This Week's Book Review

The Eleventh Plague

    The book that I have chosen to review is "The Eleventh Plague" written by Jeff Hirsch. This book is set in the future after a very vicious strain of influenza was released in America. America became a vast, desolate landscape after a brutal war took place. Two-thirds of the population that was affected by a vicious strain of influenza were left for dead. People began to name the sickness the eleventh plague. The main character in this book is a fifteen year old Stephen Quinn, he was born after the plague and the only thing he has ever known was to be a scavenger. But when Stephen' grandfather dies and his father falls into a coma after an accident, Stephen finds his way to Settler's Landing, a community that seems too good to be true. There Stephen meets a strong, independent, and mischievous girl named Jenny. Together they play a prank that goes horribly wrong, and causes chaos to erupt and they find themselves in the midst of a battle that will change Settler's Landing forever.
    I loved this book because it had the right amount of suspense and excitement. Every time I continued to read this book I didn't want to stop. In fact I didn't want the book to end. I like that the book was very well written with lots of descriptions and details. Everything was so well described that sometimes it seemed like I could have been watching a movie or looking at pictures. The book followed Stephen on a very emotional journey where he discovered the true meaning of life, and he discovered what was really important to him. All of the characters were very well developed; this made the book more interesting because the emotions of everyone were easier to understand.
    Two of my favourite quotes from the book are: "It was not a plague. It was a blessing. Surviving it, that's the real plague." And,
    "Well," Derrick said, panting. "I figured, uh, maybe the problem was that de didn't feel entirely at home yet, so I thought I'd perform the Settler's Landing Dance of Welcoming." "You look like you're having a seizure," Martin said drily.





    Overall, I loved this book, I would read it again, and would give it a 10/10

    ~Colleen Worger

The Ultimate Christmas Cover Disaster

By Chris Spangenberg, grade 10

With Christmas rapidly approaching, radio stations have taken it upon themselves to blast their festive theme music through the airwaves. This is lovely, when they're jamming a classic Christmas track such as Frank Sinatra or the like. However, when I hear covers of Christmas melodies, or even worse, covers of covers of Christmas tracks, I have a vague notion that we need not wait for the apocalypse next year; the 4th horseman is already shredding my eardrums to pieces. Covers of Christmas tracks are downright obnoxious. Not only is a classic being ruined but, whatever you do by caterwauling your way through the track you will never be able to recreate that warm, fuzzy effect you get when listening to a Christmas groove. Come up with your own stuff, for one. And if you do come up with a new song about Christmas, make sure it doesn’t contain the words “Snow”, “Mistletoe”, “Bells”, or “Reindeer”. I've heard enough of the word mistletoe to fill a warehouse, enough of snow to make fifteen thousand igloos, and enough of reindeer to start my own slaughterhouse. Seriously, the amount of Christmas clichés you'll find when listening to songs these days is astonishing. Not to mention it is getting old, fast. What we need is a new classic, but I'm afraid everything's been done before. I dare the music industry to prove me wrong.

A Short Story

The Story of the Three Western Pigs

By Autra Salarvand

Drawing by Jonas Gaulin, Grade 10

It was the year 1918, and the only way to prove one’s manhood was to have a Mexican standoff. In the middle of it all were three infamous pigs. The youngest of the three, Wimbledon, was a timid pork chop who trembled in his hooves when facing danger. He lived in a house far from any sort of peril at the very top of Lookout Hill. Normally, the narrator (me) would begin to explain how this pig had a house made of straw. Then along came a wolf to blow it down, something about a hairy chin, and finally the pig is gobbled up, the end. Fortunately, this isn’t that kind of a story.

Wimbledon was walking towards the town of Dustyville, and he was famished. He decided to make a stop in front of ‘The Dusty Glass,’ the most famous pub in the land.

“Give me your finest slop and a nice warm glass o’ milk.” Wimbledon professed to the waiter as he sat down at the bar. The waiter nodded then headed towards the back to fix Wimbledon's order.

After some time, Wimbledon finished his hearty meal and had had more than a bottle full of milk, but before he could leave he was rudely interrupted by the notorious wolf.

“Awooo,” howled the grey, shaggy, lanky, wolf, as he pushed open the doors to the pub. Almost instantly, his eyes fell upon Wimbledon and, licking his lips from ear to ear, he proceeded forward. He plopped himself down right next to Wimbledon, turning his stool to face him.

            “Hello, dear swine, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Nigel, and you are…?” He asked as he extended a paw.

“I-I’m Wim-Wim-Wimbledon.”  Stuttered the pig as he leaned forward to greet the wolf’s paw with his hoof.

Just as quickly as if paint was splashed across his face, the mood of the wolf changed, he now had hunger in his eyes. He brought his snout inches away from Wimbledon,

“Meet me outside,” he whispered.

“What-what-whatever for?” Wimbledon asked, wide-eyed.

“We’re having a Mexican standoff, awooo!” Nigel yowled heading outside, not leaving poor Wimbledon with any choice. Then he stopped curtly, turning around to face the shivering swine, “That is if you ain’t yeller.” He cackled, causing the whole pub to stare curiously.

“Um, n-not at-at all.” Wimbledon glanced throughout the pub, all eyes were on him. “But what have I done to be challenged to a duel?”

“I’m hungry for some bacon!” The wolf proclaimed, laughing, and then he headed outside without another word.

Wimbledon followed reluctantly - many people tipped their hats to him as if giving him a final send-off - with his hand on the gun buried in the holster. Sadly what our naïve and trusting friend, Wimbledon, did not know was that the devilish wolf was a dirty cheater. The second the pork stepped out into the hot desert sun, he was shot straight through his belly. Collapsing to the floor, holding onto his belly, he looked up.

“You cheater,” Wimbledon gasped.

Nigel prowled, meeting a dying Wimbledon on the sandy ground, and placed a paw on his chest. He increased the pressure of his paw on the pig’s velvety torso,

“Sorry, dear Wimbledon, I’m just so... hungry.” He said weighing each of his words and their meanings. And with that, he gobbled up poor ol’ Wimbledon.

The next day, news of the ridiculous battle between Nigel the wolf and Wimbledon the pig had spread throughout the town. The middle brother, Jedadiah, caught wind of the fiasco and was outraged. See, he was a naïve fool and believed his bacon-filled boasts would put the fear of god in his opponent, so he set out to find the antagonistic wolf. Kicking down the door to the pub, he found the wolf sitting at the bar with a smug smile on his face.

“Are you the one they call ‘Nigel’?” Jedadiah asked angrily.

“Yes, that is I. And to what do I owe the pleasure?” The slick wolf countered, while  raising an eyebrow to the meaty Jedadiah.

“I hereby challenge you to a duel, to avenge my brother;” he declared out loud, “Everyone here knows you cheated him!

“Me? I did no such thing!” Nigel huffed, flailing his arms around dramatically.

“I don’t believe you! The law states that you either agree to a duel or get ready to be called a ‘yeller’ for the rest of your darn life!” Jedadiah became unimpressed by the reserved wolf, “So do you agree or not?”

The wolf looked into Jedadiah’s eyes, as if searching for something, then rose off of his stool. “Awooo, let’s get out there and have us a duel!”

Nigel lead the way as Jedadiah followed with his head held high. As Jedadiah advanced into the dusty plains, he was greeted with a fast bullet to the stomach. He fell to the floor; utter shock spread across his face. Looking down, he saw a bloody hole through his centre.

Nigel strode towards the dying pig, “Never call me a cheat again,” he said with most seriously. Jedadiah became an exquisite meal for the wolf, and so fell another to his treachery.

The eldest of the threesome, Isaac, was a smart swine but also the most humble hog you’d ever hope to cross paths with. He decided to head from his brick house towards Dustyville, in search of the wolf whom he knew would most probably be within the pub. Pushing open the doors into the pub he saw Nigel at the bar, sweet talking Mrs. Hen; a wealthy aristocrat.

Tapping the shoulder of the wolf Isaac then asked, “Excuse me, but you wouldn't happen to be Nigel, would you?”

Spinning his stool around, Nigel appraised the pig, not too pleased with what he saw. Isaac was the fittest of the three, and to Nigel’s dismay he was also the thinnest.  “What can I do you for, my friendly pork dumpling?”

“I would like to carry out the retribution of both of my brothers and duel you,” He stated professionally.

“How many of you are there? Should I just expect this from now on?” The wolf asked, looking around as if expecting to see an entire army of pigs.

“I am the last of my family and I don’t think you should be expecting anything, anytime soon.” Isaac professed to Nigel, solemnly.

“Fine, let us get this over with then. I am tired and wish to put this all behind me” Nigel bellowed.

“You go on, I shall meet you outside, I must first freshen up.” Isaac said curtly, waving at Nigel and then heading towards the bathroom.

The wolf chuckled at this, “That’s fine, you go ahead. What a pansy.” Nigel said, whispering the last part to himself.

The wolf headed out as Isaac made his way to the washroom, “Let's see…” Isaac thought, looking around the bathroom. He saw a window and began to climb through it. He made his way from the back of the pub, around to the side, stalking to the front very gradually. His eyes fell upon the wolf, standing with his gun aim towards the door, hammer pulled downwards; waiting.

Isaac pulled out his revolver, pointed it at the wolf, and cocked the hammer down, finally squeezing the trigger. All the crows of Dustyville sped towards the heavens at the sound of the gunshot, racing away from danger; the same could not be said about the wolf.

“You bastard,” Wheezed the wolf, clutching at the wound at his side, “You ruined my coat and my dignity as a wolf.”

“No, dear Nigel, you did that on your own. Next time, stick to the rules. But let’s face it; there won’t be a next time for you.” And with that, the wolf expired.

Isaac trotted off for the sun, with a big ol’ sack, excited for the night’s menu.

                                                              

Race Through My Eyes

By: Mana Moshkforoush, Gr.8

What is race? Look it up in the dictionary and you will find something like: “physical divisions among humans that are hereditary”.

This means humans can be separated into groups according to their physical differences, for example their, skin color. The most popular racial groups are Africans, known as Blacks, Americans and Europeans, known as Whites, and Asians who are known as, well, Asians.

            In my personal life, I have been exposed to many racial events. I was born in Iran. My parents are Iranian, as are my aunts, uncles, and cousins. When I was three years old, my parents and I moved to Ghana, a country in West Africa. I spent the next eight years of my childhood in this beautiful country. My parents, being typical Persian parents, are big on school and academic knowledge, and so they decided to send me to an International Montgomery school.

In school, I did not fit in. I was different, all because I was white. This wasn't always a bad thing, I got lots of attention from all the kids, teachers and parents. In fact, the whole school knew me. But there were times when it wasn't so fun.

As time passed I started understanding that being different is not always about being unique or special. In grade five, we studied the history of Ghana and the Ghanaian Revolution. Ghana was colonized by Britain for centuries and the people were enslaved, tortured and traded into Europe. In general, Ghanaians had very bad memories from those times. As we studied these things in school, there would be times when the British would be named as “white people” in the text books or by the teachers. When this happened, my classmates would turn to look at me, because, after all, I was the white girl. As much as it can be fun being different and known for it, there comes a time when you wish you could just blend in and not have a title. In situations where a person is known as different in a negative way, I’m sure that person wouldn’t mind being treated fairly and with equality.

                 In Ghana there was no such thing as “racism”. Don’t get me wrong, there was racism, but wasn’t a name for it. It wasn’t right or wrong. In fact the first time I heard of the word “racism” was when I moved to Canada, two years ago. Imyself, have never been faced with racism in Canada, although I do know people who have, because of their religion and the the way they live their lives. Everyone will face racism, either directly or indirectly. The funny thing though, is that racist people have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. If someone asks you the question: “What is race?” chances are your answer will be: “skin color”, however, that’s not very accurate, as there’s actually more genetic difference between a black Kenyan and a black Ugandan, than there is between a black Kenyan and a white Norwegian. We all stem from Africa, and so in Africa, there’s been more time to create genetic diversity. In other words, race has no basis in biological and scientific fact. It is clear that even though race does not have a biological meaning, it does have a social meaning that has been legally constructed.

What if someone asks you what racism is? We should all know the answer to this question. Racism is the unfair treatment and hate towards someone for something they had no choice in. Racism mainly stems from ignorance of another person's culture and ignorance promotes distrust and dislike of something a person doesn't understand.

                 Racism can have a lot of effects. It can make people angry, bitter or violent. It can destroy self esteem and create a horrifying defeatist nature. Judgments prevent us from seeing the good that lies beyond appearance. The next time you’re about to make a thoughtless  horrible comment about someone, think for a minute and try to understand that if you judge people, you have no time to love them.

“Racism is a learned

affliction and anything that is learned

can be unlearned.”