To my grandfather and Marie Tondelier
I hate school.
I hate her more than anything else.
No, even stronger ...
She ruined my whole life.
Until the age of three, I can say for sure, I lived happily. I don't remember it well, but it seems to me so. I played, watched a cartoon about a teddy bear ten times in a row, drew pictures and came up with a million adventures for Grodudu - it was my favorite plush puppy. Mom told me that I sat alone in my room for hours and did not get bored, chatted incessantly, sort of like with myself. So I think: I must have lived happily.
Then, as a child, I loved everyone and thought that everyone loved me too. And then, when I was three years and five months old, suddenly - bam! - to school.
On the first morning, I was kind of glad. My parents must have been telling me all summer long: “That's great, dear, you’ll go to a real school ...” “Look, what a beautiful satchel they bought you! You will go to school with him! " Well and all that ... They say I didn't even cry. (I'm generally curious, I probably wanted to see what kind of toys they have and whether there is "Lego" ...) In general, by lunchtime I returned happy, ate everything and ran to my room, tell Grodud how interesting it was at school.
If I had known then, I would have relished those last happy moments, because immediately after that my life went awry.
Let's go. - said mom.
How where ... To school!
What - no?
I won't go there again.
How is it? Why then?
Enough already, I've seen this school, nothing interesting there. I have a lot to do here, at home. I promised Grodud to make him such a machine to look for bones, otherwise he buried a lot of them under my bed, but he cannot find, so I have no time to go to school.
Mom squatted down in front of me. I shook my head.
She began to persuade me. I cried. She lifted me in her arms and I screamed. And then she slapped me.
The first in my life.
So much for your school.
So the nightmare began.
I've heard my parents tell this story a million times. To my friends, educators, teachers, psychologists, speech therapists and career guidance counselor. And to this day, every time I hear it, I remember that I never designed this very bone detector for Grodudu.
And now I am thirteen years old and in sixth grade. Yes, I myself know that something is wrong here. No need to curl your fingers, I'll explain myself. Twice I stayed in the second year: in primary school in the second and now - in the sixth.
Because of this school, there are always scandals in the house, you know ... Mom cries, and father yells at me, or, on the contrary, mom yells, and father is silent. And I feel bad when they are like that, but what can I do? What should I tell them? Nothing. I can't tell them anything, because if I open my mouth it will be even worse. And they tell me the same thing, like parrots: "Work!" "Work!" "Work!" "Work!" "Work!"
Yes, I understand, I understand. I'm not quite dumb after all. I would be glad to work, but the problem is that it doesn't work. Everything that is taught in school is Chinese for me. It flies into one ear, flies into the other. They took me to a million doctors, checked my eyes, ears, even my brain. We spent a lot of time, and concluded that I, you see, have a problem with concentration. Stunned! I myself know what happened to me, they would ask me. Everything is fine with me. No problem. I'm just not interested. Not interested. And that's all.
Well, there was only one year at school - in the senior kindergarten group. There I had a teacher, Marie. I will never forget her.
Now I think Marie went to work at school to do what she liked in life: doing needlework and making all sorts of things. I immediately fell in love with her. From the very first day. She sewed dresses for herself, knitted sweaters herself, invented decorations herself. There wasn’t a day when we didn’t bring something home: a papier-mâché hedgehog, a kitten with a bottle of milk, a mouse in a nutshell, turntables, drawings, appliqués ... That was the teacher - we worked with her not only before the Mothers Day in hunt. She said: the day when you did something with your own hands was not in vain. Now I think that from this happy year all my misfortunes followed, because it was then that I realized one simple thing: more than anything in the world I am interested in my hands and what they are capable of making.
I will also say about Marie: I know perfectly well what I owe her. Passing kindergarten is what. She understood who she was dealing with. I knew that I was ready to cry if they asked me to write my name, that I didn’t remember a thing, and for me even to read the counting rhyme by heart was a quiet horror. On the last day before the holidays, I came to say goodbye to her. There was a lump in my throat and it was difficult to speak. I handed her my present - it was a super-duper pencil case, with drawers for paper clips and buttons, an eraser slot and all sorts of bells and whistles. How much I glued and painted it - go crazy. Marie was pleased, I saw, and, in my opinion, worried as much as I did. She told me:
I also have a present for you, Gregoire ...
It turned out to be a thick book.
I shook my head.
To read everything that is written here.
At home, I asked my mother to read the title to me. She put a thick book on her lap and said:
- "1000 cases for skilled hands." Oh-la-la, this is how much is to come!
In my pedagogical description, Marie wrote: “This boy has a head like a sieve, golden hands and a huge heart. If you try, it will make sense. "
For the first and last time in my entire life, an educator said a kind word about me.
In any case, I know a lot of people who don't like all this either. For example, if I ask: "Do you love school?" - what do you answer? Shake your head: no, of course. Unless sycophants from sycophants say "yes" or such "nerds" who really like to go every day to test their abilities. But I'm not talking about them ... Who really loves all this? Nobody. Who really hates that? Few too. Few, but there is. People like me: they are called "idlers" and "idiots", and their stomach hurts all the time.
I wake up an hour before the alarm clock, or even more, and I lie for an hour and feel this pain in my stomach, how it swells, swells ... By the time I have to get out of bed, I’m already sick so that it seems like I’m on deck ship on the high seas. Breakfast is torment. I can't eat anything at all, but my mother always stands above my soul, and like it or not, I have to stuff toasts in myself. On the bus, the pain shrinks into a tight, tight ball. If I meet guys from the class on the way, you can talk, for example, about "Zelda", then let go a little, but when I go alone, the lump chokes me. And the worst thing is to enter the schoolyard. The smell of school is the worst thing. The smell of chalk and old sneakers makes it hard to breathe and makes you feel sick to your throat.
Anna Gavalda
35 kilos of hope
35 KILO OF HOPE
To my grandfather and Marie Tondelier
I hate school.
I hate her more than anything else.
No, even stronger ...
She ruined my whole life.
Until the age of three, I can say for sure, I lived happily. I don't remember it well, but it seems to me so. I played, watched a cartoon about a teddy bear ten times in a row, drew pictures and came up with a million adventures for Grodudu - it was my favorite plush puppy. Mom told me that I sat alone in my room for hours and did not get bored, chatted incessantly, sort of like with myself. So I think: I must have lived happily.
Then, as a child, I loved everyone and thought that everyone loved me too. And then, when I was three years and five months old, suddenly - bam! - to school.
On the first morning, I was kind of glad. My parents must have been telling me all summer long: “That's great, dear, you’ll go to a real school ...” “Look, what a beautiful satchel they bought you! You will go to school with him! " Well and all that ... They say I didn't even cry. (I'm generally curious, I probably wanted to see what kind of toys they have and whether there is "Lego" ...) In general, by lunchtime I returned happy, ate everything and ran to my room, tell Grodud how interesting it was at school.
If I had known then, I would have relished those last happy moments, because immediately after that my life went awry.
Let's go. - said mom.
How where ... To school!
What - no?
I won't go there again.
How is it? Why then?
Enough already, I've seen this school, nothing interesting there. I have a lot to do here, at home. I promised Grodud to make him such a machine to look for bones, otherwise he buried a lot of them under my bed, but he cannot find, so I have no time to go to school.
Mom squatted down in front of me. I shook my head.
She began to persuade me. I cried. She lifted me in her arms and I screamed. And then she slapped me.
The first in my life.
So much for your school.
So the nightmare began.
I've heard my parents tell this story a million times. To my friends, educators, teachers, psychologists, speech therapists and career guidance counselor. And to this day, every time I hear it, I remember that I never designed this very bone detector for Grodudu.
And now I am thirteen years old and in sixth grade. Yes, I myself know that something is wrong here. No need to curl your fingers, I'll explain myself. I stayed twice in the second year: in elementary school in the second and now in the sixth.
Because of this school, there are always scandals in the house, you know ... Mom cries, and father yells at me, or, on the contrary, mom yells, and father is silent. And I feel bad when they are like that, but what can I do? What should I tell them? Nothing. I can't tell them anything, because if I open my mouth it will be even worse. And they tell me the same thing, like parrots: "Work!" "Work!" "Work!" "Work!" "Work!"
Yes, I understand, I understand. I'm not quite dumb after all. I would be glad to work, but the problem is that it doesn't work. Everything that is taught in school is Chinese for me. It flies into one ear, flies into the other. They took me to a million doctors, checked my eyes, ears, even my brain. We spent a lot of time, and concluded that I, you see, have a problem with concentration. Stunned! I myself know what happened to me, they would ask me. Everything is fine with me. No problem. I'm just not interested. Not interested. And that's all.
Well, there was only one year at school - in the senior kindergarten group. There I had a teacher, Marie. I will never forget her.
Now I think Marie went to work at school to do what she liked in life: doing needlework and making all sorts of things. I immediately fell in love with her. From the very first day. She sewed dresses for herself, knitted sweaters herself, invented decorations herself. There wasn’t a day when we didn’t bring something home: a papier-mâché hedgehog, a kitten with a bottle of milk, a mouse in a nutshell, turntables, drawings, appliqués ... That was the teacher - we worked with her not only before the Mothers Day in hunt. She said: the day when you did something with your own hands was not in vain. Now I think that from this happy year all my misfortunes followed, because it was then that I realized one simple thing: more than anything in the world I am interested in my hands and what they are capable of making.
I will also say about Marie: I know perfectly well what I owe her. Passing kindergarten is what. She understood who she was dealing with. I knew that I was ready to cry if they asked me to write my name, that I didn’t remember a thing, and for me even to read the counting rhyme by heart was a quiet horror. On the last day before the holidays, I came to say goodbye to her. There was a lump in my throat and it was difficult to speak. I handed her my present - it was a super-duper pencil case, with drawers for paper clips and buttons, an eraser slot and all sorts of bells and whistles. How much I glued and painted it - go crazy. Marie was pleased, I saw, and, in my opinion, worried as much as I did. She told me:
I also have a present for you, Gregoire ...
It turned out to be a thick book.
I shook my head.
To read everything that is written here.
At home, I asked my mother to read the title to me. She put a thick book on her lap and said:
- "1000 cases for skilled hands." Oh-la-la, this is how much is to come!
In my pedagogical description, Marie wrote: “This boy has a head like a sieve, golden hands and a huge heart. If you try, it will make sense. "
For the first and last time in my entire life, an educator said a kind word about me.
In any case, I know a lot of people who don't like all this either. For example, if I ask: "Do you love school?" - what do you answer? Shake your head: no, of course. Unless sycophants from sycophants say "yes" or such "nerds" who really like to go every day to test their abilities. But I'm not talking about them ... Who really loves all this? Nobody. Who really hates that? Few too. Few, but there is. People like me: they are called "idlers" and "idiots", and their stomach hurts all the time.
The author of the reader's diary
Elena Sergeevna Kostina
Electronic reader's diary
Book Information
| Book title and author | main characters | Plot | My opinion | Reading date | Number of pages |
| Anna Gavalda "35 kilos of hope" | Gregoire - 13 years old, grandfather, family, teacher | "35 kilos of hope" - a poetic parable about the main thing: about the choice life path, about the power of love and devotion. About family. That dreams can and should come true. You just need to really want to. And try very hard. Solving his "childish" problems, the thirteen-year-old hero is looking for a way out - and he finds it, so much so that the adults have something to learn from the boy. | Great book! I recommend it to everyone from 7 to 99 years old. Easy to read, with humor, but at the same time makes a lot to analyze and change life. | 2007 | 118 pages |
Book cover illustration
About the author of the book
Anna Gavalda (fr.Anna Gavalda)
Anna Gavalda is a popular French writer. Her short stories and novels about simple and at the same time complex concepts such as love, tenderness, death, conquered not only France, but the whole world. Her books have been translated into 36 languages, and in March 2007, Claude Berry's film based on the novel "Just Together" was released in France, attracting 2 million viewers per month.
Born December 9, 1970 in Boulogne-Belancourt (France). After the divorce of her parents, from the age of fourteen she lived in a boarding house. She studied at the Sorbonne, worked as a cashier and waitress, was engaged in journalism.
Although Anna Gavalda claims that she was not going to become a writer, she wrote at the age of 17, participated in small literary competitions and won from time to time. So, in 1992 she won the national competition for the best love letter. In 1998, she won the Blood in the Inkwell Prize for her short story Aristote and won two more literary competitions. In 1999, Anna Gavalda's book "I would like someone somewhere to wait for me ..." was published, which was awarded the RTL Grand Prix in 2000.
The book was translated into more than 30 languages \u200b\u200band was an overwhelming success, despite the fact that it presented the reader with such a unfashionable genre of the story. In 2002, Gavalda's first novel, I Loved Him, was released. But this was all just a prelude to the real success that Anna Gavalda brought in 2004 with the book "Just Together", which eclipsed even "The Da Vinci Code" in France. The novel has been translated into 36 languages, in France they have already started filming a feature film based on this book with Charlotte Gainsbourg in the title role.
Anna Gavalda lives in the southeast of Paris, writes for three hours every day and has two children.
About the book
Storytelling
The books by the French writer Anna Gavalda are very popular among the readers of our library. Anna's great-grandmother was a native of St. Petersburg. After the divorce of her parents, Anna lived in a boarding house, then was educated at the Sorbonne. In 1992 she won the national love letter competition. A. Gavalda's writing career began with participation in the competition.
She has many worthy works, but I found her novel for the youth to be especially interesting: “35 kilos of hope”. The book is small in format and number of pages, so I was surprised that the genre of this work is a novel. I will share my impressions of this book.
The book is narrated from the perspective of a teenager who was in a difficult life situation, and the reader is immersed in the world of the child from the first pages.
The main character is a 13 year old boy named Gregoire. He has a great imagination, thanks to which he comes up with and sometimes makes interesting objects: a machine for peeling bananas, an ironing board for ironing while sitting, special shoes for walking in the mountains ...
But the boy hates school and suffers greatly because of it.
IN modern life there are many such children. The school system is tough: if children are given unsatisfactory grades in academic performance, then the child loses the chance to get secondary education. A. Gavalda gives readers the opportunity to look at such a child from the other side: with love, kindness and understanding. The book touches the reader for a living, because there is nothing worse than childhood depression, and there is nothing more important than love and hope.
Gregoire's relationship with his parents is complicated. They, like all moms and dads, want their child to be educated, successful in life, but so far this has not been possible.
This is how the writer describes the boy's feelings and behavior during another quarrel with his parents. “When they yell, I mentally plug my ears and try to think only about what I'm doing at the moment, for example: spaceship for Star Wars from "Lego systems", or a device for squeezing out toothpaste, or a giant pyramid from a wooden constructor "Campas", but you never know what. And then the torture begins with lessons. If my mother helps me, she always ends up crying. If the father - I cry. "
It becomes a pity for the boy.
Well, yes, he studies badly. But he is very, very kind and loves his grandfather Leon very much. He believes that grandfather is the only person who loves and understands him. At a time when the grandfather was ill, the boy constantly cared, thought about him and empathized. A. Gavalda raises, in my opinion, a very urgent problem of our time: the attitude of children towards the older generation.
Gregoire's parents are busy at work, they want quick results, and grandfather, from the height of his age, understands that it takes time and patience. He supports the boy, believes in him, and Gregoire finds a way out of the impasse.
Through the newspaper, the boy finds a school where he could study well and get a profession. The school has its own workshops. Gregoire sends a letter to the headmaster after destroying eleven drafts. “I would very much like to study at your school, but I know that this is impossible, because my academic performance is very poor.
I saw in the advertisement of your school that you have locksmiths and carpentry workshops, a computer science office, greenhouses, and so on.
I think grades are not the most important thing in life. Therefore, it is more important to know what you want in life.
I would like to study with you, because in Granshan it will be best for me - so I think. I am not very well-fed, I have 35 kilos of hope.
Good luck,
Gregoire Dubosque.
P.S. # 1: This is the first time in my life I am going to school, I don’t understand myself that it’s with me, I’m probably sick.
P.S. # 2: I am sending you drawings of a banana peeler that I made myself when I was seven years old. "
How much hope Gregoire puts into this letter, and his dream comes true. A wonderful, kind book with a happy ending, which will not leave indifferent either children or adults. I recommend it to you for family reading.