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The Submarine

Toni Hoffmann’s painting which won The Earl of

Meath Senior Art Prize 2010

ST COLUMBA’S Library is unusual in that we stock equal quantities of fiction and non-fiction. This 1:1 ratio puts us much closer to a public library than a typical secondary school library, where the recommended ratio is 4 or even 5:1 in favour of non-fiction. We explain this firstly by saying that as a self-contained community without easy access to bookshops and public libraries, it is one of the Library’s functions to make a wide choice of fiction available to both pupils and staff. And secondly, that as a school we have a very strong reading culture, fostered by the English department, which the Library is keen to sustain and support. But is it so important to read fiction? The Library, for example, spends a significant proportion of its budget on imaginative works. Librarians and educators do think reading is vital, and tend to make generalised assertions about it widening one’s emotional, spiritual and intellectual experience. At the November 2009 conference of the School Library Association Republic of Ireland (SLARI), Nicola Morgan, author of Blame my Brain and Know your Brain, as well as several fiction works, spoke about the importance of reading fiction, especially for teenagers. She opened her talk by asking humorously, “could librarians save the world?” but in the afternoon session she brought our attention to new findings that suggested they could at least play a part. The findings go something like this: digital technology—the web and so on—appeals mainly to the brain’s limbic system. The limbic system is where our primary emotions, our ancient ‘flight or fight’ reflexes, reside. Higher-order thinking, our more rational and modulated responses, takes place in the pre-frontal cortex. The pre-frontal cortex takes longer to switch on than the limbic system, and though the difference is only a matter of seconds, very often when we’re ‘connected’ we’ll have already clicked on the next item or image, refiring the limbic or ‘excitement’ response before the pre-frontal one can engage. Advertising and music videos do this automatically, for example, rarely lingering for more than a second or two on a single image or idea before moving to the next. Given that young people are the greatest consumers of digital product precisely at a time when the teenage brain is undergoing the major re-structuring of adolescence, it is now believed that excessive limbic stimulation can lead to a reduced development of empathy. Empathy, which resides in the pre-frontal cortex, is “the power of mentally indentifying oneself with, and so fully comprehending, a person or object,” and is clearly one of our most essential human traits. Encouragingly though, the research also shows that words, when spoken or written in narrative form, are a major stimulus in the development of empathy. It would seem that scientific research is beginning to underpin librarians’—and teachers’ and parents’—intuitive belief that not only is reading good for you, it’s good for everyone else as well.

* * * This edition of The Submarine sees Fiona Boyd handing on the editor’s hat to Patrick McGonagle, who will produce the next issue. Our sincere thanks to Fiona, who did a wonderful job. We’re very pleased to publish her beautiful, elegiac (and highly empathetic!) story, Cultivation on page 6.

TMcC, Librarian

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REVIEW – NEW MOON by STEPHENIE MEYER –LYDIA JOHNSON New Moon is the second book in the Twilight saga which consists of four books.

The main character in this book is a nineteen year old girl, who was living a normal life until she meets Edward Cullen. Bella is terrified, amazed and madly in love with Edward, and he feels the same about her. Bella is like a trouble-magnet—she brings trouble with her everywhere she goes. Edward

has to undergo the difficult task of protecting her, as most of the danger in her life is because of him. This would be difficult—if Edward was human. But he is a vampire who can run a mile in a second and lift a bus with his baby finger. He is also inhumanly beautiful, with a face like porcelain and smouldering golden eyes. Bella, who has dark brown hair and a pale face, is beautiful too—for a human. She longs to be a vampire though, to have the elegance, to have the beauty of Edward and his two sisters, and to live forever, always safe in Edward’s arms. However, Edward refuses to change her, refuses to take her soul from her and steal her future as a normal human.

I loved this novel—it is the best I have read since I read the first book in the series! The book is so intense, and it is also bizarrely inhuman, all about vampires and werewolves. But the author is such an amazing writer she makes it seem so realistic and as I read I could imagine it happening. _____________________________________________________________________ REVIEW - DÚNMHARÚ AR AN DART by RUAIDHRÍ Ó BÁILLE

ROSS CANNING Leabhar an-taitneamhach é Dúnmharú ar an

Dart atá scríofa go fuinniúil bríomhar ag an údar, Ruaidhrí Ó Báille. Is múinteoir meánscoile é an príomhcharachtar, Niall Ó Conaill, agus é curtha as a mheabhair ag dalta uafásach darb ainm Billy Bréan Ó Ruairc. De thaisme faigheann Niall seilbh ar a lán airgid agus eascraíonn imeachtaí a shaoil as smacht ar fad ina dhiaidh sin nuair a shocraíonn Niall ar an airgead a fuair sé a choimeád agus turas aeraíochta lena bhean a dhéanamh go dtí Athens. Má tá imní ort nach dtuigfidh tú an Ghaeilge – ná bíodh! Tá Dúnmharú ar an Dart scríofa i nGaeilge an-simplí agus éiríonn leis an údar úrscéal casta suimiúil a chruthú. Bhain mé an-taitneamh as an leabhar seo agus ba chóir, dar liomsa, é a léamh.

Dúnmharú ar an Dart (Murder on the Dart) is a very enjoyable book and it is written with energy and gusto by the author Ruaidhrí Ó Báille.

The main character, a secondary school teacher, Niall Ó Conaill, has been driven mad by an awful pupil called Billy Bréan Ó Ruairc. By chance Niall comes into possession of a lot of money and the events of his life whirl completely out of control when Niall decides to keep the money he has found and to scamper off with his wife to Athens.

If you are worried that you will not understand the Irish – don’t be! Dúnmharú ar an Dart is written in very simple Irish but the author still manages to create a very complex and intriguing story.

I really enjoyed this book and, in my opinion, it deserves a read. ______________________________________________________________________________ 2

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NEW BOOKS IN THE LIBRARY: These are some of the books we’ve added to our shelves this term. JUNIOR FICTION

Brigands MC, Robert Muchamore Crocodile Tears, Anthony Horowitz Blood Hunters, Steve Voake Eagle Day, Robert Muchamore Falling, Sharon Dogar Genesis, Bernard Beckett Ghost Hunter, Michelle Paver The House of Special Purpose, John Boyne The Sorceress: the secrets of the immortal Nicholas Flames, by Michael Scott Specials, Scott Westerfeld Starclimber, Ken Oppel Stop in the name of pants: fab new confessions of Geogia Nicolson, Louise Rennison Tempted, PC and Cristin Cast Tales from Outer Suburbia, Shaun Tan

JUNIOR NON-FICTION

The 7 day Self esteem Super-Booster, Jenny Allen Charles Dickens: the man who invented Christmas, Andrew Billen Russia in Pictures, Heron Marquez Seven Wonders of Ancient Greece, Michael and Mary Woods

SENIOR FICTION

The Bride’s Farewell, Meg Rosoff The Book of Tomorrow, Cecilia Ahern The Burnt-Out Town of Miracles, Roy Jacobsen Generation A, Douglas Coupland Not Untrue and Not Unkind, Ed O’Loughlin The Girl who kicked the Hornet’s Nest, Stieg Larsson Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann The Little Stranger, Sarah Waters The Lost Symbol, Dan Brown Lustrum, Robert Harris The Post Office Girl, Stefan Zweig The Story of a Marriage, Andrew Grier The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, David Wroblewski Thirteen Reasons Why, Jay Asher Twenties Girl, Sophie Kinsella SENIOR NON-FICTION

The Cambridge Illustrated History of Religions, John Bowker (editor) Jamie’s America, Jamie Oliver Mr Market miscalculates: the bubble years and beyond, James Grant

HISTORY

1939: Countdown to war, Richard Overy The Alamo and the Texas war for Independence, Albert A Nofi Blood on the Rose: Easter 1916 (Graphic book), Gerry Hunt Children of the Troubles: our lives in the crossfire of Northern Ireland, Laurel Holliday (editor) The Coming of the Third Reich: how the

Nazis destroyed democracy and seized power in Germany, Richard J. Evans D-Day: the Battle for Normandy, by Anthony Beevor Making Sense of the Troubles, David McKittrick and David McVeigh My Father, the General: Richard Mulcahy and the military history of the revolution, Risteard Mulcahy Who’s Who in Nazi Germany, Robert S. Wistrich GUIDANCE

Alphabet Kids: from ADD to Zellweger Syndrome, Robbie Wolliver

SCIENCE

Atom: a journey across the subatomic cosmos, Isaac Asimov The Descent of Woman, Elaine Morgan The Greatest Show on Earth: the evidence for evolution, Richard Dawkins Rocket Men: the epic story of the first men on the moon, Craig Nelson Snake: the essential visual guide to the world of snakes, Chris Mattison

Why does E=mc2 (and why should we care?), Brian Cox and Jeff Forshaw BIOGRAPHY

Eight Lives Down, Major Chris Hunter Florence Nightingale: the woman and her legend, Mark Bostridge From a Clear Blue Sky: surviving the Mountbatten bomb, Timothy Knatchbull In my Brother’s Shadow, Uwe Timm The Junior Officer’s Reading Club: killing time and fighting wars, Patrick Hennessey William Golding: the man who wrote Lord of the Flies, John Carey A Woman in Berlin: Diary 20 April 1945 to 22 June 1945, Anonymous (Martha Hiller)

SPORT

Grandslam: how Ireland achieved rugby greatness, Alan English DRAMA

The Methuen Drama Anthology of Irish Plays, Patrick Lonergan (editor)Much Ado

about Clubbing, Andrew and Polly Fusek

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REVIEW – A WOMAN IN BERLIN by ANONYMOUS – DR BANNISTER

The author of this diary is a German woman in her early thirties who experiences the full horror of the final Soviet assault on Berlin in the last days of WWII. The Soviet soldiers become known to the women of Berlin as the ‘Ivans’ who gang-rape any woman they can find, at times throwing down a few cigarettes beside their victim’s brutalized body as ‘payment’ for their criminal act of sexual violation. As the author, in this excellent translation by Philip Böhm

explains, many of these ‘Ivans’ were treating their horses with more human kindness and dignity than the women they abused and violated. The author does however find a modicum of refuge by retreating to the fourth-floor apartment where, she explains, the Russian soldiers rarely searched. “Although it took us a while to figure out, the fact is the Russians dislike climbing stairs. Most of them are farm boys used to living close to the earth, in homes with only a single floor—so they are not very experienced stair climbers” (page 161).

From being continuously raped to weary endless days passing ‘zinc ingots’ across a cold grey factory yard to fill up wagon-loads of material for export to Russia, the author realises that for the German women suffering this bitter fate the departure of the Russians and the return of their men will not be the end of their ordeal, for they will have to face the future agony of living in the silence of unspeakable memories.

This book examines through the skilful and delicate treatment of its subject matter the paradox of war itself. Who are the victims? Who are the persecutors? It was, perhaps, the very same Russians who entered the gates of Auschwitz and were greeted as liberators who were now perpetrating crimes of their own against the defenceless women of Berlin. This fog of moral confusion that war generates pervades the book with an almost casual banality. “Smiling, she offered me a cigarette. Later the head steward informed me in a dramatic whisper that the woman was a ‘bad person’… I never saw her again, but I still see her plump, friendly female face. What is that supposed to mean anyway—a bad person?” (page 141).

One of the more upsetting events related in the book is that of a German lawyer and his wife, a Jew whom he had refused to divorce and with whom he had suffered unthinkable hardships and persecution before and during the war. As the pair wait anxiously to greet the victorious Allies, Russian soldiers burst into their basement shelter, accidentally shooting the husband who consequently bleeds to death on the floor while the soldiers rape his wife. “His wife threw herself at the Russians, begging them to help, in German. Whereupon the took her in the hallway, three men on top of her, as she kept howling and screaming, ‘But I’m Jewish, I’m Jewish.’ In the meantime, her husband bled to death” (page 230). The diary also shows in a bizarre way a tenderness and humanity shining through these Russian invaders when it comes to small children. The author relates a touching story of how a certain Fräulein Behn escapes being raped because of two small children she just happens to be minding: “When Fräulein Behn started to open ___________________________________________________________________ 4

VOL 5 NO 1 MARCH 2010 ____________________________________________________________________ the door, they pushed her into the room… then stopped in front of the crib where the baby and the four-year old Lutz were sleeping together. One of them said in flabbergasted German, ‘Small child’. They both stared at the crib awhile—and then stole away on tiptoe” (page 157). Later the two Russian soldiers return with chocolate for the children and a brief friendship is established. However, ‘a shadow’ suddenly falls on the room when the younger Russian relates how German soldiers who came to his village “stabbed some children to death and took others by the feet and bashed their heads against a wall” (page 158). The ambiguity of war where the visible rapist seems preferable to the invisible raider is expressed well by Fräu W, who points out: “Better a Russki on your belly than a Yank over your head” (page 37), and the ability of the author to find humanity and courage, beauty and the miraculous amidst the devastation of war is also an impressive gift that this author shares with her readers. This book is an invaluable historical document which should be read by all those who are interested in seeing and understanding what was happening in Germany in 1945. A diary of personal experiences, it covers two months, from late April to mid-June, a period that coincides, interestingly enough, with Hitler’s suicide (30 April) and the final demise of the German home front on 2 May. This is not a story told in the safety of a bunker or about those who wreaked mayhem and destruction on one another in the final days of WWII, but a story about unarmed inhabitants struggling to survive in the ruins of their own decimated lives. It is the story of how life really was, as seen through the eyes of an intelligent, well-educated journalist, a woman in Berlin. _____________________________________________________________________

REVIEW – BROOKLYN by COLM TOIBIN – MR JAMESON Set in the 1950s, Colm Toibin’s Brooklyn follows young Eilis’s journey from insular Enniscorthy to cosmopolitan New York, a place she finds different from, but also crushingly similar to, home. Emigration—that unavoidable reality of twentieth century Ireland—is brought vividly to life through her trials: her seasickness, her struggle to adapt to life in a boarding house, her inability to escape the influence of fellow Irish emigrants. Eilis is a simple character and little is revealed of her inner life; Toibin’s prose is similarly basic and undecorated.

This serves to reinforce the impression that her experience was shared by hundreds of thousands of other Irish people and by hundreds of millions of other emigrants. Brooklyn is a restrained but dignified tribute to the many people who had no choice but to leave home for faraway shores but perhaps Toibin’s greatest achievement is his note-perfect depiction of the claustrophobic atmosphere of small-town Ireland. Colm Toibin’s Brooklyn was been long-listed for this year’s Costa Book Awards, along with

Wexfordman Peter Murphy’s John the Revelator. Both books are available in Senior Fiction.

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Cultivation by Fiona Boyd The light of the dawn broke over his shoulders as he moved across the crumbling earth. He was walking, as he walked every morning, around the land he had bought almost fifty years ago. The soil from the path clung to the sole of his boot and moved with him to the further field, where the sheep grazed under the awakening sky. Pausing there, he breathed deeply, pulling the birdsong, the smell of the animals and hundreds of colours into his body. He bent, suddenly, and using his thumb and forefinger picked a single buttercup from the grass. He held it safely, in his warm and weathered palm. He called the collie to his heel and turned to head back up to the hill where the buildings were coming back to life. The men were moving about now; they would milk the cows before eating. And one would come to him and tell him how things were going, but that would be much later. The hill grew steeper each time as he forced his stiff body up the grassy slope(his stick lay forgotten beside the stove). Again he drew in the morning air heavily, hoping to find strength from the energy of the new day to push himself the last few steps. Reaching the top, again he paused. He never tired of the view: field upon field rolling out before his feet, some his, mostly others. But the mixing, twisting colours were what enchanted him the most. The sense of peace he found grazing upon the multicoloured earth humbled him. It brought him back to reality, reminding him that he had a place, a definite and solid place in this infinite, ever-evolving world. He had purpose amongst the beauty, a role he had filled his entire life. A provider – a loyal, dutiful and modest man in his marriage, to his children, as a friend, son, brother and businessman. The view reminded him he was part of this enormous, living, breathing thing. It both comforted and scared him a little. Between his fingers he twisted the thin, dead stem deep inside the pocket of his coat. The hens’ chatter carried from the pen to his ears, as they scratched the dirt for some missed morsel,. Suddenly he was aware of the dog panting next to him, and the men calling to one another. Somewhere a car drove through a pot-hole and in the tree to his left something rustled in a nest. The sun was higher now casting everything in its rich glow as it rose to take its daily position. The dew sparked off the blades of grass. The metal of the wire fences glinted. A glimmer passed through the black of the collie’s coat as it rose and fell. He had bought the farm forty-nine years ago. Freshly married, his whole life was spread before him in these green acres. When he signed the contract he signed away his life from then on it was his. His to raise a family from, to create a business from, his to grow and graze whatever he pleased. Now looking around, it was hard not to lose his train of thought as he took in the countless memories contained in this space. A lifetime’s worth. He remembered how in the upper fields, closest to the house, his three sons had stood in awe as they watched the dogs herd the sheep for the first time. Their cheeks reddened by the breeze as their eyes followed the darting black and white all those years ago. Now they were fully-grown men, with wives of their own, children of their own to gaze at them with awe. Ten years ago one of the weddings was held here. The yard was pristine, the wells washed, flowers were hanging from baskets, a marquee was spread across the lawn. He remembered catching sight of a stranger that day, coming out from the kitchen door. It was a man in a black suit with a flower in his breast pocket. The man had come to him and shaken his hand, smiled at him and talked. He had watched the stranger as a mixture of his own amazement and pride welled inside him. It was his own son, born again on a lazy August afternoon as he had been on his own wedding day fifty years before.

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VOL 5 NO 1 MARCH 2010 ___________________________________________________________________________ He smiled now to himself. Something in the air today was prompting these snatches of memory. Where he stood had been the site of their toboggan races when the heavy snow had come to blanket the entire farm. They had spent hours coaxing the sheep in, the previous day, their four feet slipping on the strange cloth. He had stood that January, watching the wooden planks being guided up and down by his sons, holding his wife’s hand in his own, their breath mingling together in the cool air. They had come out one night, under the stars, to try the toboggan themselves, trying to remain silent, to keep the beauty to themselves, to be like their sons – like children again for an hour. Afterwards, they had lain together outside, watching the snow fall gently on them. Looking around now, it was impossible to try to deny what this place meant to him and her. Though he would never say it, the farm was to him a physical manifestation of their relationship. The dry leaves that gathered in corners during November were the notes in the bottom drawer of his desk that he never sent. The blossoming flowers in May were the kisses he forgot to count because there seemed to be so many. In the water troughs for the horses, clear and pure, he saw the look in her eye as she would turn away from him. The fallen plums and apples in the orchard were the yearly reminder of the day he had slipped a thin gold band on her finger. He saw her now in her white dress, so many years ago. Her beauty echoed on today in the lightness of her eyes and the colour of her lips. Again he twirled the buttercup between his fingers touching the delicate petals, feeling the silkiness of the wax and the light dusting of the pollen settling on his finger tips. He reached down to pet the dog’s head. She pushed her head against him for this approval. No doubt her eyes saw nothing but memories too when she walked out into the fields. She had come here as a puppy, a runt from the litter of a friend. She had never been much use as a sheepdog but nevertheless he enjoyed her company on these morning turns. She had slipped right into his life, as if there had always been an empty space just waiting for her. She knew every nook and cranny, every person, animal and smell. If someone new visited she would know and whine for hours because the strangeness upset her: it was an odd quality to an otherwise well-behaved dog but he had to admit he liked it. Her loyalty to the farm was deep and he rewarded it by letting her into the house. His wife complained – it wasn’t fair, or that she smelled – but he was adamant. The dog was like an extension of himself, in tune and aware of everything as he had once been. But this sharpness had faded with time. He kept the dog to remind him. It was not so long ago that he had had to retire entirely. Only a year or two but it had left him stunted, at a loss with what to do. He would walk the farm and continued to oversee its management. But even that was becoming too much; the numbers swam on the page and he often lost his train of thought. His wife blamed his whiskey. He didn’t know who to blame. The children visited: he enjoyed that. They were bustling, full of the rushing colours of life as they poured out their news as if they were back from an eventful day at school. The grandchildren had taken over the treehouse and the tyre swing. Unable to push them he watched. He seemed now to be taking a back seat in everything; easing himself off life gently as the acceptance of what was sunk deeper under his skin. Having stood for so long he hadn’t noticed the time slip past and knew he would be missed elsewhere. He walked on again up to the courtyard to slip in the kitchen door, remove his coat and pull off the boots. He would hang up his hat and curse himself again for having left his stick by the stove. He would go to the cupboard and pull out a mug and fill it half way with water. He would take a sip before going into the next room where he would slip the buttercup into the liquid and present it to her where she sat watching in her chair by the open window. Her hands would be empty and she would smile.

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DONATIONS TO THE LIBRARY As a school library we’re very privileged to have such a broad spectrum of supporters—pupils, Old Columbans, members of staff past and present, friends—who donate books to us on a regular basis. And though it goes without saying, it is worth saying: such donations are invaluable. They give the Library’s resources a range and depth they would not otherwise have, as well as freeing up funds for the more routine purchases the Library makes.

This year the Library has been the recipient of two major donations that add significantly to our stock. The first is the full nine volume set of the Dictionary of Irish Biography, presented to us by John Fanagan, our former English teacher and Senior Master. John, who resonates fondly in our memories still, taught English in St Columba’s from 1974 until his retirement in 2008. He

had such a formative impact on generations of Columbans—several of his former pupils probably already feature in the DIB—that we can’t help feel how appropriate his choice of gift of the national biography is. May many more of you appear in it! On behalf of us all, past, present and future, we thank him most sincerely. Our other major donation comes in ‘under the radar’ so to speak. Mr Brett has presented the Library with Richard Taruskin’s six volume The Oxford History of Western Music. This invaluable work, scholarly yet accessible, chronicles the development of music from earliest times to the present, and is a major addition to our music section. Mr Brett’s modesty prevails in this, as always— indeed the Library benefits from a constant stream of books from him that are simply left on the office desk with a brief note, ‘for the Library’. The Library relishes this chance to thank him in a more public way than usual. We would also like to mention two other important gifts. The first, from Mr Clarke, is a 50 CD box set of classical music, a wonderful gift in its own right, as well as fortuitously complementing Mr Brett’s. Cataloguing of these CDs is ongoing! And finally, the Library’s thanks to you all—or to the sweet eaters among you at least—who through a generous donation made by Mr Swift from the Tuck Shop are donors every one. THE LIBRARY ALSO RECEIVED DONATIONS FROM THE FOLLOWING OVER THE PAST TWO TERMS, FOR WHICH OUR GRATEFUL THANKS:

Mrs Arlene Lavin, Ms Anne Hallahan, Ms Fran O’Brien, Mr Timothy Brownlow, Mr Alex Findlater, Mr B. Redmond, Dr G. Bannister, Mr R Brett, Ms Gina Mirow, Mr T. Clarke, Mr N. Coldrick, Dr David Sowby, Ms K. Hennessey, Dr M. Singleton, Mr P. McCarthy, Dr Neil Stronach, Deerfield Academy, Mr R. Swift, Mr Morgan Dockrell, Mr Norman Lush. _________________________________________________________________________________ 8

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REVIEW – FREAKONOMICS by STEPHEN LEVITT AND STEPHEN DUBNER - PATRICK McGONAGLE If you know an economist, then you know that they can seem arrogant at times. Their confidence in the techniques and methodologies of their training lead them to the almost religious belief that economists are more “rigorous” than other social scientists. In the book Freakonomics, economists Stephen Levitt, and Stephen Dubner confidently challenge social norms and conventional wisdom, asking

questions such as “How do parents of different races and classes choose names for their children? What sort of contestants on the TV show ''The Weakest Link'' are most likely to be discriminated against by their fellow contestants? What do schoolteachers and sumo wrestlers have in common? , and why do drug dealers still live with their moms?” The answers for these questions are based on simple, straight forward facts and statistics, but what’s more astounding than the details found beneath the surface, are the conclusions that are then drawn from them.

In the book's most debated and controversial topic, Levitt and Dubner cleverly link abortion with the precipitous spike in crime of the ninety’s. The logic is simple and linear; a) unwanted children are more likely to grow up to become criminals; b) legalized abortion leads to fewer unwanted children; therefore, c) abortion leads to less crime. The basis for this topic is the Roe v. Wade case (the legalization of abortion in the U.S.) of the ‘70s, which the authors staunchly argue was the direct predecessor and cause for the decrease in crime in the ‘90s, considering the would-be-age of those potentially aborted children.

In my opinion, the statistics which backed these conclusions were somewhat questionable and often a little too convenient. Throughout the book, I found myself challenging the full accuracy of such statistics, as they always happened to fall so heavily in favour of these economists. The authors seemed very willing to take a simplistic approach to what is ultimately a very complex topic. While I admire their attempt to reach out to every level of intelligence, such intellectually “rigorous” content would probably be best left in the hands of those who would be most willing to interpret it in a more non-partisan manner.

The overall thesis of the book, outlined in the beginning and shaded in throughout the rest of the book, is that people respond to incentives. The authors divide these incentives into three different categories; social, economic, and personal. The most engaging of their “stories” revolve around the human incentive to cheat. Their approach manages to relate sumo wrestlers to teachers in a way that would’ve previously considered absurd, and presents the reader with a considerable amount of seemingly substantiating evidence. The incentive concept here is simple; better student exam results produced by the teachers results in more money for the teachers under Bush’s educational reform program 'No Child Left Behind'. To the authors, the inevitable reaction to these incentives was a wave of cheating and test fixing throughout the American public school system, a result that often financially crippled the schools who probably deserved the money the most. This response to incentives is then related to sumo wrestlers in Japan, as the difference between 43rd place in the world ranking, and 75th was a (dubiously) staggering $750,000. In their view, this difference in ending results creates unimaginable cheating incentives for these sumo wrestlers, in the exact same way as the teachers. Throughout this section of the book, as well as most of the book, the authors manoeuvre adroitly through the hedges and tall fields of almost nothing, and end up at, well, nothing. Their innate ability to carp and ramble on leaves the reader wondering where they started and more importantly, where it’ll end.

Throughout the book, Levitt, and Dubner continually, and almost reflexively play “intellectual detective”, searching through every nook and cranny society has to offer in order to find loop holes with which to validate their book's thesis. This does make for an interesting and often exciting book, so long as you manage to skip the right bits which seem to drag on at times. My advice to the average, avid reader out there looking to tap their inner erudite, would be to take this book with a pinch of salt, but also to relish the book's air of confidence and simplicity, as nothing in actual life will ever be this simple. _________________________________________________________________________ 9

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REVIEW –THE LOVELY BONES by ALICE SEBOLD –SALLY KEMP

Susie Salmon was fourteen when she was raped and murdered. She looks on from her heaven at her family and friends, and her murderer, as their lives progress in her absence while she tries to come to terms with her own death. Susie narrates the entire story, but the main focus of the novel is her family. Her wry sense of humour really lifts what would otherwise be a depressing storyline, and makes it easier to delve into the dark territory the book leads us into. Susie is stuck

in a purgatory which she calls ‘her heaven’. Her guide tells her that the only way she can reach heaven is by letting go of earth, but Susie can’t accept her death quite yet. The real tragedy is Susie’s ambition and how she had so much ahead of her, which she tells us in little nostalgic anecdotes. She learned to love herself from an early age by accepting and embracing all her oddities. The story is set in 1970s Philadelphia, in what Alice Sebold says is ‘the oddness of what we condescendingly call the suburbs’, which she shows us by the way Susie dresses and how people act. What I really liked is how it all seems to be a perfect world but has serious cracks that ruin the American dream. At the start Susie explains how she and her dad made ships in bottles together as their special pastime, and how he kept all his bottles in his office, the only place he feels he can really be himself. In a key scene he smashes all the bottles they made together but in the reflection of the broken glass he sees Susie’s spirit watching over him. Her mom, Abigail, feels so trapped in a not-so-perfect world, where everyone around is overwhelmed with grief and she has to be the one to put on a brave face, that she runs away to California for eight years. At the very end of the book, Ray Singh, Susie’s first love, and Ruth, a girl who once went to Susie’s school and was touched by Susie’s dead spirit, are at the sinkhole where Susie’s dead body parts remain. Susie’s spirit possesses Ruth’s body and Ray and Susie make love. I really loved this book. It is definitely my favourite, it was so gripping I read it in just one day! The opening, the murder scene, was probably my favourite part. I really liked the build-up of tension, the grim and dark description, and how, while all of it was happening, Susie’s thoughts were going back and forth to what was going on at her house at that very moment, what her mum would think, and what she did that day in school. And while the ending (to do with the murderer) originally irritated me, I think now that the way everything tied in together is much more satisfying. _____________________________________________________________________

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REVIEW – FLOWERS IN THE ATTIC by VIRGINIA ANDREWS – OYINDA ONABANJO Flowers in the Attic is a poignant, disturbing tale that Andrews herself described as ‘unspeakable things my mother didn’t want me to write about.’ This book, first published in the late 70s, tells the story of four siblings who embark on a life-altering journey all within the confinements of a bedroom and attic. The story is told in the first person by Cathy Dollanganger, as she recounts her experience with her siblings Chris, Cory and Carrie. From the moment you open this book you’re hit with a sense of despair as Cathy talks of her anger. In the beginning tragedy strikes the young family as Cathy’s

father dies, which creates a ricochet of events, a ‘snowball effect’ that finally spins out of control. This novel encapsulates the saying ‘carpe diem’ because this is exactly what each child wishes they had done. Flowers in the Attic covers themes that some would call taboo such as sexuality, incest and murder of a blood relative. It is very well-written and at times difficult to put down, but at the same time it is too horrid not to. Yet Virginia Andrew’s descriptive talent makes this book what it is, simply a very good read. _____________________________________________________________________ REVIEW –GUANTANAMO BOY by ANNA PERERA –SADHBH SHEERAN

Guantanamo Boy by Anna Perera is about a fifteen year old boy called Khalid. He is a normal teenager and likes seeing his friends and playing football. When his parents announce a family trip to see relatives he isn’t exactly thrilled, but as he has no choice in the matter he goes anyway. Khalid’s nightmare begins. He ends up kidnapped in a foreign country and is forced to see things no teenager should. He is tortured and lives in constant terror. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever escape. Guantanamo Boy is an amazing book. It is written for teenagers but I think anyone would enjoy it. The author has written it so well that you would never know that she herself wasn’t a teenager. Although it is a work of fiction Guantanamo Boy is based on real events. And it remains a fact that children are abducted and abused and held without charge in places like Guantanamo Bay. It is awful to imagine that something similar to the situations in the book may actually be happening to children. This makes the book quite sad. I think Guantanamo Boy has a very good purpose though. It is showing the teenagers of today that children’s rights are being abused. I would definitely recommend the book. It isn’t difficult to read and really opens your eyes about the horrendous things that can happen to children. If you like books that when you finish them give you a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’re missing part of you, this is most definitely the book for you! 11

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What’s Reading Me

OLIVER GLENN-CRAIGIE Avenger by Andy MacNab Em. It’s okay. Em, exciting and action filled. LUDO STEWART The Life of Michael Scineoos by Michael Scineeos

It’s amazing and full of factual information. MR SHERWOOD

The Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest by Stieg Larsson I got through the first two (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and The Girl who played with Fire) very quickly, but school demands... go ahead and laugh I tell you, you’ve no idea... really? Well you don’t...and then I had to meet the fellow from the North...and of course name withheld lost his bloody passport... (some little time later)...Where was I? Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed all three. Mr Canning put me onto them. They’re real page-turners, you’re desperate to know what happened next.

SALLY KEMP The Adventures of Don Quixote by Cervantes

Because it’s really cool and intelligent. REV. CROSSEY Azincourt by Bernard Cornwell

I really believe reading should be for fun. I love historical fiction, it’s a great way to get yourself inside the stories and inside history. I’ve always found Bernard Cornwell extremely readable but well-researched. Captivating characters.

DUNCAN MATHEWS A Winter Song by Jean-Claude Mourlevat

I don’t like the book. MR CANNING I’m not reading anything at the moment. (“School demands?” inquires Mr Sherwood sympathetically). I’m reading the Kite Runner again, but yes, that’s for school reasons. SARAH WHELAN The Luxe by Anna Godbersen: It’s mysterious. MR McCARTHY Fairy Books with daughter Emily

I can’t remember the series but there’s about thirty of them. There always seems to be a campaign against Jack Frost, king of the goblins. She loves them—she corrects me on my pronunciation. ________________________________________________________________________________ 12