconer, award-winning children's novelist Helen Hemphill, and journalist Fred Sauceman.

On Level I (grades 4–6), the 1st Place winner in Tennessee is Abby Glover from Milan Elementary School in Milan. On Level II (grades 7–8), the 1st Place winner for our state is Megan Lee from White Station Middle School in Memphis. On Level III (grades 9–12), the 1st Place winner in Tennessee in Ayesha Usmani from White Station High School in Memphis. Congratulations to all of the winners in Tennessee! This year's winners are:

Level I

Level II

Level III

Letters About Literature — Level I

First Place

Milan Elementary School, Milan
Librarian — Judy Martin
To Pat Brisson about Sky Memories

Dear Pat Brisson,

I just finished reading your book Sky Memories. Wow, what a story! While I was reading the book my emotions were hard to hold back because the characters in the book were very much like me. The story reminded me of how hard it can be to deal with the big changes and surprises in life. In Sky Memories a mother and her daughter Emily capture special moments in their lives by looking at the sky and taking pictures with their minds. They use these saved memory photos to help them get through bad times or sad times. They can think back to the good memory and it helps them handle the time they are in. It was very hard for me to read this book because the mother finds out she has cancer. The painful news that her mother has cancer made Emily scared that her mom might die. She has to face this sudden big change and surprise in her life. This is never easy no matter how old you are. This really hit home with me because it was similar to my life.

In 2006 I was diagnosed with Osteoscarcoma a form of bone cancer and I was scared I might die. This memory for me and those things that come with treating cancer, the tests, chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery were really hard for me to get through. I had fear, sadness, crying, happiness, good and bad memories. This book helped me better understand how other people deal with tough times in life. I wish I would have read Sky Memories before I had to deal with cancer. I might have used my own mind photos to help me get through the bad times. I think that reading is very important in anyone's life because you might have the same story inside of you!

Sincerely,
Abby Glover

Second Place

Gilchrist Green, Age 12, Saint Bernard Academy, Nashville
Teacher — Joan Knox
To Patricia Reily Giff about Pictures of Hollis Woods

Dear Patricia Reily Giff,

I've been with two people throughout my life, but many others have been thrown in the pot along the way. Two men have been tossed in through divorces and marriages but only one stayed. It's been crazy, and I'm not sure if I really like it. Reading your book, Pictures of Hollis Woods, explained to me that I will find my place in the pot to love the people I don't, and that I will find the family that I do love.

My mom has been divorced twice over the twelve years of my life. She has finally found the right person and the right family to be happy with. Hollis moved from house to house and from family to family. Since I was about four years old I have also been moving from house to house with my mom and different step dads.

Some people may not be happy with their lives and try to escape from their lives to try and find a better one, like Hollis did. Some people have different ways of working things out, but they are not always good ways. They live alone and are free, but where does that take them in life? Nowhere. That is not what I will do. I will live my life to the fullest and figure things out for myself.

No matter what I do, I cannot change what has happened. With two divorces, the two marriages, the new house, the new family, and new pets, but I can, like Hollis, in the end be nice and try to make peace. Not running away from it all.

By reading your book, it has helped me to accept people who are thrown into my pot and will stay there because everything will be okay. It has shown me that all the people who run will find themselves sad and unhappy because they have no one to comfort them when they are sad or to help them when they fall. Thanks for everything.

Yours truly,
Gilchrist Green

Third Place

Susan Huang, Age 11, St. Mary's Episcopal School
Teacher — Kathleen Cousins
To Adeline Yen Mah about Chinese Cinderella

Dear Mrs. Mah,

Before I read your book, I sometimes felt unloved. In my family, the rule was the youngest child goes first. That meant, since I was the older child in my family, my younger brother always got the better pick.

I also have an understanding aunt who made everything fair for my brother and me. More often than not, we decided who got to pick first by flipping a coin or by the person who got better grades. That gave me a fair chance.

Reading about your childhood made my life seem great compared to yours. My parents pay for me to get well educated. They also take care of all my needs. Your story has made me look at my family in a different way; loving parents who try to make a good future for me and my brother, not parents who like my brother more than me.

Sincerely,
Susan Huang

Letters About Literature — Level II

First Place

Megan Lee, White Station Middle School, Memphis
Teacher — Helen Erskine
To Wendelin Van Draanen about Flipped

Dear Wendelin Van Draanen,

Often we wonder what it would feel like if the whole world flipped. Does everything change right before your eyes? Or is it just the world passing through the eyes? After I read your book, Flipped, I saw everyone in a whole new light. It made me realize that we can not have a stereotyped mindset to interact with each other.

I have to admit that in the past, I was not the most outgoing person one ever met and, frankly, could be pretty narrow-minded at times. Usually, I liked staying on the surface of the waters, always assuming that there were only sharks below in the places that were in my blind spot. Thus, I am cynical and rather intolerant of those who I don't understand and are not anything like me.

In my class, I observed a girl who was completely different from me in every way. She put on make-up, tossed her hair every five seconds, and had an upturned nose, which made her huge onyx eyes seem like they were staring down at me, not to mention her looming height. During class, she never talked very much but seemed to bore through my skull from behind, so I immediately labeled her as a snob. Everybody else obviously made the same conclusion, and it was only her and her lunchbox at a lonely little table every day at lunch.

And then that's when your book came in. I read about Bryce's presumption that Julie was just an unwelcome hindrance. Foolishly, he didn't bother to look through her windows after he only beheld the door. I realized that I had been developing the exact same flaw. Yes, some people are truly despicable once dissected, but others are extremely amiable once one sees past their walls. I reasoned if I opened up a little, I would get over the stings of disappointment some humans bring. More importantly, I could learn much about all kinds of people in the process.

So I started talking to the girl. I discovered that she was actually full of spirit and fun to be around. She had not really fit in at her last school and hoped to belong here. To bring that about, she tried to act more like the accepted people and hoped to be accepted as well. As a liaison, I invited her to the table where all my friends sat at lunch. Once she knew the other students better and dropped her façade, her enthusiasm shot forth. She began to make everyone laugh, and her eagerness especially showed during field day, she being the loudest cheerer of them all.

I'm glad that I read Flipped and dove into new depths because it gained me not just one best friend, but many others as well. Before, I didn't give very many second chances, and sometimes I didn't even give firsts. I understand now that my past thinking was wrong, and I've learned to turn my head to get a better view before judging someone too hastily. Thank you for writing Flipped so that I have made many new, different friends. When my mind flips, the whole universe adjusts to it, whether the world really does change or not.

Sincerely,
Megan Lee

Second Place

April Perkins, Age 14, Lake City Middle School, Lake City
Teacher — Edward T. Sullivan
To Stephanie Tolan about Welcome to the Ark

Dear Stephanie Tolan,

Somebody once told me that we go through life looking for mirrors of ourselves. We want to find ourselves in others. In our lives, we look for people who are similar to ourselves. When we read books, we are searching for characters that remind us of ourselves, and plots that resemble our own lives. This person's theory makes sense to me. We all want to feel like we're not alone. We want to feel like we belong. I know I've been on this quest to try to pin down my identity, to try to find others similar to me, for as long as I can remember. I have never had an easy time of it in this lifelong search. Some people can find soul mates wherever they go. I've always found myself standing on the outside of their circles, wondering which one was truly mine. I refused to believe that the answer was "none." Even in books, I could find no mirrors of myself. I saw characters that reminded me of people I knew, or of other characters in other books, but never any that reminded me of myself.

When I read Welcome to the Ark, I finally found the mirrors of myself that I was searching for. Miranda, like me, was shoved into a system that meant nothing to her. The way her life was organized, even the way the world was organized, was foreign to her natural way of being. When she tried to fight it, everybody dismissed her as insane. Like Miranda, I have learned that the world is organized in an unfamiliar pattern. But like Miranda, I have also learned not to try to rearrange the pieces.

Taryn was another part of me, another mirror that I was searching for. Like me, she saw the depth and truth of everything around her, and she wondered why nobody else saw the world this way. She wondered why everybody else chose to stumble blindly through life when her kind of vision was available to them. I learned early on that other people do not see this way. I learned that they do not stumble blindly by choice, but because it is all they know. I have spent most of my life trying to stumble like them, but somehow I never trip and fall in quite the right way. As much as I try to emulate their blindness to the deeper world that underlies the world around them, I am still marked. I cannot hide my lack of blindness totally.

Just as these characters sounded like parts of myself on paper, their story resonated within me. I have never been in a mental institution like they have, and I have never been called to save the world from evil. But I have been misunderstood. I have been made fun of for what I am. I have tried to close off parts of myself in order to more closely resemble the world around me. Sometimes I've failed. Sometimes I've succeeded. I think the successes are worse. I've lost parts of my spirit that way, and I've had a hard time reclaiming them.

Thank you for creating these characters that mirrored me as no others had been able to. Thank you for being able to see through their eyes, so that you could represent them in your words so vividly. Thank you for understanding what it is like for those like us, even if you are only trying to imagine. Sometimes I wonder if you know first hand, if you are one of those people I could find myself by knowing. But whether you see life like Miranda and Taryn, or whether you were simply able to imagine their perspectives while you wrote Welcome to the Ark, the most important thing is that you did see. Even though your characters only exist on paper, I now know that somebody else could see the way I do, if only for a second. Thank you for this gift of connection.

Sincerely,
April Perkins

Third Place

Evie Kennedy, Age 12, Saint Bernard's Academy, Nashville
Teacher — Joan Knox
To Virginia Sorenson about Miracles on Maple Hill

Dear Virginia Sorenson,

Living in this time period, I don't get many chances to escape and discover the many beauties and miracles that nature holds. The simplest things can bring so much joy, and even transform people such as Marly's father. With all the exciting distractions of the modern-day world, I never get a chance to stop and smell the flowers. Your book, Miracles on Maple Hill allowed me to escape from this modern world and enjoy the things we never usually notice. Marly and her family go to Maple Hill to retreat from the rest of the world, just as I escaped to Maple Hill in the book every night to retreat from the rest of my world.

Maple Hill sounded like a dream. I could almost taste the maple syrup and feel the cold air and warm fire. I couldn't wait to go back to Maple Hill every night and experience more miracles of nature that Mr. Chris would show Marly. I usually rush through a book just to find out the resolution, but I never wanted it to end, because it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside just reading it. Your book has taught me that nature does have healing powers, and can even overcome the memories of a soldier who has seen so many horrible things. I have always wondered, if I witnessed so many deaths, would I ever recover? It must be so hard, but even nature can help that. the powers of nature can help you deal with so many things, just like a day at the barn with the horses can came me and help me relax or feel better.

Now, I try as hard as I can to appreciate nature, and the little things in life. I stick my head out of the car window just to feel the wind on my face, I watch the birds singing in the trees, I bask in the morning sun and dance in the rain, and I do stop and smell the flowers. Now I don't have to escape to a book to experience nature. You just have to look a little bit harder.

Sincerely,
Evie Kennedy

Letters About Literature — Level III

First Place

Ayesha Usmani, Age 16, White Station High School, Memphis
Teacher — Suzanne Wexler
To Amy Tan about The Joy Luck Club

Dear Amy Tan,

My mother sits at her corner at the table: the East, her home, her memories. I sit at the West, opposite from her. East and West, two cultures constantly colliding, but both fit in one world. Fit together like mahjong tiles, but I cannot see. I see our definite differences, I see the distance between us, I see her coming towards me, but I run away, far away to the other side of the world. I love the West, but must I give up the East, too?

The sun rises in the East and kisses the sky with its golden hues, and my mother rises and pounds the dough with her small, flour-covered hands. A new idea dawns in her head as she twists and stretches the dough. She calls me, and I grudgingly come downstairs, groggy and confused because it's seven in the morning. My mother has that gleam in her eyes. I have seen that look before — a look that makes you cringe and twist in annoyance and despair. I reluctantly snatch the dough from the plate and start rolling and pounding it. Smack, thud, and flip. By the end of the cooking lesson, I am covered in flour, the trashcan is overflowing with my disasters, and my mother is frustrated. I wash my face with a splash of cold water and look up. June stares at me from the mirror. She whispers about not letting my mother change and control me.

My mother wanders about the store, and I make sure I wander in another direction. I come with her in the check out line, avoiding the peculiar stares of the sales clerk. My mother asks, in her not-so-perfect English, if there is a sale. The clerk mumbles an answer, and my mother is confused. I quietly whisper to her in Urdu that the sale was last week. My mother responds to me loudly in Urdu, and I feel embarrassed. I distance myself from her as we head towards the car. People turn and look at us, muffling their giggles. I am imagining, but I am not imagining the shame. Why doesn't my mother understand me? Can't she fit in with American culture? Waverly shined within me. Independent, stubborn, and ashamed of cultural ties, I mimicked her moves and prepared for the attack.

I must transcend these linguistic and cultural barriers. Barriers that block me from my mother. A mother, with all her energy, who loves and guides me. This guidance must direct me to a new path. A path that will allow me to appreciate my mother and my vibrant culture.

I wear my shalwar kameez and brush my hair back. I feel uncomfortable. I carefully pour the green tea for my aunt and uncles. I feel subservient. I sit upright and talk, mostly listen, with my grandmother. I feel bored. I listen quietly and patiently to my mother and aunts complain about prices, daughters, cooking, husbands, aging, and daughters. I feel awkward. I look aimlessly out the window, and Jing-mei stares back at charlatan.

I strive to find the connection with mother. A connection that will balance independence and loyalty to my heritage. A balance of Pakistani values of love, obedience, and humility in harmony with American values of independence, free speech, and self-esteem. A journey that will always be difficult but worth the effort. I desired that connection with your guidance Amy Tan. A connection that I have now found. My mother sits at her corner in the East, and I at the West. But we unite in harmony. A harmony that appreciates our similarities and our dependence for each other.

With sincere gratitude,
Ayesha Usmani

Second Place

Elizabeth Belz, Age 17, White Station High School, Memphis
Teacher — Suzanne Wexler
To Paul Laurence Dunbar about "We Wear the Mask"

Dear Paul Laurence Dunbar,

I sat at my father's funeral not crying but questioning. How could I, after enduring a year and a half of watching his health gradually dissolve until eventually his final hour came, smile again? I had always been acknowledged for my vibrant smile and cheerful attitude. Now, in the wake of this sadness and loss, how could I find happiness? After all this questioning I told myself, "Just keep smiling."

I have spent the past five years of my life smiling. I have found myself wearing the very mask you spoke of over a century ago. Behind all my smiles lies a longing, for every day I am somehow reminded of the dear father I lost: on the permission forms under "Father's name" as I hesitate to write "Deceased"; during the phone calls for him as I inform the caller, "He is no longer with us"; as I think about who will walk me down the aisle.

As I traveled from place to place and met numerous people, I smiled while thinking that these people have no idea what I have been through and shall never know. I smiled for protection of myself and others. I felt the way you so finely put it: "Why should the world see over-wise, in counting all our tears and sighs." I did not want sympathy. I only wanted to find a place in which I could find comfort to move on. In my mask I found this place. In my mask I found a shield behind which I could emotionally protect myself. In your poem I found a connection to the mask behind which humans tend to bury their sympathies and behind which only that person knows the truth. As I ponder on your words and my relation to them, I wonder what other people sit behind a mask. Who else is a member of this masquerade struggling to find happiness by repressing sadness? What would the world be like if these masks were taken off?

I take off my mask for you, Mr. Dunbar. I express to you the sorrow I have repressed with my mask. Your poem has helped me realize that I am not alone. I have veiled my emotions with a smile, and that has made me the strong person I am today. However, this strength will always remind me of the mask I had to assume to get to the place in which I now stand. I am the very girl with the vibrant smile and cheerful attitude. Ultimately, smiling has gotten me through hard times. It is my mask of the sadness that haunts me. But how can I not smile? What other option do I have? To languish in sorrow would be to regress to the very emotions I have repressed. I therefore must implore you, Mr. Dunbar, which is the better option: Moping around until I hopefully feel better someday or putting on a smile and living?

Sincerely,
Elizabeth Belz

Third Place

Anjali Mariama Sood, Age 17, Jackson
 To Kate Chopin about The Awakening

Dear Kate Chopin,

I daydream, blushingly, about tulle that tickles my thighs and clings to my waist. Shyly, I imagine lace that chafes my nose as I ascend chapel steps. My little-girl notion of marriage is textured and soothing and luminously white. I cling to it, though I am no little girl. I delude myself with deliciously simple thoughts that declare marriage no more than proposals and roses and dripping candles. At least I now know that I'm foolish.

In Junior English, you introduced me, Kate, to marriage gone awry. Rather, my English III teacher lectured on the symbolism and nuances of The Awakening, and you spoke to me through her. I slumped in my desk in a room brimming with slumping teenagers, and I discerned your voice. Fiercely, insensitively, you divulged your tale of Edna Pontellier.

Parents fight, but they are mortal. Hester Prynne never engaged in matrimony, but she was a woman of ill repute. Edna is the first literary heroine whose acquaintance I made — after a protracted string of Elizabeth Bennets — who is comfortably married in Chapter One and discards husband, ring, and children in the closing paragraphs. You, Kate, were bold enough, cruel enough, to sketch marital dissatisfaction and depict frivolous adultery.

As a child, I wore butterfly hairclips that fluttered on miniscule wire springs. And I played house with my little sister and bequeathed upon myself the honor of being "mother." When mom and dad bickered — as fleshy, human parents are apt to do — I comforted myself with the trifling love affairs of Anne of Green Gables and her "bosom friend" Diana Barry. It never occurred to me, Kate, that my own "someday marriage" might prove anything but blissful. I did not contemplate the probable existence of handsome young men like Edna's Robert Lebrun who might sweep me out of my high-heeled pumps and filch my heart from the man whose name appears on the wedding papers.

I don't know what little girls play now; but I imagine they still dream of weddings. I suppose that they think of marriage as a concoction of four-tiered cakes and white gowns that rustle eloquently as the wearer approaches her beloved. That is good. Children should exert themselves over the memorization of times tables and mnemonic devices; they should hula-hoop and exchange popsicle-stick jokes.

I, however, am no little girl. In English III, I poured over The Awakening, scribbled notes in the margins, and succumbed to reality. Little girls cannot fathom neglecting their precious, plump "someday babies" so that art may be painted instead. Edna Pontellier, you informed me, prefers painting to mothering. She enjoys wading in the shore with Robert — submerging her toes in water sand and immersing her soul in his alluring presence. She is repulsed by Mr. Pontellier and his eternal smoking. Never mind that he is her husband.

When she grows desperate, Edna initiates an affair with a certain Alcee Arobin. Kate, you truly horrified me with this concession. Anne Shirley — after forgiving Gilbert for his heinous habit of nicknaming redheads — would never have committed adultery. Hester did, and her garments were promptly emblazoned with a scarlet mark of shame.

Edna is dead, drowned in the blue waters of her accord; I am confused as to whether she ought to be discussed in the literary present. I am certain, however, that I am alive. Yes, Kate, it was erroneous of Leonce Pontellier to suppress his wife. Yes, I was a foolish little girl to believe that marriage encompasses nothing more than a wedding. Edna, though, was not justified in her selfish behavior.

I still occasionally imagine my "someday wedding." Bashfully, I compose pretty scenes in my head of a gown that blankets my skin in realms of white satin. Smiling, I conclude that my as-of-yet unclaimed husband and I will be transported to our honeymoon in a billowing, breathing hot air balloon. But I have determined that I will work tirelessly to make my marriage beautiful beyond the wedding day. I pray that I will communicate effectively with my husband, and ignore the threateningly handsome young suitors. I vow that I will lay aside my paintings, and nurture my children. And though the frosting from my four-tiered cake may cling to my lips and the scent of roses may make me giddy, I'll know that I have truly abandoned my days of "little girlhood." You have shown me, Kate, beauty transformed into hideousness and sin; thus, I shrink from it.

Sincerely,
Anjali Sood

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