“In that sugary euphoria, I was ready to admit the cultural superiority of humankind. If there were just six thousand more of these delicious [ice cream] bars…I was sure there could be peace between our people.”
So says Chorkle, the alien narrator in Tom O’Donnell’s Space Rocks (Penguin, 2014), about solving the conflict between his alien race and the humans who land on his planet.
When I first came across this book, with its cartoon cover and description as a “thrilling intergalactic adventure…told by a hilarious alien,” I expected it to fly off the shelves of my classroom library. Instead, it landed in the hands of a proficient reader who pronounced the story “too dull to finish.” When I pressed her to elaborate she said, “I don’t know. I just expected Chorkle to be funnier and the conflict to be more dramatic or…full of action.” Later that same year, I was dismayed when I discovered Space Rocks at the bottom of a bookcase, forgotten and unread.
I began to wonder: why is this book, recommended for reluctant readers, failing to garner interest in an independent reading program in my classroom?
Looking closer at the tale, I discovered some key issues that seemed to be the root cause of the dust
it was gathering. Rather than a goofy space-romp ideal for reluctant or struggling readers, the work contains sophisticated humor, political satire, and literary elements. Here was a pretty complex middle grade novel mistakenly, perhaps, being marketed as a light and fluffy read.
One of the first issues is reader expectations. Though there are some battles with “ferocious” thyss cats, it doesn’t have the action and heart-pounding thrills of today’s more popular sci-fi blockbusters. The narrative is far more meditative than it is action packed. For instance, one of battles with a thyss cat comes after 40 pages of the characters simply walking and talking as they make their way to Chorkle’s hometown inside the planet. Chorkle, along the way, pensively narrates about his choice to save some of the humans and wonders if he is doing the right thing. When the thyss cat attack occurs, its action runs for only five pages. While I consider the absence of violence in O’Donnell’s narrative one of the reasons to commend the book, readers expecting Katniss-like characters or fight scenes will be let down.
Another conclusion I came to can only be described as “the Muppet effect”: when you realize something written for children contains humor better suited for older readers and adults. Remember when Raquel Welch was one twirl away from a wardrobe malfunction as she was singing “Baby You Send Me”? Or when that muppet wanted to play with someone’s balloons, and wasn’t talking about the kind you see at a birthday party?
It takes an adult mind to connect the dots on those aspects of The Muppets, just as it takes an adult mind with prior knowledge of American politics to appreciate the comedy in O’Donnell’s writing. References to the big bang theory, nuclear weapons, imperialism, and inefficient government bureaucracies abound in Space Rocks. Since the story is told through the perspective of an alien, it spins those topics into light-hearted, comedic banter. For instance, when the aliens debate what to do about the humans stealing their natural resources, an important alien leader cautions the crowd against sympathy: “‘Some may say, ‘Oh but once the nice hoo-mins get enough iridium, they’ll simply leave and go back to [Earth],’ said Sheln, affecting a simpering tone. ‘Well, they’ve got a whole planet, ten times the size of our asteroid, and that still wasn’t enough for them.’” Readers with a keen understanding of history, colonialism, and political rhetoric will appreciate what Sheln is arguing and what he’s doing with persuasive language, but my middle schoolers were not reading—or so I thought— with that deeper perspective.
Coming to this conclusion, I decided that Space Rocks likely didn’t have a place in my classroom and would be best in an upper middle school class or in literature circles with supplementary texts on American politics. But I didn’t want to simply remove it from my classroom library. Instead, I left the decision up to my students. I approached one girl and told her that I wasn’t sure if I should keep the book on our classroom shelf anymore and wanted her to weigh in on the decision. In no time at all, other students wanted to read it as well. They even worked out a deal with each other regarding the sequence of students who would get the book next. Though the first student to read it didn’t give it a glowing review, the others remained interested and wanted to read it for themselves. As predicted, in reading conferences, when I asked questions to check student comprehension of the deeper political meaning, it mostly went unnoticed. But then this conversation happened:
Me: What did you think of Chorkle’s perspective of the humans?
Student: Interesting. He reflects on them and sees them as friends.
Me: Which group would you rather be part of: the humans or the Xotonians?
Student: [Long pause] Neither.
Me: Why?
Student: They both try to conquer each other. Like they both try to take over.
Me: All of them?
Student: Yeah…. Except Chorkle. He’s just…he’s just different. He breaks away from the other Xotonians and he chooses to help [the humans] instead.
Me: Why is that important?
Student: Because he saves them. They would have died without him. So…it shows it’s okay to be different.
This story may have aspects of it that go over the heads of students, but certainly one important lesson did not. As America watches a xenophobic presidential candidate speak about building walls, this 12-year-old understands the power behind breaking them down—and made that connection through the story in this quirky space adventure. Though still not likely to fly off my classroom shelf, Space Rocks has earned its spot.