“How to read a poem” by Mr Blair Mahoney on World Poetry Day #tenminutetuesdays

To celebrate World Poetry Day, Mr Blair Mahoney talked about “how to read a poem” today as part of our Ten Minute Tuesdays series at recess.

He started with the poem “Introduction to Poetry” by Billy Collins:

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Mr Mahoney encouraged us to enjoy the poem without having to understand all of it.

“The Windhover” by Gerard Manley Hopkins

To Christ our Lord

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-

dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding

Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding

High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing

In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,

As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding

Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding

Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here

Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion

Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

  No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion

Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,

Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.      

Mr Mahoney read “Cartoon Physics, part 1” by Nick Flynn after he talked about poems sometimes having personal meaning for people at different times of their lives.

Children under, say, ten, shouldn’t know

that the universe is ever-expanding,

inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it

acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock

only he can pass through it.

Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds

should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,

ships going down—earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes. You can run

back into a burning house, sinking ships

have lifeboats, the trucks will come

with their ladders, if you jump

you will be saved. A child

places her hand on the roof of a schoolbus,

& drives across a city of sand. She knows

the exact spot it will skid, at which point

the bridge will give, who will swim to safety

& who will be pulled under by sharks. She will learn

that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff

he will not fall

until he notices his mistake.


After sharing some tips for reading poetry out loud, Mr Mahoney read out “In the Park” by Gwen Harwood, demonstrating paying attention to punctuation and run-on sentences.

She sits in the park. Her clothes are out of date.

Two children whine and bicker, tug her skirt.

A third draws aimless patterns in the dirt

Someone she loved once passed by – too lateto feign indifference to that casual nod.

“How nice” et cetera. “Time holds great surprises.”

From his neat head unquestionably rises

a small balloon…”but for the grace of God…”They stand a while in flickering light, rehearsing

the children’s names and birthdays. “It’s so sweet

to hear their chatter, watch them grow and thrive, ”

she says to his departing smile. Then, nursing

the youngest child, sits staring at her feet.

To the wind she says, “They have eaten me alive.”


Thanks to Mr Mahoney for his engaging session and expertise. Thanks to all who came; I’m sure you got the most out of ten minutes of your recess on World Poetry Day.

What is slam poetry? Teachers give Year 9s a taste.

Do you groan when someone mentions poetry? Now be honest. Let’s face it, understanding poetry is not one of the easiest things. And how relevant are daffodils and daggers to the everyday lives of teenage boys?

What about slam poetry? Urbandictionary.com defines ‘slam poetry’ as:

A type of poetry expressing a person’s personal story and/or struggle usually in an intensely emotional style. Very powerful, sincere, and moving.


The only thing known to man that makes anyone under the age of 30 like poetry.

Okay, perhaps the second one is a bit extreme but it’s reasonable to assume that Slam Poetry or Spoken Word or Urban Poetry might resonate more with young people than Elizabethan verse. After all, it’s almost Hip-Hop, isn’t it? It has the qualities young people can relate to: passion, political awareness, critical voice… It doesn’t stay in a book; it gets performed. It gives the performer an opportunity to deliver a message in a strong way, to embody a persona which allows you to shout, to insist, to uncover, to get angry, to be inspired – you get the idea.

Today in assembly our Year 9s were introduced to Slam Poetry by Mr Blair Mahoney who showed 3 examples before giving 3 English teachers unseen Slam Poetry to perform, after which 3 students gave them a score out of 10 (yeah, I know, lots of mystical numbers).

Ms Amanda Carroll was brave as first Slam Poet, performing Tom Wayman’s, “Did I Miss Anything?”. Sorry, Ms Carroll, I missed the start of your performance, but great stuff.

After Ms Anne-Marie Brownhill’s professional performance of Taylor Mali’s, “What Teachers Make, or Objection Overruled, or If things don’t work out, you can always go to law school”, Mr Richard Edge talked about the importance of confidence in the delivery of the poem, and then performed Harry Baker’s, “Where the Wild Things Are.”

It was a close competition but Mr Edge came out on top according to the student judges (don’t they look excited!).

Poetry is dead – Staff vs Students Debate @MHS

So you missed the Students versus Staff Debate. Fear not, for we have at least some of it here in this blog post. Sadly two students were so relieved the debate was over that they threw their speeches into the bin. However we do still have speeches delivered by two of the teachers and one of the students, James Hayne, School Captain. Enjoy.

Poetry is dead was the topic for debate at Litfest 2015.

Representing the affirmative team were the teachers: Ms Amanda Carroll, Mr Sam Bryant and Mr Blair Mahoney.

Representing the negative team were the students: Alan Xue, Daniel Li and James Hayne.

Ms Amanda Carroll, first speaker for the affirmative team:

Who here saw the Year 9 Poetry Slam? [ hands up].  Poetry is dead.  I rest my case. Thank you and goodbye.[pretends to leave the stage]

No, I jest.

About leaving the stage.  Not about the death of poetry.  I actually applaud the year 9s attempts to resuscitate it (an act akin, if I may be so bold, an act akin to the desperate making out that goes on in the break out rooms at the Junior Social – if Junior Social was First Aid training and the body in question was Resuscitation Annie).


Believe it or not there was a time when poetry was everywhere…a happier time when people could be free in their love for poetry.  Free in their poetry, free in their love, even (ask Mr Cogo)  I mean their love of free poetry…

There was no shame.  Poetry was a form of art and it had the power to move people.

To give you an example, I have here a heartbreakingly beautiful poem.  A haiku (that brief but resonant form) that Mr Barham wrote for Mr Crocket: (I actually wonder whether I should even read this out) *pauses

Tall Man

Shake your beard shake it

More than a beard to me: leaves, water

Reflect in autumn

Oh yes, as this poem shows, poetry has been very much alive. Misunderstood, yes.  Misappropriated, maybe.  But alive, nevertheless.  Gloriously, shamelessly, thrillingly alive and that , dear friends, was poetry’s downfall. There was a time when the poet Lord Byron could wake up in the morning, drink a white wine spritzer, wrestle his pet bear, write a verse or two then make sweet love to his half-sister Augusta.

Who can say how poetry became associated with debauchery, but over time this is exactly what happened.  It became the p-word.   Held responsible for allowing people to say and feel too much, blamed for excessive expressions of emotion,  it went underground – it became contraband. Soon noone wanted to be caught looking at poetry.

And No one knows this better than Mr Mahoney’s mum. She passed her son’s bedroom door of a night and she knew.  She had heard the occasional sob or squeal of delight. She had seen the box of Kleenex on the floor.  (for the tears, gentlemen, the tears). She knew what was happening – her boy was growing up….reading poetry.

Indeed it was not so very long ago at all, that teachers of all disciplines taught using poetry – there was no shame.  Poetry wasn’t just something you did in English class.  Teachers used to rhyme in a happier time.

Ms Petrie used Hamlet to teach algebra: To be or not two be that was the question

Mr Bush used to cycle wistfully along the Yarra calling into his loudhailer: O Romeo, Romeo!

Mr DeKorte used to teach reclined on a chaise lounge, robes askew, eating grapes peeled by his 9H minons and he was all: if music be the food of love play on.  (He also said a load of other random stuff about volleyball but that was not in iambic pentameter)

But teachers began to realize that poetry was falling on deaf ears.  More disturbingly students couldn’t understand simple poetic devices. Staff members at Melbourne High School who had alliteration in their names had to have them changed by Depol because students simply couldn’t understand them.  Who were these staff members, I hear you ask?, Ray Rawson, Flick Fusden and Ken ‘the King’ Kong. (nevermore, nevermore).  The alliterative beauty of their birthright a burden too much to bear.

And that’s not counting those whose names had the resonance of assonance:  You look askance – you’re right it’s pants these giants of our school now ants.  So I want to pay homage to the tonnage of number oneage – the teachers who went to Depol because of poetry dumbage:

Richard Prichard. Barney Mahoney.  Betty Sette. (all changed, changed utterly)

You know the most shocking thing about the death of poetry is that while poetry took body blows over the years: the dumbing down of culture –messages in greeting cards; the emergence of emoji; clickbait; a Ludowyke assembly or two….it was here – in the classrooms of MHS that poetry finally expired.

The prime suspect?  The Year 9 boy who sits down to write a poem (too easy).  Hmmmmm “My heart beat fast”  What is fast?  What is a fast thing?  (this is hard!)…..  A cheetah is fast.  My heart beats as fast as a cheetah.  (He looks around.  Very pleased) Now.  What rhymes with cheetah?

Or perhaps it was this Valentine’s day effort from a Melbourne High year 10:

Roses are Red,

Violets are Blue

I can recite pi to 3.141592….65358979….323846264338327950288419716

and I think you know where this is going….

This kind ineptitude – murdering of the metaphor and strangling of the simile, of cliché ridden claptrap –  it took its toll on poetry.

Because Poetry could not stop for death He kindly stopped for Poetry

Yes, poetry is dead.  And the fact that you wouldn’t know a satirical take on an Emily Dickinson poem if it whisked you away to your Maker in a carriage is neither here nor there.  That poetry is dead is as clear as the skin on a Year 11’s face.

We might even ask, today, if it wasn’t the sheer ineptitude of MHS boys, was it plain ignorance that dealt poetry the mortal blow?

Let’s face it, the only Blake you guys know is the Lively blonde from Gossip Girl.  You think Yeats is a versatile range of horticultural supplies. The only Burns you have heard of is called Montgomery and you think Keats is a collective noun for geography teachers.

Whatever the case, the opposition will try to tell you Poetry lives.  They might try to pass something off as research.  Yes, “research”, you know: “Siri: is poetry dead?” In truth, they know nothing.  Their part in this collective ignorance will become apparent all too soon.

So…. let me school you.  You fools, you.  No more Captain My Captain. It got capped in the ass; it passed behind the arras; it lived but alas; Poetry stopped in its tracks:




Mr Blair Mahoney, third speaker for the affirmative team:
Of course poetry is dead, and I have the proof right here in my last royalty cheque for Poetry Reloaded and Poetry Remastered. I may as well retitle them Poetry Refinanced. In fact, this isn’t even a cheque, it’s just a cheque sized piece of paper that I cut out to use as a prop, but even then it’s still worth only slightly less than the real thing.
The truth is, there’s even less money in poetry than there is poetry in money.

Do you know what the bestselling Australian poetry book was last year and how much its author earned? Would you be surprised if I told that that it was Les Murray’s New Selected Poems, which sold just 934 copies, earning its author the paltry sum in royalties of $1800? You should be surprised, because I just made that up, but the point stands that the term “bestselling poetry book” is an oxymoron. The last time anyone made some money from poetry was when Bill Shakespeare dedicated his sonnets to someone called W.H. and received 20 guineas, a small herd of livestock and a year’s supply of writing quills in payment.

Meanwhile, Eminem’s 2004 album Encore has sold more than five million copies thanks to lyrics like “I ain’t never seen an ass like that. The way you move it, you make my pee-pee go doing-doing-doing.’’ Apart from the fact that he clearly needs to see a doctor you can see why the author of lines like “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate,” would be turning in his grave in recognition of the fact that poetry is truly dead.

Alas poor poetry, I knew it, Horatio; a literary form of most infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

The negative team has been trying to tell you that poetry isn’t dead, that it’s just resting, it’s stunned, or it’s pining for the fjords, but we know very well that it is no more, it’s ceased to be, it’s expired and gone to meet its maker. If they hadn’t nailed poetry to its perch it’d be pushing up daisies.

If I asked any of these supposed poetry lovers on the negative team who their favourite living poet was, they’d look flummoxed and then throw out a few names like Robert Frost (dead), Dylan Thomas (drank himself to death), Christopher Marlowe (stabbed in the eye in an argument over a bar tab), Sylvia Plath (stuck her head in the oven and gassed herself) or Edgar Allen Poe (found delirious in a gutter wearing another man’s clothes and died four days later). There was a reason the film was called ‘Dead Poet’s Society’…
The reason poetry is dead is because as much as we English teachers have tried to resuscitate poetry, to reanimate his corpse for the benefit and enlightenment of you students, you’ve spurned him. We’re not the villains here in this trial, as we gather round the fallen body of this once noble literary form. No, it’s you guys. You’re the ones that killed poetry. He used to be so full of life, so gay. And then we introduced him to you guys, and you started snickering about the word “gay.” We said, “Hey, calm down now. Poetry is great you just need to get to know him better to fully appreciate his charms.” And you started moaning about how “difficult” he was, how he just “didn’t make any sense.” And then we turned our back for a second and before we knew it you’d slammed poetry [pause] out of the window from the top floor of the N building and he was lying splattered on the concrete below. There’s no need to call in CSI for this case: you’ve got poetry’s blood all over your hands and a little water will not clear you of this deed.

If we’d had better students it could have been a different story. Come teach at Melbourne High, the brochures said. The smartest students in the state, Mr Ludowyke promised. So Mr Bryant and I gave up our lucrative positions in private schools and Ms Carroll winged her way home to Australia from England, a place where being able to quote a bit of John Donne is enough to land you a job as an investment banker. Here is educational utopia we thought. How wrong we were. Our efforts to share the delights of iambic pentameter were met with blank stares. Our hearts would lift a little at the sight of a raised hand only to plummet again when it turned out to be a request to go to the toilet. So many bladder problems amongst young men these days… Day after day we see poetry beaten down by the supposedly superior seductions of specialist maths and those websites where you can try to calculate your ATAR. Is it any wonder that poetry didn’t survive in the face of such callous indifference and literary ineptitude?

But poetry didn’t have to die. Occasionally we English teachers dream of a better world, one where people can quote lines from Seamus Heaney without shame, a world where people can rhyme… all the time, a world where poetic techniques such as similes live on, like something that lives for a really long time, a Galapagos turtle or something. At times we think we can even catch a glimpse of it, a place where the students aren’t afraid to study Literature for VCE because it means they have to read a few poems: it’s called Mac.Rob…

James Hayne was a student speaker for the negative team. (James is School Captain.)

Boys, poetry isn’t dead. It isn’t even dying. It’s simply being reloaded. Which brings me to the textbook reference for the reloading of poetry. Poetry reloaded by…. Wait a minute…. Mr Blair Mahoney. Today, I thought I’d theme my speech along the biblical words of Mr Mahoney himself.

Chapter 1: Poetry gets Started

It’s well known that poetry is like every schoolies trip. In the morning, poetry is fine. But by 3pm, poetry turns you to drink until you’re drunk and passed out on the floor. To prove this point, I’d like detail how my Sunday night went.

6:00pm: Opened Poetry Reloaded and read 2 pages.

6:05pm: Was bombarded with terms such as alliteration, analogy, near rhyme, metaphors and similes

6:06pm: Drunk half a bottle of vodka.

6:07pm: Wondered why the page had just turned green and chunky

6:08pm Passed out

8:00am the next morning: Woke up and realized that I’d have to battle through assembly while hung over

Some may wonder why I recounted those events. I’d like to submit today that poetry is a rite of passage. Having had Ms Carroll for English in Year 10, I know first hand how poetry changes your life. In year 10, Ms Carroll pushed me to ‘just let your feelings flow out onto the page’. And having done so, she then crushed my hopes of becoming a poet by saying ‘try to make your poem happier next time’. That’s when I realised what poetry was. It’s like Thursday’s Child, Death of a Salesman and Merchant of Venice. It’s part of the English curriculum just to infuriate you. And poetry only just got started.

Chapters 2 through 4: Mr Mahoney makes insightful commentaries about seemingly mindless poems.

One cannot tackle poetry without tackling poetry analysis. Poetry analysis is the singular most hated thing at MHS. Having read Mr Mahoney’s textbook, I realized what English teachers are employed to do – tell their students that everything has a deeper meaning.

I thought I’d provide three examples from Mr Mahoney’s textbook:

  • From the poem Daffodils by Wordsworth: ‘Continuous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the Milky way’. What did the poet mean when he wrote this? Ironically the poet is reflecting on the Syrian crisis. His use of the lexime ‘continuous’ explores the economic and social harms of the crisis. Further, the symbolism of ‘the milky way’ refers readers to the galactic impact of the crisis on ties between the USA and Syria.
  • From the poem The Stolen Child by Yeats: ‘to and fro we leap and chase the frothy bubbles’. What did the poet want the reader to feel when he wrote this? Obviously the poet wants the reader to reflect upon Guantanamo Bay. The use of phrasing such as ‘to and fro we leap’ exposes how ‘Guantanamo’ comes from the Algerian term ‘Guanlepo’ which means ‘to leap’. Yeat’s reference to the ‘frothy bubbles’ reveals how bubble baths are popular among inmates at the prison.
  • From the poem Love Song by Parker: ‘the ways are fair to his roaming feet’. What did the poet intend to do? Although many students believe she was reflecting upon the recent Chinese economic downturn, Parker was just talking about how there are many ways to walk to her husband.

Yet, as I conclude today, I thought it best to turn to one of Mr Mahoney’s many poetry activities. In Chapter 5: Poetry falls in love, Mr Mahoney suggests to his readers that they write a love poem. Having provided examples of love poems that could have the girls dropping to their knees at social next year, I decided to write one myself.

Love, by James Hayne as inspired the works of Bryant, Carroll and Mahoney

How do I love you? Let me count the ways.

Mr Mahoney you write textbooks of poetry

Filled with anaphora, pentameter and limerick that you set ablaze

As you 420 blaze it for many days

Ms Carroll you taught me how to analyse.

I made sure I filled my essays with word level analysis

I talked about symbolism, alliteration and caesuras until I agonized

Then, on my final exam, you gave me 12/25.

Mr Bryant you just look like verse.

When I think of poetry, I think of you

Because when you recite rhyme, your students disperse

As they realize that English simply cant worse.

Why do I love you? Of reasons, I only know three.

Students of MHS, poetry is like an STD.

It won’t kill you but it will bug you forever,

Because poetry will make you fail VCE.

Samhita Arni visits MHS for annual Book Week Literature Festival

The Year 9 students were privileged to see guest speaker Samhita Arni this week as part of our annual Book Week Literature Festival. Samhita was visiting Australia for the Melbourne Writers Festival and we were very lucky that she had time to come to MHS as well. She talked to the students about her books, including The Mahabharata: A Child’s View (published when she was just 11 years old; she said that opportunity for publication just arose through luck). She said that her first book arose out of her voracious reading and love of mythology combined with the loneliness she felt after moving back to India after living in Pakistan. She showed some of the beautiful images in her bestselling graphic novel Sita’s Ramayana(illustrated by Moyna Chitrakar) and explained the historical background behind retellings of this Indian epic from a woman’s point of view as well as the implications of the renewed reverence for the story in modern India. She also talked about her most recent novel, The Missing Queen, which is another retelling of the Ramayana, this time in the form of a thriller set in the modern world. Other projects she mentioned included her participation in the cross-country anthology Eat the Sky, Drink the Ocean, and her online project, Out of Print, which provides a platform for writing about sexual violence in South Asia.

The students were very positive about her talk, some of them saying afterwards that it was “an eye-opener,” exposing them to a side of India that they weren’t familiar with. One student said he really appreciated the way she conveyed feminism in an interesting and approachable way, arising out of her life experiences and her books. Another student commented that he found it fascinating the way she explained the relevance of ancient Indian epics to modern day life, reinvigorating mythology. The overall consensus seemed to be: “Brilliant!” (written by Mr Blair Mahoney)

Samhita Arni has been interested in Hindu mythology since she was a child. She has written The Mahabaharata: A Child’s View, a version of another great Indian epic, which has been translated into seven languages and was named Book of the Month by the German Academy for Youth Literature and Media, and one of the Best Published Books of 2004 by the Spanish Ministry of Culture. It also won the Elsa Morante Literary Award (Department of Culture, Campania, Italy). Samhita has also written scripts for film and television and is currently working on a thriller based on The Ramayana. She lives in Bangalore, India. (Source: Goodreads)

Sita’s Ramayana

The Missing Queen

Eat the Sky, Drink the Ocean

A collection of sci-fi and fantasy writing, including six graphic stories, showcasing twenty stellar writers and artists from India and Australia: Isobelle Carmody, Penni Russon, Justine Larbalestier, Margo Lanagan, Lily Mae Martin, Kuzhali Manickavel, Prabha Mallya, Annie Zaidi, Kate Constable, Vandana Singh, Mandy Ord, Priya Kuriyan, Manjula Padmanabhan, Samhita Arni, Alyssa Brugman, Nicki Greenberg and Amruta Patil. (Source:Goodreads)

When she was eight, Samhita Arni started writing and illustrating her first book. “The Mahabharata – A Child’s View” went on to be published in seven language editions and sell 50,000 copies worldwide, winning the Elsa Morante Literary Award, and receiving commendations from the German Academy for Youth Literature and Media and The Spanish Ministry of Culture. (Source: Amazon)


BookWiz rocked! #booktrivia #photos #bookweek

Our 3rd BookWiz was so much fun. We had a full house including 11 student tables and 2 teacher tables (including student candidates who joined us for the first time!)

I think it’s best to tell this story through photos.

Here are the winners smiling like Cheshire cats, clutching their free burger prizes.

The scores for 3 rounds and names of teams

Jason created an ambience which made people forget they were in school library. Not sure where they were but everyone was very chilled. Thanks, Jason, and thanks also to Mr Curtis Bayliss for accompanying Jason on the keyboard and for being a valued member of the winning team.

And now some general shots of the crowd –

One of the teacher tables

The team of ‘ennui-filled youth’ looking a little more full of confusion than ennui. We hope the game did not disturb their existential displacement.

The Quiz Master, Mr Richard Edge, doing a masterful job and entertaining the masses. German word pronunciation was particularly impressive.

Why bother trying when Mr Blair Mahoney is doing all the work for your team?

Not sure what’s happening here.

What’s the name of that duck again?


Someone’s read the book.

Jason’s excited.

Dr Stiglec is excited.

Mr Mahoney’s feeling blue.

Ms Buckland is amused.

Thank you to everyone who came and ate popcorn and laughed. Thank you to the students who helped us set up, mark papers and tidy up afterwards. Thank you so much to Denise Beanland who organised the event and did most of the leg work (literally; she doesn’t drive. How many kilos of sweets did you drag onto the bus?)

See you all next year!

100 great novels by living authors (and more) – 3 lists compiled by Blair Mahoney

Hello there. I hope you’ve been enjoying the freedom of the Summer holidays. I definitely have and so this blog has been dormant for quite some time. It’s okay; we all need a break.

So to start off the year I thought I’d share Mr Blair Mahoney’s updated reading lists – looking fantastic in Medium. Just beautiful. And so I give you (drum roll…) : 100 great novels by living authors. Not that you’ll get through that list for a while, but I’m also sharing Mr Mahoney’s 100 great novels by dead authors and 100 great graphic novels.

That should keep you going for a while.

Word sport – Year 10 spelling finals at Melbourne High School

Spelling at Melbourne High is a sport. Watch.

The clincher

This awesome event was brought to you by Mr Blair Mahoney and Ms Alex Grimwade.

What would the event be without the audience?





Fog, gloom, men in wigs – It’s coming up to World Poetry Day

To celebrate World Poetry Day  we’ve decided to make a bit of a fuss in the library. We are grateful to Mr Blair Mahoney, English Teacher Extraordinaire, for contributing an eclectic and inspirational collection of poetry and art to our display – shared in the presentation below.

Denise has selected literary haiku from David Bader’s One hundred great books in haikuThese have been printed on small cards and displayed adjacent to the corresponding books. Here’s a slideshow of our displays.