Letters About Literature

2010 Winning Entries

Humanities Tennessee is pleased to announce that 1,721 students from across the state entered this year's Letters about Literature contest.

Tennessee boasted a distinguished panel of judges this year, including children's authors, Shellie Braeuner, John Carter Cash, and Ronald Kidd.

On Level I (grades 4–6), the 1st Place winner in Tennessee is Katherine V. Fulcher from Jefferson Middle School in Oak Ridge. On Level II (grades 7–8), the 1st Place winner for our state is Siori Koerner from Christiana Middle School in Christiana. On Level III (grades 9–12), the 1st Place winner in Tennessee is Malli Swamy 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

Katherine V. Fulcher, age 11, 5th grade, Jefferson Middle School, Oak Ridge
Teacher — Kevin Webb
To Mitch Albom about Tuesdays with Morrie

Dear Mitch Albom,

My grandfather was a kind, caring, and happy man. He loved to work on his farm. When he was 77 he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. This probably discouraged him, but he never gave up. I always wondered how anyone could be so strong until I read your book Tuesdays with Morrie.

When we went to visit my grandfather, you could not tell he even had the disease. He still went and farmed everyday. When he went back to his doctor, the cancer was still there. It has spread. The doctors decided to give him a stronger dose of chemo. After that doctor visit, everything was down hill. He started to turn yellow. But every time my family came to see him, there never seemed to be a moment when he was not smiling.

He went on for about 3 months until they brought in a hospital bed and put him on a breathing machine. Everything seemed to turn upside down for me. When I read your book, I began to look at death differently. Morrie was a man who didn't have a lot going for him, but he never gave up just like my grandfather. Even when Morrie's mom died and his brother got polio, he never stopped hoping. He kept going, even after he was diagnosed with ALS in his 70s. Morrie was always happy, so was my grandpa. My grandfather died shortly after he was put on the breathing machine.

Reading your book made me realize that it is not impossible to be happy and optimistic, even when you are dying. My grandfather was my role model. Now, Morrie is too. When I think about how Morrie was hopeful, it makes me want to be that way also. I really enjoyed Tuesdays with Morrie.

Yours Truly,
Katherine Fulcher

Second Place

Brayden Kee, age 11, 5th grade, Stuart-Burns Elementary, Burns
Teacher — Amy Tate
To Jack London about White Fang

Dear Mr. London,

I enjoyed reading your book. I was able to relate to White Fang's feelings. I noticed that some things are the same in nature as they are in my life.

White Fang was bullied, and I am too. I know how it feels to be bullied and made fun of. White Fang got angry when he was bullied, and I get mad too. When people laughed at him, he wanted to fight them. I would never attack anyone, but sometimes I feel I could. I know from school that the strong pick on the weak. White Fang had that problem in nature as well. I was also able to relate to Scott's feelings about White Fang. I have a dog named Rocket. I love him very much too.

I was surprised that I understood how the wolf felt. We have had similar experiences. It was as if you were describing my feelings through White Fang's story. I enjoyed it very much.

Your friend,
Brayden Kee

Third Place

Ashlyn Anderson, age 10, 4th grade, Poplar Grove School, Franklin
Teacher — Judy Winton
To Brian Selznick about The Invention of Hugo Cabret

Dear Mr. Selznick,

When I was younger it was easy to make friends, speak up, and take chances but as I got older it got harder. A few years ago when I started my new school, adjusting was hard. I wasn't necessarily lonely but shy. Since I read your amazing book I have been thinking about how much Hugo and I have in common.

Although I'm not a orphan like Hugo, I feel a connection between us through having a dream and needing a friend. As I was reading, I could see through Hugo's eyes and play his part instead of mine. I can also feel his loneliness and longing for a friend. I feel that longing sometimes too.

Upon completion of your book, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, I felt compelled to confront my shyness by taking chances, speaking up, and making friends. Since then I've always had a friend. Whether it's me playing with a friend or having no one whom to pour my energy into and playing with my imagination, now I am never bored. When the going gets tough, I go by the moral of your story, "Even in hard times never give up." --Hugo Cabret

Your Faithful Reader,
Ashlyn Anderson

Letters About Literature — Level II

First Place

Siori Koerner, age 14, 8th grade, Christiana Middle School, Christiana
Teacher — Carol Haislip
To J.D. Salinger about Catcher in the Rye

Dear J.D. Salinger,

I would like to thank you for writing Catcher in the Rye. Where I'm from, people know me as the "weird girl" - I'm not into the latest trends in pop culture, and I'm not bubbly and air-headed; nor am I the dark, angsty teen aged disaster of the cultural norm. I'm different; therefore, I'm strange. I had always thought that I'd be the only one who was peculiar. The thought of being so unusual that it repelled people away from me crawled in the tiny crevices of my mind, sometimes overtaking my head until it threw me into short periods of muted sadness. I had always thought I was the only one who was like this, until I read your book.

From the very first words that were written on the pages, Holden had a certain familiarity about him. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, until I read further in the novel. When he vividly depicted Ackley's facial blemishes, when he described his classmates as "phony", and when he boasted how he was a natural liar; that's when I knew who he was: He was me! He might as well have been my rebellious twin brother with the things he thought, the words he spoke, and the actions he committed. Because of your book, I had not just found a friend I could relate to; I had found my new hero.

While I sank further and further into the deep, dark ocean of text that was Catcher in the Rye, I began to question myself. For example, although Holden describes everyone around him as superficial and fake, he constantly lies to all who talk to him and always thinks foul things while attempting to act like a respectful young man. Therefore, is he not superficial and fake as well? Also, what does that make me? I began to analyze my daily actions and the actions of others as well. I soon realized that it was not only those who were around me that were deceptive and "phony" … I was too. Catcher in the Rye was my wake-up call. It taught me that it's not just everyone around me who is fake: I'm fake too, and the people I talk to must think so as well.

Another lesson that Holden taught me was the lesson of conserving innocence. I'll never forget how he was talking about wanting to be "the catcher in the rye". As I read, I began to think of my little cousin who lives with unpleasant conditions that are quite extreme for a child to go through. When I read about Holden watching Phoebe riding the carousel, I began to wish that my cousin would keep her innocence instead of growing into one of the pig-headed adults that surround her and raise her. Holden's wish to protect the children opened my eyes to the horrors they must go through.

When I finally finished the book, I felt like I had just gotten off a roller coaster ride. My breath was shallow with excitement; my eyes still hungry for more. As I closed the back cover, I realized that your book had taught me so many life lessons that I would never learn in class. Was I suddenly then turned into a wise, sage-like young woman, accepted by my peers? Of course not - influential novel or not, I was, and will always be, the "weird girl". However, your novel taught me that life is going to be hard, and being different will help in learning many of its lessons.

Thank you,
Siori Koerner

Second Place

Emily Blount, age 14, 8th grade, St. Andrew's-Sewanee School, Sewanee
Teacher — Kinion Pond
To Anthony Kiedis and Larry Sloman about Scar Tissue

Dear Mr. Kiedis and Mr. Sloman,

Horrified, appalled, scared, frightened, terrified … I could come up with thousands of synonyms and non of them could convey the way your book made me feel. When some people read books they gain knowledge. Sometimes it is about himself or herself, the author, or life in general. After reading Scar Tissue I gained a lot more than knowledge, but I lost something too.

I never meant to read your book. I was asking around for something to read, and the next thing I knew my older brother was shoving your book into my hands. Deep down in my thirteen-year-old heart I knew I was too young to even think about opening your book. People say, "Curiosity killed the cat." The moment I became a "dead cat" I was swept away by your memories. I was already a Red Hot Chili Peppers fan, but I had never cared about the people who made the music happen. You made me care. I'll admit I did skim a few pages, but your memoir was not a child's book. It didn't mask the gory details with vague descriptions or one-sided stories. The brutal honesty of your writing was enough to give me some scars of my own.

In the beginning I tried to repress the images your words created in my mind. The drug abuse and pressure to get clean were issues I had never felt connected to, or associated myself with. Reading the words of someone who had fallen victim to all of those things and made it through, terrified me. I didn't want to think that was real. I didn't like to think that the place where I lived had problems, and that people could stumble upon them as willingly or unwillingly as they wished. I was still the frightened little girls who was perfectly willing to live under a rock and fulfill her despairingly normal life in the most uninformed way possible. This fear that I hid behind was inhibiting me from seeing and forming an opinion about what was going on in my own country.

Finally, I stopped resisting; I just let go. I stopped blocking it all out. It was then that my sensitive naive outlook on life was altered drastically. I had lost the blissful ignorance that most children have. The warnings my parents gave when I was a child about what was really "out there," suddenly became reality. Your book taught me about the world, not about a war going on in a distant country, but about the horrifying trouble kids who started out just like me can get into. I have read war books and I am no stranger to hearing about the inhumane treatment some people are forced to endure, but I never really stopped to evaluate my own home. Your book gave me insight into the mind and thought process of a person who was not given the average childhood I was privileged enough to have. Scar Tissue, the book that chronicled your life, your coming of age story, became the beginning of my own coming of age. Your memoir set off a chain reaction that opened my eyes to the world. I'm not going to say I loved your book, or that it is the best piece of literature that I have ever read. I'm not going to walk around suggesting it to just anybody, but I'm not going to put it out of my mind or forget about it. reading your book was out of my comfort zone, and it defied the boundaries I had created for myself. Personally I couldn't relate too much of what you experienced, and that is why I'm writing you this letter, to share with you what you unknowingly gave to me. Scar Tissue frightened me and changed me, but the truth is … I like it that way.

Sincerely,
Emily Blount, Grade 8

Third Place

Will Thomas, age 13, 8th grade, St. Andrew's-Sewanee School, Sewanee
Teacher — Kinion Pond
To Maurice Sendak about Where The Wild Things Are

Dear Maurice Sendak,

When I was a young child I often felt like I had to escape. I felt like I had to run away from school, my parents, and from things that now seem childish, but to me, back then they were serious problems that I could never forgive anybody for. It was something that I often contemplated, but I never actually did. At times I would pack my bags until they were full of clothes and other useless objects, stuff all my money (all twenty dollars of it that is) into a bag, and try to walk out the door, but something always held me back. So once again I would turn back, head to my room and dream about the possibilities. I would dream about being a pirate who pillaged the seas, a knight slaying dragons, an astronaut encountering aliens, and one of my personal favorites to this day: a great professional athlete. I would hide in these fantasies until my young short temper would cool, and i would return to the real world once again. Still, though, that crazy mixed-up world of my imagination would wait for me to inevitably return, and let the real world dissolve around me once again.

All this brought me even closer to Max, and helped me understand, now, if not as much when I was younger, his relationship with the Wild Things. In this old book that one faithful day in kindergarten, I waited the whole library class for one chance to look at it. As I watched it, I wondered about the sleeping monster on the cover, and the ship in the background that really intrigued me, because to my imagination it could be a pirate ship filled with adventure and treasure. What I really found inside the ship, though, was much better. What I found in this ship was a little mischievous, yet loving, part of me, the part of me that thought he was trapped, yet still free inside the lands of his imagination. I was still free with my wild things, whether my wild things were actually aliens on another planet or a dragon being slain by me, a fearless knight, as I saved the princess. I had to look into the big yellow eyes of these figurative wild things and become their king by not blinking once in the face of my deepest fears, and in doing so returning to my bedroom in my ship.

Max led me to realize that although dressing up in a wolf costume, sailing across the sea, and holding a wild rumpus is nice every now and again, there is true fun in people, but despite this Max also taught me another thing. Max made me realize sometimes, even ti it's in an act of anger, you have to escape from home for awhile, so that you can return and you can get even closer to home, your family, and all the people and friends that you have around you.

Letters About Literature — Level III

First Place

Malli Swamy, age 16, 11th grade, White Station High School, Memphis
Teacher — Suzanne Wexler
To Paulo Coelho about The Alchemist

Dear Paulo Coelho,

It is a very difficult thing to do, to delve deep into one's soul and think, "What are the things that have changed my life?" While many things may come and go, only a select few have a chance to influence someone so completely and so profoundly that the effect is irreversible. Your novel, Mr. Coelho, has done just that. It has played such a pivotal role in my life that I will never be the same. The Alchemist has changed me.

How?

What kind of a person was I before? When I was younger, I remember, I simply went about my life, unaware of the world's vastness and splendor, thinking about my dirty laundry or the next day's violin class. While these commonplace thoughts do deserve some time for consideration, I have learned that there is much more to living.

I first received The Alchemist as a birthday present when I was nine years old. My parents and I were in a bustling Indian airport, and just before we left my cousin placed the novel in my hands.

"Read it," she simply said. "I know you'll love it."

I decided to save it for our last connection; I then read it, smiled, and placed it on my bookshelf when I got home. I thought nothing more of it. I had felt only the slightest tremors of the novel at that age. The tsunami was yet to hit.

All my life, I have been told that I will be a fabulous doctor. If I perform a tender act of kindness, my mother tells me it is the first and foremost quality a doctor should have. If I do well on a biology test, my father tells me that I have a natural tendency to the subject. My father is a doctor, and my eldest brother is a doctor. My other brother, four years younger than the eldest, was also a doctor; he passed away in a car accident some years ago.

That car accident has played a pivotal role in my life. Even years after his death, my parents have a picture of him outside their bedroom door, a candle glowing next to the frame. After he died, I felt the obligation to try and replace him; my parents want me to be a doctor, and he was a doctor. Therefore, I should be one too. Sometimes, during conversations with my parents, one or the other would suddenly stop and say, "Oh, my god. Jay used to make that exact same face. Could you do that again?" As I write this, I feel as though my throat is burning, but my heart says that this is the right thing to do. After all these years, it is still enough to make me cry … but I digress.

I usually responded on a whim, indulging them only when I felt in the mood. After each episode, however, I was always left with a bitter aftertaste. I felt trapped on a road with cement walls on both sides, and barbed wire swirling over the tops. There was one path for me to follow, and I, not knowing anything else, continued trudging on. Whenever I was compared to him, I felt a warped sense of pride. I could please my parents by smiling like him, dressing like him, but in the end I knew it would never be possible; I am no one but myself, with my own dream and my own destiny.

I realized this fact the second time I read your novel. When I had been trying to turn my bookshelf into a miniature library, I stumbled upon it once again. My room was a mess anyway; the piles of books on the floor could wait. I picked up The Alchemist and turned to the first page.

The second time, the book took on an entirely new meaning. It was more than just the magical fable it called itself; it was an entirely new, unfamiliar perspective. I felt the cement walls crumble a little with this particular passage:

     "What's the world's greatest lie?" the boy asked, completely surprised.

     "It's this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie."

My heart lurched. Did I believe a lie? I paused and contemplated what had just happened. For a moment, I was almost frightened to continue; by this point I realized that if I finished, I would not be the same. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath and decided to read on.

That day, the cement walls were permanently damaged. While breaking them down entirely would take additional time and effort, I could see the world outside through the cracks; that was enough to teach me about all the other roads jut beyond the one I walked.

Your novel has taught me that the most important aspects of life are the simplest. Through the adventure of a Spanish shepherd boy who followed his dream to the deserts of Egypt, you have taught me the wisdom of listening to my heart, discovering my destiny, and, above all, following it.

Jay was a traveler like the boy Santiago, and I know that I am, too. I want to see the world not because of him, but because of the world itself. Thank you for letting me know that it is waiting for me.

Truly yours,
Malli Swamy

Second Place

Megan Lee, age 14, 9th grade, White Station High School, Memphis
Teacher — Lori McFalls
To Alexie Sherman about Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

Dear Sherman Alexie,

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian reassembled my slowly decaying world. In Junior's story, I saw myself lost in his words. My parents, my grandparents, and their parents have been Chinese for as long as they can remember, until my parents broke the chain and moved to America twenty years ago. They did not leave their heritage behind; thus, I was born as the so-called banana person. Outside, I look yellow, an Asian. However, inside, I tried to be a Caucasian American. From the beginning, I was an outcast, someone different, and this metaphor bothered me.

From the start of school, I absolutely abhorred parent teacher conferences. My mother's comprehension of English was not that great. My teachers would tell her about my progress in school, and she would keep asking ludicrous questions that the teacher had already answered. My father could not always pronounce words correctly, causing much confusion in communication, and I often wondered how he could possibly function at work. Why couldn't my parents be like all my friends' parents, who smoothly and easily enunciate everything to perfection?

Food was another issue. Chinese food was rampant in my household. My parents always preferred their traditional Chinese cuisine to American cooking. The worst part was the holidays. Whether it was Thanksgiving, New Years, or the Super Bowl, my family always celebrated with a party inviting other Chinese guests. The aroma of spicy Kung Pao chicken and the noisy chattering of Chinese voices would saturate my atmosphere. While I attempted to fit in with the American culture at school, my home life dragged me deeper and deeper into a Chinese circle. I was struggling but failing to patch the divide between the two worlds. I looked Chinese and, in some ways, acted too Chinese to be a "true" American. Consequently, I thought it was my parents' fault. We lived in America! We might as well act like Americans!

To compound all this, when I visited China over summer break, I found that I could not belong there, either. I could neither recognize road signs nor comprehend television commercials. Whenever I walked into a store or restaurant, people saw me as a Chinese native and talked to me rapidly in the language that was hard for me to understand. Furthermore, I could not conceive nor accept some customs and lifestyles that were integral to the Chinese culture. I started to despair, falling apart at the seams like a beanbag with Styrofoam beads slipping out. I was too Chinese to be American and too American to be Chinese. I did not belong anywhere.

The night after I read your book, I sat at the table pondering my dilemma as I poured myself a drink. My trembling fingers lost their balance and tipped the spout too far forward. The brown liquid overflowed, creating a puddle on the table. For a moment, I was confused about whether it was American coffee or Chinese tea. It was then that I realized what I had become. I had lost my identity when I tipped the natural scales too far in one direction, and if I did not learn to embrace myself, my life would be that desolate brown puddle that was to become nothing but a waste.

Junior is born with the same problem. He is too weak to be a typical Spokane Indian, but as soon as he starts attending the American school, he is shunned because he looks Indian. In the end, just by acting like himself, Junior gains acceptance for being everything he is. Luckily, when some of my American friends began to study Chinese, I was pleased that I could help. Junior successfully learns to be a part of both cultures; so could I. The problem first arose when I tried to be only one part of who I was at one time. I operated half alive, trying to quell the other half of my personality, trying to keep others from discovering what I was too embarrassed to admit even to myself. My parents were at one end of the scale and my friends at the other. Each represented a culture, but both were equally part of me. I cannot choose whom I was born as, but I can choose who I can become.

Thank you, Sherman Alexie, for gluing the parts of me together again. Through your book, I went on a quest to seek my identity, and I have discovered that I am not one person or the other; I am everything that is within me. I have realized that never in my life was I a banana. I am myself. I am American—a Chinese American.

Sincerely,
Megan Lee

Third Place

Paul Hoover, age 16, 11th grade, Germantown High School, Germantown
Teacher — Billy Pullen
To Thornton Wilder about Our Town

Dear Thornton Wilder,

Once upon a time, I took many facts of life for granted. I didn't exactly think much of my family, my community, my purpose in life, or even my mortality. None of those things really matter to a sixteen year-old boy trying to fast forward his life a few years and begin living in "the real world." Looking back at myself a year ago, I feel as if I was so simple, uninterested in some of mankind's most perplexing mysteries. Beyond the veil of my short-sightedness, there was a whole world of thought just waiting for me to explore. One day, I picked up the script of your play Our Town, and in a matter of a few hours, my entire life had changed.

It's funny how some of the simplest things can be so complex. When I started reading Our Town, I hardly expected it to be what it is. The first act seemed as if it was just about some average, boring, turn-of-the-century American townsfolk. None of them had any extraordinary abilities or conflicts. However, by the end of Act One, you had me hooked; I was connecting to these characters and their simple, day-to-day routines. Here in the little town of Grover's Corners, you had illustrated an average day, one much like ninety percent of the days of our lives. Nothing noteworthy happens, but we keep living. If anyone, I connected to George Gibbs the most. I, too, am a young man, trying to get an education while pursuing an intellectual, vibrant, pretty girl such as Emily Webb.

By Act Two, you pick up the pace. The stakes have been raised as we see that George and Emily are about to be wed. It was in this act that I had my first revelation about life. Do you remember the flashback scene, where the two lovers split an ice cream soda? Emily confronts George about his pride, and all of a sudden, I felt as if she was reprimanding me. Not too long before reading this book (and several times after), I had been told that I was too proud. I've had several noteworthy achievements, and sometimes I get a big head as a result, but that scene helped bring me back to earth. Then, as the act progressed, the characters explore the concepts f love and marriage a bit more extensively. There I sat, reading this page-turning play, reminding myself that one day, I'm going to be nervously watching a girl walk down an aisle to take her place by my side until death do we part. I don't think I'd ever truly processed that idea before reading your play. Since then, the whole concept of my own wedding just blows my mind. The thought of all my friends and family crowding into a church just to watch me eternally pledge myself to anyone, even the love of my life, is a bit nerve-wracking.

As wonderful as Act Two was, it was Act Three that really changed my life. I didn't expect any of what was to come from the final pages of this masterpiece. The focus of this act, death, is not something I enjoy dwelling on. In fact, I can't stand death or anything else that's morbid. However, your take on death as portrayed through the play is perhaps the most intriguing one I've stumbled upon in all of literature. I thought it was interesting how the dead pitied the living, seeing as it is quite the opposite during life: the living pity those who have passed away. I read that final act and was moved to tears, thin king "Is death really like that?" Just as I had realized in Act Two that I would one day be wed, this act presented to me the revelation that there would come a day when I am no longer living. I would say that mortality is just about the only inevitable fact of life, universally applicable and forever true. Had I not read your book, I probably wouldn't realize that truth until several years from now.

Several months after reading Our Town, I saw a local community theater perform the show. After seeing it, I finally was able to truly piece together the message you were trying to convey through the book. It truly is a beautiful show that will be performed as long as there is but a single drama troupe in existence. The play touched me in a way unlike any other work of art has before. I know that I have a long way yet to go, but thanks to Our Town, I'm one step closer.

Sincerely,
Paul Hoover

- back to top -