“Sometimes I think Mom and Dad love her more than me.”—The Pain “Sometimes I think Mom and Dad love him more than me.”—The Great One The Great One thinks her brother, the Pain, is a messy slowpoke who gets dessert even if he doesn’t finish dinner. She thinks her parents love him more than they love her. The Pain thinks his older sister, the Great One, is a bossy know-it-all. Just because she’s older, she gets to feed the cat and play real songs on the piano. He thinks his parents love her more than they love him. How will they ever find out who is loved more?
MEET THE PAIN: My sister's name is Abigail. I call her The Great One because she thinks she's so great. Who cares if she's in third grade and I'm just in first? MEET THE GREAT ONE: My brother's name is Jacob Edward, but everyone calls him Jake. Everyone but me. I call him The Pain because that's what he is. He's a first-grade pain. I'll always know exactly what he's thinking. That's just the way it is. These seven warm-hearted stories will give readers a peek at how a brother and sister relate to each other.
THE PAIN AND the Great One hardly agree on anything. But deep down, they know they can count on each other, especially at school, where it often takes two to figure things out. Like when that first baby tooth falls out on the school bus. Or when an unwanted visitor on Bring Your Pet to School Day needs to be caught. Or worst of all, when a scary bully says you’re burnt toast. On days like these it can feel good not to go it alone. (And don’t forget Fluzzy the cat, who knows a thing or two himself.)
THE PAIN AND the Great One are going places! In these new stories the kids are on the go—the Pain needs a trip to the emergency room; the family goes to the mall and not everyone stays together; the kids visit a county fair and want to ride the Super Slide; and a beach outing includes a boogie board. Lots more action and adventure for the dynamic duo who never stay still.
An American classic—and Pulitzer Prize–winning story—that shows the ultimate bond between child and pet. No novel better epitomizes the love between a child and a pet than The Yearling. Young Jody adopts an orphaned fawn he calls Flag and makes it a part of his family and his best friend. But life in the Florida backwoods is harsh, and so, as his family fights off wolves, bears, and even alligators, and faces failure in their tenuous subsistence farming, Jody must finally part with his dear animal friend. There has been a film and even a musical based on this moving story, a fine work of great American literature.
First-grader Jake "The Pain" and his sister, third-grader Abigail "The Great One" have more adventures, including visiting their cousins in New York and celebrating their cat Fluzzy's birthday.
Freddy Dissel has two problems. One is his older brother, Mike. The other is his younger sister, Ellen. That leaves Freddy in the middle, feeling like the peanut butter part of a sandwich, squeezed between two pieces of bread like a great big middle nothing. So when Freddy hears about the school play, he knows it’s his chance to shine—even if the play is being put on by the big kids, and even if Mike says that everybody can jump. But nobody can jump quite as well as Freddy, which makes him the perfect Green Kangaroo—and the star of the show!
A brilliant, clear-eyed consideration of the visual representation of violence in our culture--its ubiquity, meanings, and effects. Considered one of the greatest critics of her generation, Susan Sontag followed up her monumental On Photography with an extended study of human violence, reflecting on a question first posed by Virginia Woolf in Three Guineas: How in your opinion are we to prevent war? "For a long time some people believed that if the horror could be made vivid enough, most people would finally take in the outrageousness, the insanity of war." One of the distinguishing features of modern life is that it supplies countless opportunities for regarding (at a distance, through the medium of photography) horrors taking place throughout the world. But are viewers inured—or incited—to violence by the depiction of cruelty? Is the viewer’s perception of reality eroded by the daily barrage of such images? What does it mean to care about the sufferings of others far away? First published more than twenty years after her now classic book On Photography, which changed how we understand the very condition of being modern, Regarding the Pain of Others challenges our thinking not only about the uses and means of images, but about how war itself is waged (and understood) in our time, the limits of sympathy, and the obligations of conscience.
An exploration of why people all over the world love to engage in pain on purpose--from dominatrices, religious ascetics, and ultramarathoners to ballerinas, icy ocean bathers, and sideshow performers Masochism is sexy, human, reviled, worshipped, and can be delightfully bizarre. Deliberate and consensual pain has been with us for millennia, encompassing everyone from Black Plague flagellants to ballerinas dancing on broken bones to competitive eaters choking down hot peppers while they cry. Masochism is a part of us. It lives inside workaholics, tattoo enthusiasts, and all manner of garden variety pain-seekers. At its core, masochism is about feeling bad, then better—a phenomenon that is long overdue for a heartfelt and hilarious investigation. And Leigh Cowart would know: they are not just a researcher and science writer—they’re an inveterate, high-sensation seeking masochist. And they have a few questions: Why do people engage in masochism? What are the benefits and the costs? And what does masochism have to say about the human experience? By participating in many of these activities themselves, and through conversations with psychologists, fellow scientists, and people who seek pain for pleasure, Cowart unveils how our minds and bodies find meaning and relief in pain—a quirk in our programming that drives discipline and innovation even as it threatens to swallow us whole.
