My Big Mouth
READ THE BOOK, NOT THE WORDS
An editorial about one religious extremist and the Crutcher book he tried to ban.
In his February 13, 2005 letter to the Grand Ledge Independent opposing the book "Whale Talk" by Chris Crutcher, Rev. Kent Himebaugh said, "I would like every parent...to make an honest effort" to investigate the book.
But in a televised February 14 news report, Himebaugh admitted he had not read the book. Is that what passes for honesty in the Reverend's world?
If he had read the story he blindly rejected, he would have found some rough language, it's true. Because Crutcher works as a child and family therapist when he's not writing young adult literature. And in that troubled world, language is very often used as a weapon against the most vulnerable of people -- children.
How can an author like Crutcher tell a realistic story of survival and redemption without looking honestly at the bad guys who make it tough to survive? How can a reader trust a story's authenticity if it doesn't reflect the language evil doers employ?
Even the Bible looks honestly at both good AND evil, using the language of its time. It does so because men much wiser than the Reverend have long understood, the concept of relativity is essential to full understanding. We must understand what bad is, to fully honor the divine.
Unlike the Reverend, I have read "Whale Talk" -- several times. So please allow me to shed some light on his shadow of ignorance.
"Whale Talk," on a broad scale, is about T.J. - a biracial 17-year-old adopted by white parents as a toddler. He has struggled with issues of anger and racial defensiveness most of his life, but has come to terms, thanks to a loving home life and a gifted bi-racial therapist. When his journalism teacher asks him to anchor a high school swimming team -- at a school that has no pool -- T.J. agrees, on one condition. He gets to pick the rest of the team.
Crutcher's likeable protagonist recruits a group of memorable outcasts; a tough kid with a prosthetic leg, a nerdy brainiac, a developmentally disabled kid with a dead, all-star brother and several more. The school bully -- a racist, football player -- won't let the slow kid wear his dead brother's letter jacket because he didn't "earn" it. So T.J. takes the swimmer's plunge to help this under dog earn a coat of his own.
Could this noble plot line be what the Reverend found so immoral? Of course not. He didn't read the book. He only read what he considered the "naughty bits." So let's take an honest look at two of those.
On page 68 and 69, T.J. goes back to visit his therapist, who is doing play therapy with another troubled child -- Heidi, a multi-racial toddler. When Heidi sees that T.J. is "brown" like her, she starts to call him the things her racist, white step-father calls her. She's four. She has no other way to deal with such unreasonable hatred. The brutal scene ends as they try to wash the color from their skin, at Heidi's insistance. She is helpless. She is wounded. And she hopes the transformation will win her the love of a hateful beast.
In this passage, we experience the weapon-like language Heidi has endured for most of her short life, because it is the only way we can REALLY begin to understand it. But what's obscene isn't the "n" word or the "f" word or the "b" word she parrots like verbal poison. What is obscene is the fact that her character and her pain are based on a true story -- on a thousand true stories. What's obscene is the fact that kids suffer that kind of abuse far too often. If they live through it, they grow up hurt and angry, sitting next to the Reverend's kids in English class at school.
On the page Himebaugh referenced in his letter, page 125, we meet the same drunk, angry step-father who so harshly structured Heidi's heart-breaking world. For obvious reasons, this evil character uses the same, unforgivable barbs we've heard from the wounded toddler, and he uses them liberally. And again, it's not the words that are obscene. It's the way he so wrecklessly uses them.
T.J. and his team and his family fight against these wicked characters, thanks to Crutcher's skillful work. And time after time, I've seen kids finish this book, "language" and all, with a staggering new sense of compassion -- and determination. "Not in my school," they say, after reading "Whale Talk" cover to cover. "Not from my mouth. Not in my heart. Never again."
Those gritty words, realistically placed in this author's powerful story DO teach a lesson. But it's not the one Himebaugh fears -- the so called "promotion of profanity." The lessons of "Whale Talk," are strictly cautionary. Don't use any word without measured consideration. And stand up against those who carelessly do. It offers lasting motivation to leave cruelty and racism in our nation's past where it belongs.
In the same February 14 television newscast that revealed the Reverend had not read the book he condemned, he also accused the Principal of the Grand Ledge High School of being a hypocrite because "Whale Talk" included language students couldn't use in academic hallways. I say to the Reverend, try these scriptural references on for size. "First cast out the beam of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly." And my personal favorite, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."
Read the book, Reverend Himebaugh, not the words. Then you may be better prepared to thoughtfully, even righteously decide. And once you do decide, tend to your own house, and let other parents take care of their own.
Kelly Milner Halls
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THE VALUE OF "SHOCK LITERATURE"
After I was assigned an article on the censorship of YA books, I asked members ot the YALSA BK list to share their thoughts with me, regarding well organized conservative groups like PABBIS and the American Family Association. This nameless library student voiced her concerns and I'm glad she did. I share her note and my response below. Here's to bridging the gaps, and seeing both sides.
In a message dated 8/3/04 2:38:21 PM Pacific Daylight Time, Ms. X writes:
Parents have a right to information regarding how to approach materials they deem HARMFUL to their child. Please pick your battles carefully. These organizations have as much right as the ALA to assist their people with intellectual freedom issues. Just for you, I'm a library school student. This issue and the way it is approached has essentially made up my mind NOT to work in a public library or to join the ALA. I'm still hoping to work in a school library, however where the focus is on curriculum and not the newest piece of shock literature for young adults.
Hi! I'm sorry I can't address you by name, but you didn't sign your email, so I'm at a loss. I appreciate your thoughts and your frustration. And when I write my article, I plan to fairly present both sides of the issue -- yours and "theirs" because both sides have valid points and because it's my job as a journalist to present them. So I am glad you took the time to write. It took courage, and I respect that.
There is a part of me that agrees with your basic stance. As a parent, I do like to know what my girls are reading and experiencing whenever I can. And I've built a strong, loving relationship with them, so that's almost always the case. If and when they read "shock" literature as you call it, I read it too, so I can intelligently discuss the topics covered. Books with controversial content have proven wonderfully fruitful in terms of keeping those doors of communications open between us. After all, if they read about something gritty, I'd like the chance to share my views as they form their own. I work hard to be the kind of steward my kids feel safe and open with. So those books don't scare me at all.
That said, I hope as you train for your job as a librarian, you'll remember that not all children have parents who take their stewardship seriously. Some children have parents who essentially give up many of their rights when they chose abusive and destructive parenting choices. And those are the kids who will need your open mind more than you might ever have realized.
Let's say there's a girl, a patron named Sarah who's 13 years old. For seven years, her step father has been slipping into bed with her as her mother sleeps on the otherside of the house. He's misused her trust and his position of authority, first in tiny inappropriate ways, but later in more blatant forms of sexual abuse. Lets say he's moved up the scale so gradually, and done this so long, there is a part of Sarah that isn't sure what her step father is doing is really wrong. For seven years, he's told her it means he loves her. And he's the only father figure she remembers. His paychecks pays the family bills -- keep her alive, in a very real sense.
But she's 13 now, and her peers are starting to talk a little about boys and what they would and wouldn't do with them. "I'd never let a boy touch me THERE," most of her friends say. "Not until I'm in love." "Not until I'm married." Sarah's starting to realize that what's gone on for so long might not be okay. But HOW in the WORLD does she get out of this pickle? She can't tell her mother. Mom might be mad -- and the odds are good she won't believe her anyway. She can't tell her friends. They think it's wrong, and her shame is soon almost overwhelming.
Sarah doesn't know where to turn for help even talking about this problem. In the mind of a sexualized child, it's so big it's beyond our comprehension. She's considering suicide. Tiny cut marks line the inside of her arms.
Another year passes, and Sarah's still being abused, still considering suicide as she's entering the 9th grade. You're her librarian and you book talk CHINESE HANDCUFFS by Chris Crutcher. The book features Jennifer Lawless, a girl who's being sexually abused by HER step father. Sarah makes a beeline for that book for reasons you can't even begin to imagine.
She reads about Jennifer, how trapped she feels because if she blows the whistle or her step dad, he says he'll kill her little sister, or just do the same things to her that he's done for years to Jennifer. He even kills the family golden retriever puppy "accidentally" just to prove to Jennifer that he means business.
Sarah is spellbound by this book, not because it's "shock" literature, but because she sees her troubled face in Jennifer's. And as she turns those pages, she feels a little less alone. She starts to wonder if it's not her fault almost as often as she thinks of jumping off the freeway overpass bridge into 70 mile an hour traffic. She cries with Jennifer and, in her mind, with the author Chris Crutcher. She wonders if he'd understand her.
Once she checks the book back in, she lingers at your desk. She wonders if the librarian who likes this book might be safe to talk with. "Maybe she won't think I'm dirty," Sarah ponders. "Maybe she'll help me without judging me, without hurting me." So she says, "Ms. X, do you like this book?"
And you say, "Yes Sarah. I don't like what Jennifer's step father puts her through, but I like that she finds a way to escape it."
Sarah thinks, "Okay, she didn't think Jennifer was bad. She thought Jennifer's step father was bad. That's good." She asks her next question.
"Ms. X, if I knew someone like Jennifer, how could I help her to escape?"
In that rare moment, you have the chance to change and better a tortured life -- a chance you might never have had if not for the "shock" literature. You say, "If I had a friend suffering like Jennifer, I'd talk to the school counselor or call the Mental Health center downtown to find a therapist I could talk to. Would you like that number for your friend?"
Sarah takes the number, feeling safe you really believe it's her friend. And maybe you do. Maybe you don't. But from now on, Sarah smiles when she walks by your desk and says, "Hi Ms. X...got anymore great books?"
"Got the new Chris Crutcher book right here, Sarah," you say. "Maybe you and your friend would like to read it. How is she anyway, did she find someone to talk to?"
Sarah smiles as she checks out the book and says, "Yeah, she's doing a lot better. Thanks for the number."
Now, what would have happened to Sarah if her step-father had been notified about the content of CHINESE HANDCUFFS before Sarah had the chance to read it? Would he have allowed her access to life saving "shock" literature? Absolutely not. Did he deserve that "right" after years of sexually abusing his step daughter in secret? Absolutely not.
Those are the kids I hope you'll consider before you blow off all "shock" literature as useless. And if you'll check out mental health statistics, you'll find one in every three girls are sexually molested before they reach their teens. Those aren't my stats. Those are the national statistics gathered by experts. One in every five boys have also been sexually victimized before their teens.
My girls never suffered that shameful abuse, thank god. So I can stay on top of what they read and watch. I've earned that insider status. But I hope you'll look out for the kids who aren't so lucky too.
Let me know if you'd like to be one of my interview subjects. I'd love to give you and your opinions a chance to be heard.
Best,
Kelly |
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INDEPENDENCE DAY '03
On July 4th, 2003 a discussion that started -- for me -- with a woman who said being a smart girl was never cool and never would be. I was on deadline. I resisted, but not successfully. I felt my big mouth pulse through my fingers and yes, I cyber spoke.
Paraphrasing for brevity's sake, I said I had never been penalized for being smart, and I haven't been. I said no girl -- young or old -- should dumb down just to dance with a boy. I said if that's the best boy she could come up with, she should learn to dance alone.
I must have come off as cocky, because I got these reactions, among others:
"...Kelly was disagreeing just for the sake of disagreeing."
"... it must have been nice to always have people respond to you and your intelligence in positive ways...What planet do you hail from?"
So, in my leave no secret unturned tradition -- this is what I said...
Always? Who said anything about always? I danced alone in college because by then I'd found (and later lost) a place of personal balance. But I wasn't born with it.
My father was always out of town, and my mother was clinically depressed -- chronically unavailable. Not her fault, but I spent my childhood trying to be invisible to avoid her mood swings. When I couldn't hide, I was OUT...gone...anywhere but home.
When adolescence loomed, our nomadic life also began. My father, a defense department manager, moved us essentially every year from the time I was 11 to 16. Get the picture? During the developmental phase when vitriolic hormones made kids most likely to hate outsiders, I was a new kid outsider -- EVERY YEAR.
I spent my early adolescence eyes locked to the pavement -- praying if I didn't make eye contact they'd pick someone else to humiliate. I found my center purely by accident when I found journalism as a junior. By sheer luck, I signed up for the school newspaper because I was good at writing and I thought it would be an easy A. It was much more. It was a lifesaver that would rescue me more than once through the course of my lifetime.
I'd survived through isolation -- invisible by choice or necessity. But interviewing people forced me to come out of hiding. And again, purely by accident, I found that when I stopped hiding from the people who rated me a 3 on a scale from 1 to 10 because I was plump and unfamiliar, I might actually FIND the people who'd see me as plump and worthwhile. It wasn't wisdom. It was blind luck.
That combination of isolation and discovery gave me the will and confidence to dance alone in college. Finding I could make my own happiness was blissful, but it didn't last. Because growing up in isolation taught me a lot about obvious bullies, but nothing about predators with more insidious technique.
At 22, I met a dozy and I married him a year later. All that self-esteem had vanished within two years. I spent the next 12 in a more ferocious isolation, taking horrific verbal abuse because I thought I deserved it. I reverted to a familiar survival skill -- hiding -- until a court ordered therapist asked to see the offender's wife.
"Why have you stayed with this man," he asked me.
I said, "For better or worse," and I meant it. I'd promised my husband and God I'd spend my lifetime in this agony. And a promise was a promise.
"Don't you deserve the better part too?" he asked. I didn't know. So he asked me to give myself ONE good thing, even if I decided to stay in the marriage. I promised him I'd write.
When I dusted off my journalistic skills, I rediscovered the emerging spirit of that junior in high school -- the girl who knew hiding from bad men also meant hiding from goodness. And five years later -- five LONG, TOUGH years later, I found the courage to once again, dance alone.
I'm 45 years old now, in human terms -- only ten in my new writer's life. But the freedom I stumbled upon in high school and college journalism, that undercurrent of knowledge that resurfaced when I needed it most, literally saved my life.
So yes, I have learned to walk away from people who, for their own wounded reasons, want to discount or dismiss my existence. And I've taught my girls to hold firmly to their sense of kindness and self worth. But it has nothing to do with being cocky. It is only because I survived.
Kelly |
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(PRE) SCHOOL VISIT
June 2003
I had my first PRESCHOOLER school visit today -- three and four year olds who came to hear about I BOUGHT A BABY CHICKEN. For your consideration...a shortened version of the interaction.
Kelly: Do any of you like baby chickens?
Preschooler: I have a dog.
Kelly: That's neat. Have you ever seen a baby chicken?
Preschooler: It bit me once.
Kelly: I'm sorry it bit you. Did you have a question sweetie, your hand was raised.
Preschooler: My cat is dead.
Kelly: Oh, I'm sorry. One of my kitties died a week ago. That's sad.
Preschooler: Can I sit in your lap?
Kelly: No. I'm sorry. I only have one lap, so that wouldn't be fair.
Preschooler: But there's only one me. [pretty bright for a preschooler, huh?]
Kelly: Should I read the book now?
Preschoolers: Yes! Yeah... Yay. My uncle is fat.
Kelly: Give your uncle a cookie and a hug for me. [read the book, they loved it]
Preschooler: I have a chicken.
Kelly: Do you, that's so neat. I love chickens.
Preschooler: I have 72 chickens.
Kelly: 72 chickens, wow, that's a lot.
Preschooler: I have a chicken in my pants. [I swear to god, he really said it]
Kelly: Pretty itchy business, I'll bet, a chicken in your pants. Want me to read it again?
Preschoolers: Yes. Yeah. Yay. Can I get a drink?
Kelly: [read book, good again]
Preschooler: I have a kitty.
Kelly: I love kitties. Guess I better go talk to the 2nd graders class now. Bye. Thanks for having me.[tiny tug on my skirt on the way out...]
Shy little preschooler: I only have a fluffy bunny.
Kelly: I think a fluffy bunny is great...good for you. Maybe I'll write about a bunny next.
Book contracts, advances, good reviews, all that stuff is great. But NOTHING, NOTHING compares to a day like today.
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ON BASEBALL, TIM ROBBINS & DALE PETROSKEY
In April, Baseball Hall of Fame President Dale Petroskey (a staunch Republican and former Reagan aide), cancelled a celebration of the film BULL DURHAM because of actors Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon's vocal protests against President Bush's decision to go to war with Iraq. I wrote to voice my frustration with his politicized actions when it came to baseball, a sport for all Americans, regardless of affiliation.
This is his form letter response to my disapproval -- and just below it, my response to his pathetic dodge.
April 24, 2003
Dear Friend:
We have received thousands of letters, e-mails, and phone calls about the cancellation of the Bull Durham events scheduled for April 26-27. Thank you for sharing your feelings with us.
The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum is a very special place - a national treasure - and my responsibility is to protect it. Politics has no place in The Hall of Fame. There was a chance of politics being injected into The Hall during these sensitive times, and I made a decision to not take that chance. But I inadvertently did exactly what I was trying to avoid. With the advantage of hindsight, it is clear I should have handled the matter differently.
I am sorry I didn't pick up the phone to have a discussion with Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon rather than sending them a letter.
We are so lucky to have Baseball - a game that unites us as Americans. The events of the past week show us all that The Game burns brighter than ever and continues to stir passions in many people.
Our wish is that every American will visit Cooperstown and join us in celebrating Baseball, our national pastime and the greatest game of all.
My Best Wishes,
Dale Petroskey
President
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In a message dated 4/27/2003 2:31:35 PM Pacific Daylight Time,
This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it
writes:
I am sorry I didn't pick up the phone to have a discussion with Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon rather than sending them a letter.
I imagine that's absolutely true. If it had been a scathing phone call instead of a letter, there would be no paper trail, no proof of your political bias and it's unfair influence on Hall of Fame events.
I LOVE baseball. I loved it when I was a little girl in the 50's, before girls could actually PLAY in little league. My father coached team after team, and I practiced with the boys almost everyday. I was a damn fine short stop -- could compete with most of the little boys. But after practice, I warmed the benches and cheered "my" team on during competition, just for the love of the game. Sure I wished I could have a uniform and an equal standing. But I still loved the game. It was above politics. It was almost holy.
You rubbed the spirit of the game in the mud, and STILL you don't see how you wronged all of us who respect it.
Getting caught in your political agenda -- documented in print -- isn't what went wrong. Allowing your personal bias to influence the Hall of Fame agenda in the first place is where you struck out, Mr. Petroskey. When you admit that, I'll be willing to forgive and forget. Then I'll be willing to move forward and PLAY BALL, even if from an observational place in the stands.
Sincerely,
Kelly Milner Halls
Freelance Writer |
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FRANCE: FRIEND OF FOE
by Kelly Milner Halls
As we inch toward war with Iraq in February of 2003, the question of France standing in opposition came up on one of my favorite listservs. This was my response.
Why would it be wrong for France to stand up for their best interests, if it's not wrong for Bush to stand up for what he believes to be the best interests of the US? I guess I don't think a treaty should force ANY nation to go counter to their own collective conscience.
And why is it so wrong to try and exhaust peaceful resolution before we kill thousands of civilians and sacrifice our precious young soldiers -- and theirs -- to remove a madman? I don't see what's disloyal or un-American about that.
We keep talking as if "they" aren't a part of "us." We are all connected. Even the Christian philosophy says, "When you do it unto the least of them, you do it unto me." Why is it the gentle teachings of Christ fly out the window when religious people want to play rough?
It shouldn't be that easy to kill ANYONE. It shouldn't be that easy to judge. I will never understand it. But I will keep hoping for enlightenment for ALL of God's children. We desperately need the gift of compassion and understanding, along with this swaggering arrogance and military might.
Kelly Milner Halls
Freelancer |
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ON ABUSE AND RECOVERY: THE PARABLE OF BEN
by Kelly Milner Halls
September 2002 will stand in my mind as the month I turned a professional corner in my book writing career AND the month I pissed off a listserv. We were discussing whether or not "edgy" novels were flooding the market, and then, whether they helped or harmed the audience for which they were written. Some list participants started to say things like "victims wear their victimhood like badges of honor," and, "they demand special status." They suggested the true heroes were those victims who suffered in silence. I could not agree or keep my mouth shut. This was my final post on the subject.
I don't blame [THESE PEOPLE] for making stoic choices. But I question [THEIR] intolerance for the choices of others. And I refuse to impose [THEIR] definition of recovery on anyone else, because [THEY] didn't fight the same bears.
That's what Ben called his first abuser when was six -- the bear. Twice a week, as we curled up in side-by-side bean-bag chairs to improve his crippled reading skills, he'd display his latest war wounds before we got to work.
"The bear was hungry," he'd say as he pointed at 10 fresh stitches, "he took a bite out of my arm."
"The bear was tired," he'd reflect caressing a swollen purple reminder, "I should have let him sleep."
"The bear was mad," his lips mouthed, a clean plaster cast softly thumping against the empty library wall. "I guess I made him mad."
Ben was soon rescued by child protective services and placed in a foster home, where he was sexually molested by the foster father who was paid to keep him safe.
Angry and confused, he went from foster home to foster home, learning mistrust and self-loathing, but never love. By the time new bears began to roar -- high school principal bears, football coach bears, biology teacher bears -- respect wasn't something Ben could offer or understand.
"Get out of my school, if you can't be respectful." "Get out of my foster home if you can't stay in school." The bears stripped Ben of his last relatively safe havens at fifteen. So he stuffed two pairs of torn jeans, three t-shirts, and a jacket into a backpack he'd found in a dumpster. Without fanfare or notice, he left the house that was never his home.
Some nights, he slept at Denny's because the all-night waitress felt sorry for him and turned a blind eye when he snuck scraps off the bus boy's cart. Other nights, he begged spare change at the bus terminal, to fund a diet of Doritos and Mountain Dew. He was too young to get a job.
The first time he was knifed for his backpack, he went to the emergency room -- another bite, another bear. The second time, he turned to a pimp. The third time, he didn't have to worry. The third time, the bear won the fight.
Was Ben wearing his victimization like a manipulative badge? I don't think so. But had he lived, he might have needed a lifetime to find his way out of the bog. And I would have done my best to make sure he had all the time he needed, even if all he ever did was TRY.
From grades to dress sizes to the voter registration, we strive for societal conformity because we fear the alternative. It's as if we think one duckling out of formation will cook our collective goose.
But guess what? Life isn't standard issue and "normal" is an illusion. There are countless roads to any desired destination. We are not only allowed but required to each of us find our OWN ways.
THAT is why there are all kinds of books out there for all kinds of people to read. And that's why I hope there always will be. |
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WHAT DOES "EDGY" MEAN?
by Kelly Milner Halls
As emerging writers discover their worlds turn in the realm of YA, the question inevitably rises, "Is my book edgy?" followed by, "What does 'edgy' mean?" Since YA is one of my specialties as a reviewer and one of my favorites as a reader, I offer my definition for consideration.
We have a tendency to call certain behaviors and lifestyles "normal" -- though I question the reality of that. We think the schools are filled with "normal" teens living "normal" lives -- class, homework, cheerleader, sports, chess club, prom committee, spirit club, dance team, school paper. It's all pretty "average" on the surface.
But when we cut into the real meat of a kid's life, look beyond the "image," we might find something unexpected or even overwhelming in its level of challenge and intensity. That cute cheerleader may have a stepfather molesting her -- driving her eating disorder. That chess club president may be gay and in love with his biology teacher. That football player may be planning to murder the man who beats his mother without causing visible bruises.
To me, "edgy" means the story examines the life and times of a protagonist on the fringe, whether we realize he's on the fringe at first glance or not. Of course, that can include the misunderstood "goth" kid or the boy most likely to shoot up a school. But the edge in the story isn't always what the kids do as much as it's WHY they do it.
Edgy is that kind of REAL -- without hesitation -- even if it's not a reality we all want to acknowledge. But those books, with their inclusionary, "I'm not alone" value, can literally save lives. And no one does it better than Chris Crutcher, Ellen Wittlinger, the late Robert Cormier.
Is life on the edge "real" for all young readers? Of course not. "Real" is subjective and varies from individual to individual. So not all kids see "edgy" books as being relevant to their own day-to-day lives (thank god). But almost every kid has been impacted to one degree or another by scenarios like those mapped out in edgy books. So even kids who are blessed with more stable domestic environments can often relate to the stories depicted, in terms of someone they know.
I'll take that statement a step further. Almost every kid (and every educator) could benefit from understanding the challenges "other" kids are forced to endure. Only through understanding can judgment give way to compassion. Simply put, shine a light, and the darkness is diminished.
So go ahead...take a walk on the wild side. Explore the young adult "edge." |
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Terry Davis, me and Chris Crutcher.
Available NOW
Spring 2007
Now Available!
Spring 2005
Darby Creek Publishing
August 2003
Boyds Mills Press, 2001
Boyds Mills Press 2001
PIL 2001
My first book, Wiley 1995.
Dinosaur Mummies (2003)
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