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A review by merryspinster
Meet Julie: An American Girl by Megan McDonald
2.0
I decided to "Meet Julie" when my daughter, who is rapidly approaching her eighth birthday, scanned through the "Historical Character" section of the American Girl website and got all excited about this character and the year 1974 . . . the year I was born. Well. That's enough to plunge anyone into a midlife crisis: I mean, seriously, "historical"? Looking at Julie, I noticed that she comes wearing a turtleneck I used to actually own, has the same hair I had, and is living in San Francisco, just a few hundred miles north of where I was living at that age, San Diego. It's probably (wait, who am I kidding -- I've lived my life -- it's DEFINITELY) the closest I'll ever get to seeing myself in a wax museum and it was creepy. Anyway, having all my dreams of stitching samplers (Felicity) or learning Spanish (Josefina) with my daughter shattered, I got the book to see what might be in store. Here is a sample:
Not that Julie doesn't have bigger problems: her parents have recently divorced, she's the new girl in town, and she's going to need Title Nine to help her achieve her basketball dreams. But reading Megan McDonald's (of Judy Moody fame) version of my childhood to my daughter is -- well, it's weird, not to mention bland, by-the-numbers writing. Maybe the problem of my whole American Doll idea was that I was going to carefully worm an Educational Experience into my child's life. Now that it's both trite and personal, I can't bring myself to do it.
For my eighth birthday, I went to the zoo (that's what we used to do back then); I remember it because we went to the San Diego Zoo and I got to go on an elephant ride. If my daughter wants to have a similar experience, we'll do it -- and if she wants me to show her how to macrame a plant holder or make a friendship bracelet, we can do that too -- no book necessary. No need to "Meet Julie."
"Class," said Ms. Hunter. "President Ford is about to sign a bill that will soon have the whole country using the metric system. It's what the rest of the world uses. Australia and New Zealand have converted. The metric system is taking over the world, and we Americans don't want to be left behind."
Julie sighed. Millimeters? Decimeters? What's wrong with good old inches? she wondered as she picked up T.J.'s ruler. She felt just inches away from throwing up her hands in frustration. Or was it centimeters?
Not that Julie doesn't have bigger problems: her parents have recently divorced, she's the new girl in town, and she's going to need Title Nine to help her achieve her basketball dreams. But reading Megan McDonald's (of Judy Moody fame) version of my childhood to my daughter is -- well, it's weird, not to mention bland, by-the-numbers writing. Maybe the problem of my whole American Doll idea was that I was going to carefully worm an Educational Experience into my child's life. Now that it's both trite and personal, I can't bring myself to do it.
For my eighth birthday, I went to the zoo (that's what we used to do back then); I remember it because we went to the San Diego Zoo and I got to go on an elephant ride. If my daughter wants to have a similar experience, we'll do it -- and if she wants me to show her how to macrame a plant holder or make a friendship bracelet, we can do that too -- no book necessary. No need to "Meet Julie."