title: Raising a Reader: A Mother's Tale of Desperation and Delight
author:  Jennie Nash 
description: For parents overwhelmed with the many technical advice books written by specialists and teachers, Nash's anecdotal guide to getting children to pick up a book might be a refreshing change. Nash is not an educator, nor is she a learning specialist. She is, however, the author of The Victoria's Secret Catalog Never Stops Coming: And Other Lessons I Learned From Breast Cancer and the mother of two daughters, aged 10 and seven, who are both avid readers. Thus, her guide bursts with examples of her own personal frustrations and triumphs. As she reports on how she made progress with her children's literacy, she shares insights and practical tips, suggesting, for example, that parents and children both keep journals to track the books they've read. Nash's use of personal stories may not be the most scientific way to teach children to read, but it could help parents who are feeling desperate or frustrated with the task of cultivating literacy. <br />Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc.
zlib_text: Table of Contents
  Title Page
  The Hunger Games
  Catching Fire
  Mockingjay
  About the Author
  Also Available
  Copyright
  
  Contents
  Title Page
  Dedication
  Part I: “The Tributes”
  1
  2
  3
  4
  5
  6
  7
  8
  9
  Part II: “The Games”
  10
  11
  
  12
  13
  14
  15
  16
  17
  18
  Part III: “The Victor”
  19
  20
  21
  22
  23
  24
  25
  26
  27
  
  When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch
  out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the
  mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother.
  Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.
  I prop myself up on one elbow. There’s enough light in the bedroom to
  see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my
  mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks
  younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim’s face is as fresh as a
  raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother
  was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
  Sitting at Prim’s knees, guarding her, 