Jonathan Kozol’s 1995 book, “Amazing Grace,” is intriguing, yet infuriating. While I was drawn to the subject, a study of the children of New York City’s South Bronx neighborhood, I was put off by the “Note to the Reader” at the front of the book, which warns that some names have been changed (I can live with that) but also that “conversations have been condensed” and “some events have been resequenced,” which leaves me wondering what parts of which conversations with whom have been resequenced (a word that Microsoft Word 2003 does not even recognize) and when? Because the book is presented in a chronological order, one would assume a natural progression: as a general rule, time goes by, seasons change, and children mature. In real life we don’t get the chance to resequence
The book is basically a series of conversations, with Kozol trying to be the unbiased questioner, who lets his characters, excuse me, interviewees, write his book for him. Very rarely is his voice heard; he only allows some sadness, and some delight, filter through. Statements are made, facts are reported, but one must keep referring to the Notes at the back of the book to substantiate the facts, and check the dates, because we just never can be sure what has been resequenced. It would almost have been more efficient to include the notes in the body of the book, so one does not have to continually flip back and forth from the text to the notes.
The children in the book are lovely, and it is their amazing grace shining through the constant sorrow that gives this book its title. Although it is true that we are all equal, in truth we are all different, and Mr. Kozol’s skin color, clothing, speech and demeanor mark him as a stranger in this strange land called the Bronx. (The villain of the piece is actually New York’s master builder, Robert Moses, who cut a deep swathe, the “Cross Bronx Expressway,” through the heart of the neighborhood and created a slum where there had once been a thriving community.) And because Mr. Kozol is a foreigner, indeed he wears the skin and clothing of The Powers That Be, one must wonder if his conversations with the children and parents are indicative of their true feelings, or are they just telling him what they think he wants to hear?
Mothers and grandmothers are the true heroes of the piece; guiding their precious children (including one, here called, “Precious,” although who knows if that name has been changed) through a drug- and crime-infested hell, while fathers, sons and daughters bounce from hospitals to prisons to the cemetery. HIV-infection is a very real force here, although since the book is now 12 years old I do not know what effect the disease has on the community today.
The book’s structure is flawed, but the story is inspiring, and makes the reader question how the children can be saved. Is it the obligation of the City government, which seems to have done a fine job relocating its “problem children” from their visibility in homeless shelters in Manhattan to the far, far away, out-of-sight, out-of-mind Bronx? Is it to be solved by mentoring, one-on-one, as 13-year-old “Anthony” is guided in his education by an older gentleman, a writer and poet? Should Kozol have just picked up Precious and adopted her into his Massachusetts family life, thus rescuing her from her certain tragic fate?
And those of us who are teachers, what is our role? Kozol seems to leave us in despair, as if there is nothing that a human being can do to turn this tide. We have to hope that the influence of an inspired teacher could make a dent in the defenses that these children have built up, like a shield, to guard them from the hard knocks of their hard lives. Maybe a teacher can, because if we didn’t believe that such a thing was possible, we might as well turn in our chalk and go home.
The book is basically a series of conversations, with Kozol trying to be the unbiased questioner, who lets his characters, excuse me, interviewees, write his book for him. Very rarely is his voice heard; he only allows some sadness, and some delight, filter through. Statements are made, facts are reported, but one must keep referring to the Notes at the back of the book to substantiate the facts, and check the dates, because we just never can be sure what has been resequenced. It would almost have been more efficient to include the notes in the body of the book, so one does not have to continually flip back and forth from the text to the notes.
The children in the book are lovely, and it is their amazing grace shining through the constant sorrow that gives this book its title. Although it is true that we are all equal, in truth we are all different, and Mr. Kozol’s skin color, clothing, speech and demeanor mark him as a stranger in this strange land called the Bronx. (The villain of the piece is actually New York’s master builder, Robert Moses, who cut a deep swathe, the “Cross Bronx Expressway,” through the heart of the neighborhood and created a slum where there had once been a thriving community.) And because Mr. Kozol is a foreigner, indeed he wears the skin and clothing of The Powers That Be, one must wonder if his conversations with the children and parents are indicative of their true feelings, or are they just telling him what they think he wants to hear?
Mothers and grandmothers are the true heroes of the piece; guiding their precious children (including one, here called, “Precious,” although who knows if that name has been changed) through a drug- and crime-infested hell, while fathers, sons and daughters bounce from hospitals to prisons to the cemetery. HIV-infection is a very real force here, although since the book is now 12 years old I do not know what effect the disease has on the community today.
The book’s structure is flawed, but the story is inspiring, and makes the reader question how the children can be saved. Is it the obligation of the City government, which seems to have done a fine job relocating its “problem children” from their visibility in homeless shelters in Manhattan to the far, far away, out-of-sight, out-of-mind Bronx? Is it to be solved by mentoring, one-on-one, as 13-year-old “Anthony” is guided in his education by an older gentleman, a writer and poet? Should Kozol have just picked up Precious and adopted her into his Massachusetts family life, thus rescuing her from her certain tragic fate?
And those of us who are teachers, what is our role? Kozol seems to leave us in despair, as if there is nothing that a human being can do to turn this tide. We have to hope that the influence of an inspired teacher could make a dent in the defenses that these children have built up, like a shield, to guard them from the hard knocks of their hard lives. Maybe a teacher can, because if we didn’t believe that such a thing was possible, we might as well turn in our chalk and go home.
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