That books allow readers to experience other people's lives is certainly no secret. The immersion in other worlds and characters' psyches is the main reason I love reading so much. But while it seems obvious to bibliophiles that we can live a thousand other lives simply by opening books, I find that the converse is true as well: if a child never opens a book, he or she is confined to one life, and the insular thinking that such a life may bring. Reading allows the development of empathy that other media can't. However many movies, television shows, or MMORPGs a child experiences, the depth of feeling and the time involved inside someone else's life does not compare to what a book can hold. So for the next several months, I will be reviewing books that specifically address developing empathy, as this is a skill I see lacking in my students and in the larger context of our society as well. For strategies for teaching empathy, please see "Building Empathy in Classrooms and Schools" and "Empathy in the Classroom: Why Should I Care?"
Monday, December 5, 2016
Monday, August 17, 2009
What I've Been Reading This Summer
What a tremendously busy summer it's been! We just finished our Summer Reading programs at the library, and I'm happy to say that my teens did a great job -- circulation numbers were way up!
Despite being so very busy, I was able to get some excellent reading in. Heads up for these titles:
Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie by Jordan Sonnenblick
Middle School and up
This book was so fun and so heartbreaking at the same time. Steven is a middle school drummer whose obsession with All-City jazz ensemble is trumped only by his unrequited adoration of gorgeous and unattainable Renee. Into the hormonal frenzy that is life in junior high comes the diagnosis of his baby brother's leukemia. Steven's simultaneous annoyance and devotion to little Jeffy is affecting and realistic, as is his frustration with his parents as they, understandably, focus their attention on their younger son at the expense of Steven. Parts of the book are laugh-out-loud funny, and others threaten to produce tears. I highly recommend this one.
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
8th grade and up
This book is not for the faint of heart. Sixteen-year-old Katniss lives in a post-apocalyptic world where the majority of people stay in abject poverty their entire lives -- unless, of course, they are chosen to represent the 12 districts of Panem at the Capitol in the annual Hunger Games. In that event, they must fight in a winner-takes-all death match against other children (ages 12-18). When Katniss volunteers to take her little sister's place in the bloodbath, she sets in motion a series of events that will change Panem, and herself, forever. I am so looking forward to Catching Fire, the second in this proposed trilogy.
The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart
5th grade and up
I read this book with complete delight and abandon. I love a light read, and though the book has nearly 500 pages, the subtle humor and adventure made it go by fast. This book is for anyone who likes puzzles and mysteries, or who has ever felt a bit like an outsider in a world that doesn't understand. I think fans of Harry Potter will also like the interactions among the four children who make up the benevolent Mr. Benedict's Society -- Reynie, the defacto leader of the group; Sticky, a boy with a photographic memory and a penchant for polishing his glasses when he's nervous, which is most of the time; Kate, a spunky girl who carries a bucket full of odd items fastened to her belt and who prefers using windows and air ducts to make an entrance; and Constance, a girl whose stubborn will to be contrary just might save them all from the evil mechanization of Ledopthra Curtain, a mastermind whose "thing to come" will let him rule the world. Fun, fun, fun!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Castle in the Air and House of Many Ways by Diana Wynne Jones
I just finished the two latest installments of the series Jones started with Howl's Moving Castle, and they did not disappoint. I absolutely adore the way the old familiar characters are woven into two seemingly disparate storylines in these companions/sequels to a book that has become a great favorite of mine.
In Castle in the Air, a young carpet merchant named Abdullah gains possession of a magic carpet and a supremely contrary genie who start him on a quest to save his true love, Flower-in-the-Night. As in Howl's Moving Castle, Jones parodies classic fantasy at the same time that she embraces it, only this time she is working within a world straight out of The Arabian Nights. To top it all off, you will never guess how Sophie, Howl, and Calcifer show up in the story, but when they do, you will laugh at how obvious it was.
In House of Many Ways, we again focus on a character outside of Howl and Sophie's family unit. Charmain is a girl who has lived her life in the most respectable of ways -- which means no magical connection whatsoever. But when she goes to her Great Uncle's home to housesit, she finds herself in the middle of the most magical goings-on her country has ever seen. Of course, Sophie, Howl, and Calcifer are there in the middle with her, with hilarious results.
Read these books in order -- Howl's Moving Castle, Castle in the Air, and House of Many Ways -- if you want a different take on fantasy and several good laughs at the same time.
In Castle in the Air, a young carpet merchant named Abdullah gains possession of a magic carpet and a supremely contrary genie who start him on a quest to save his true love, Flower-in-the-Night. As in Howl's Moving Castle, Jones parodies classic fantasy at the same time that she embraces it, only this time she is working within a world straight out of The Arabian Nights. To top it all off, you will never guess how Sophie, Howl, and Calcifer show up in the story, but when they do, you will laugh at how obvious it was.
In House of Many Ways, we again focus on a character outside of Howl and Sophie's family unit. Charmain is a girl who has lived her life in the most respectable of ways -- which means no magical connection whatsoever. But when she goes to her Great Uncle's home to housesit, she finds herself in the middle of the most magical goings-on her country has ever seen. Of course, Sophie, Howl, and Calcifer are there in the middle with her, with hilarious results.
Read these books in order -- Howl's Moving Castle, Castle in the Air, and House of Many Ways -- if you want a different take on fantasy and several good laughs at the same time.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Haunting of Alaizabel Cray by Chris Wooding
8th grade and up
This book was one of those that acts on its title: it haunted me every time I passed it on the shelf, staying in my mind as one of those I meant to read, but never found the time. "Alaizabel Cray," that tiny little voice repeated inside my brain. "What a cool sounding name." Finally, I picked it up, read the blurb on the inside cover, and decided to give it a try.
The book is set in an alternative London, circa the 1890s, although it’s never quite clear how "circa" it is. There are gas lights and horse-drawn carriages, but there are also dreadful and awesome airships and electricity. In the perpetual fog that blankets the cityscape dwell the wych-kin, gruesome and frightening creatures of the night that prey on the lowly, the forlorn, and the forgotten of London’s people. The wych-kin are growing in strength and number, and only the new breed of wych hunters, those like Thaniel Fox and Cathaline Bennett, with their Wards, talismans, guns, and daggers, stand between the foul, undead things and the citizens in their homes. Thaniel is, if not happy, then at least content in his life as a wych hunter until the night he meets Alaizabel Cray. This beautiful, bedraggled girl, whether mad or possessed, is the key to either London’s salvation or its destruction. For there are dark forces at work in high places, and it’s up to Thaniel to stop them. If you’re looking for a creepy adventure story, with psychology and science thrown into the lot, look no further. This book satisfies from beginning to end.
This book was one of those that acts on its title: it haunted me every time I passed it on the shelf, staying in my mind as one of those I meant to read, but never found the time. "Alaizabel Cray," that tiny little voice repeated inside my brain. "What a cool sounding name." Finally, I picked it up, read the blurb on the inside cover, and decided to give it a try.
The book is set in an alternative London, circa the 1890s, although it’s never quite clear how "circa" it is. There are gas lights and horse-drawn carriages, but there are also dreadful and awesome airships and electricity. In the perpetual fog that blankets the cityscape dwell the wych-kin, gruesome and frightening creatures of the night that prey on the lowly, the forlorn, and the forgotten of London’s people. The wych-kin are growing in strength and number, and only the new breed of wych hunters, those like Thaniel Fox and Cathaline Bennett, with their Wards, talismans, guns, and daggers, stand between the foul, undead things and the citizens in their homes. Thaniel is, if not happy, then at least content in his life as a wych hunter until the night he meets Alaizabel Cray. This beautiful, bedraggled girl, whether mad or possessed, is the key to either London’s salvation or its destruction. For there are dark forces at work in high places, and it’s up to Thaniel to stop them. If you’re looking for a creepy adventure story, with psychology and science thrown into the lot, look no further. This book satisfies from beginning to end.
Big Fish by Daniel Wallace
High School/Adult
If the title sounds familiar, it may be because of the Tim Burton film adaptation, starring the oh, so handsome Ewan McGregor as Edward Bloom. That movie is the primary reason I asked that the library get this book: it was that phenomenal. Quirky, yes. A bit over-the-top, yes. But that is the nature of myths (and of Tim Burton films). They challenge us to reach outside the blah of our everyday lives and see something larger and more profound. And the idea that this profundity (yes, it's a word -- look it up) can be found in an ordinary man's life is terribly appealing, since it affirms that all our lives, however simple they may be, can be the stuff of dreams.
The book, like the movie, is about a son's search for who his father really was and is. Edward Bloom is a teller of tall tales, of jokes, of everything but the hard facts of his life. There is a wall between him and his son, a wall made of words, of lost time, and of myth. For that is what Will has done his whole life -- what all sons (and daughters) do at some point -- mythologize his father. Now he wants to know the "truth" behind the fish tales before his father dies; he wants to know the real Edward Bloom before it is too late, only to realize that the stories of his father, that the stories of any father, are as close as he can come. And perhaps, just perhaps, that is close enough.
Don't expect the book and the movie to be exactly the same in every aspect; the stories are a bit different. But the heart and the voice of Will as he tells his father's stories and the stories of his father's death make them as humorous and heart-wrenching as anything the movie produced. But go ahead and let Ewan McGregor run around in your mind's eye -- that never hurt a thing.
If the title sounds familiar, it may be because of the Tim Burton film adaptation, starring the oh, so handsome Ewan McGregor as Edward Bloom. That movie is the primary reason I asked that the library get this book: it was that phenomenal. Quirky, yes. A bit over-the-top, yes. But that is the nature of myths (and of Tim Burton films). They challenge us to reach outside the blah of our everyday lives and see something larger and more profound. And the idea that this profundity (yes, it's a word -- look it up) can be found in an ordinary man's life is terribly appealing, since it affirms that all our lives, however simple they may be, can be the stuff of dreams.
The book, like the movie, is about a son's search for who his father really was and is. Edward Bloom is a teller of tall tales, of jokes, of everything but the hard facts of his life. There is a wall between him and his son, a wall made of words, of lost time, and of myth. For that is what Will has done his whole life -- what all sons (and daughters) do at some point -- mythologize his father. Now he wants to know the "truth" behind the fish tales before his father dies; he wants to know the real Edward Bloom before it is too late, only to realize that the stories of his father, that the stories of any father, are as close as he can come. And perhaps, just perhaps, that is close enough.
Don't expect the book and the movie to be exactly the same in every aspect; the stories are a bit different. But the heart and the voice of Will as he tells his father's stories and the stories of his father's death make them as humorous and heart-wrenching as anything the movie produced. But go ahead and let Ewan McGregor run around in your mind's eye -- that never hurt a thing.
I Know What You Did Last Summer by Lois Duncan
Middle/High School
I must say, I had the hardest time getting through this book, and I should admit that I just skimmed through the last half of it. The writing is dated (the book came out before I was born), but that isn't so much what bothered me. The dialogue seemed so stilted -- no one talks like these kids do -- and the characterization was just . . . blah. I couldn't care about any of these people; some I loathed for their self-absorption and disregard for others' feelings, and others I pitied in a "squash the dying bug and put it out of its misery" sort of way because of their total obliviousness. I really wanted to like two characters. I honestly tried to be interested in them. But they were just so unreal that I couldn't muster much more than a "well, it'll be slightly sad if they die, so here's hoping they get a generic pulled-from-the-clutches-of-death ending."
If you've seen the movie, you've seen the absolute basics of the plot, though the film did take liberties. Four teens accidentally kill a little boy in their car and make a pact to keep it secret. They go a year with everything fine -- except their consciences -- until mysterious notes start to appear insinuating that someone out there knows what happened. And that someone wants them dead. Now, granted, I'm not the biggest mystery fan in the world. I like my "who-dunnits" to be more on the supernatural side, if you know what I mean (Mulder and Scully shippers unite! Wow, that really dated me). But I'm willing to give anything a chance as long as I can care about the characters. And here, I just don't. Just kill them already, creepy note-writing guy.
I must say, I had the hardest time getting through this book, and I should admit that I just skimmed through the last half of it. The writing is dated (the book came out before I was born), but that isn't so much what bothered me. The dialogue seemed so stilted -- no one talks like these kids do -- and the characterization was just . . . blah. I couldn't care about any of these people; some I loathed for their self-absorption and disregard for others' feelings, and others I pitied in a "squash the dying bug and put it out of its misery" sort of way because of their total obliviousness. I really wanted to like two characters. I honestly tried to be interested in them. But they were just so unreal that I couldn't muster much more than a "well, it'll be slightly sad if they die, so here's hoping they get a generic pulled-from-the-clutches-of-death ending."
If you've seen the movie, you've seen the absolute basics of the plot, though the film did take liberties. Four teens accidentally kill a little boy in their car and make a pact to keep it secret. They go a year with everything fine -- except their consciences -- until mysterious notes start to appear insinuating that someone out there knows what happened. And that someone wants them dead. Now, granted, I'm not the biggest mystery fan in the world. I like my "who-dunnits" to be more on the supernatural side, if you know what I mean (Mulder and Scully shippers unite! Wow, that really dated me). But I'm willing to give anything a chance as long as I can care about the characters. And here, I just don't. Just kill them already, creepy note-writing guy.
The Twilight Saga by Stephenie Meyer
Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn
8th grade and up
Good luck finding these on the shelves at the library! I have quite literally placed Twilight out on display and seen someone go home with it ten minutes later. My 13-year-old sister was the first person I heard rave about these books – and I mean rave. For months, all she could talk about was how Bella and Edward belonged together, but, oh, poor Jacob. I almost felt like I already knew the story by the time I gave in and actually started reading what I thought would be a sappy teen romance series.
Well, I was right; it is a sappy teen romance series. But it is a very cool sappy teen romance series, and if you aren’t careful, you might find yourself analyzing some of the most significant human themes in books rife with non-humans. Where is the line between obsession and love? What would it be like to need someone whose very existence is against nature, against everything you hold dear? What would you be willing to sacrifice for true love, and will such love really make you happy? These are the questions 17-year-old Bella faces when she falls irrevocably in love with Edward, a member of a “family” of vampires who have sworn off human blood, but whose presence in the tiny Washington town of Forks nevertheless threatens the destruction of Bella’s own family, her best friend, and her very soul.
Be prepared to be seduced by these books, to feel deeply the emotions of all the characters, to put yourself in the places of a vampire, a werewolf, and a magnificently human teenaged girl.
8th grade and up
Good luck finding these on the shelves at the library! I have quite literally placed Twilight out on display and seen someone go home with it ten minutes later. My 13-year-old sister was the first person I heard rave about these books – and I mean rave. For months, all she could talk about was how Bella and Edward belonged together, but, oh, poor Jacob. I almost felt like I already knew the story by the time I gave in and actually started reading what I thought would be a sappy teen romance series.
Well, I was right; it is a sappy teen romance series. But it is a very cool sappy teen romance series, and if you aren’t careful, you might find yourself analyzing some of the most significant human themes in books rife with non-humans. Where is the line between obsession and love? What would it be like to need someone whose very existence is against nature, against everything you hold dear? What would you be willing to sacrifice for true love, and will such love really make you happy? These are the questions 17-year-old Bella faces when she falls irrevocably in love with Edward, a member of a “family” of vampires who have sworn off human blood, but whose presence in the tiny Washington town of Forks nevertheless threatens the destruction of Bella’s own family, her best friend, and her very soul.
Be prepared to be seduced by these books, to feel deeply the emotions of all the characters, to put yourself in the places of a vampire, a werewolf, and a magnificently human teenaged girl.
The Bumblebee Flies Anyway by Robert Cormier
High School and Up
I saw this as a movie starring Elijah Wood and Rachael Leigh Cook a really long time ago, so when I found out it was actually a book by late great Robert Cormier, I had to give it a try.
It's the story of Barney Snow, an amnesiac living in a research facility for terminally ill kids. He tries to keep himself, the only "healthy" person in the place, separate from the other boys, thinking that if he doesn't get attached, it won't hurt as much when they inevitably die. But when the beautiful sister of one of the guys asks Barney to try and befriend her self-pitying, belligerent brother, Mazzo, Barney forges friendships and embarks on a mission to build a car for Mazzo's last glorious ride. And these friendships will be all too important as Barney slowly discovers the painful mysteries of his past and of his own mind.
The writing is phenomenal. Sometimes poetic, sometimes gritty and vulgar, the book really gets inside Barney and evokes the fear, depression, and determination that living in such a place would bring. I highly recommend it.
I saw this as a movie starring Elijah Wood and Rachael Leigh Cook a really long time ago, so when I found out it was actually a book by late great Robert Cormier, I had to give it a try.
It's the story of Barney Snow, an amnesiac living in a research facility for terminally ill kids. He tries to keep himself, the only "healthy" person in the place, separate from the other boys, thinking that if he doesn't get attached, it won't hurt as much when they inevitably die. But when the beautiful sister of one of the guys asks Barney to try and befriend her self-pitying, belligerent brother, Mazzo, Barney forges friendships and embarks on a mission to build a car for Mazzo's last glorious ride. And these friendships will be all too important as Barney slowly discovers the painful mysteries of his past and of his own mind.
The writing is phenomenal. Sometimes poetic, sometimes gritty and vulgar, the book really gets inside Barney and evokes the fear, depression, and determination that living in such a place would bring. I highly recommend it.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
A Word About the Caldecott and the Newbery
My little sister is currently reading Romeo and Juliet for school, and when I think of this issue of which award is more prestigious, I can't help but envision the Caldecotts vs. the Newberys, as though the awards are rival factions. But in truth, neither award is better than the other. They honor different types of books, and to say one is better than the other is to declare picture books and longer fiction to be in competition. They are, to use the cliche, apples and oranges. They both are wonderful things in which to indulge, but they have different flavors and benefits.
The Caldecott honors exemplary illustrations for books, whereas the Newbery honors writing in longer works. I do not limit either to fiction in this differentiation, because books of poetry and nonfiction have been winners. For those people who think length determines the worth of a book, and therefore give the Newbery preference, I would point to those shorter works of poetry and to the recent Caldecott winner, the giant of a book The Invention of Hugo Cabret, as exceptions to that rule. The differences between the Caldecott and the Newbery are not important -- both honor works of art that belong on our library shelves and in our collective memories.
The Caldecott honors exemplary illustrations for books, whereas the Newbery honors writing in longer works. I do not limit either to fiction in this differentiation, because books of poetry and nonfiction have been winners. For those people who think length determines the worth of a book, and therefore give the Newbery preference, I would point to those shorter works of poetry and to the recent Caldecott winner, the giant of a book The Invention of Hugo Cabret, as exceptions to that rule. The differences between the Caldecott and the Newbery are not important -- both honor works of art that belong on our library shelves and in our collective memories.
The Lorax by Dr. Seuss
3rd grade and up
I’ve always felt that Dr. Seuss books are among the most allegorical of all children’s books – Yertle the Turtle was among my first experiences with the evils of dictatorships – so I was not surprised to find The Lorax to be an environmental allegory. The Once-ler’s story of causing the near extinction of the truffula trees and the destruction of an entire ecological system is not for the little boy’s benefit because he paid his fee. It is a warning to children and adults of the dangers of destroying the environment through the deforestation and pollution of irresponsible industry, and just as the Once-ler puts the last truffula seed into the boy's hands, Seuss puts the responsibility of renewing the environment on his readers.
But Dr. Seuss is not alone is writing books that aim to teach children lessons. These types of books have existed as long as books for children have been written, and they will continue to be written. In our library, the Sommer-time books by Carl Sommer are quite popular, as are the series books such as Thomas the Tank Engine, Franklin, and Arthur, all of which lead children through moral or social issues by encouraging them to identify with their protagonists.
I’ve always felt that Dr. Seuss books are among the most allegorical of all children’s books – Yertle the Turtle was among my first experiences with the evils of dictatorships – so I was not surprised to find The Lorax to be an environmental allegory. The Once-ler’s story of causing the near extinction of the truffula trees and the destruction of an entire ecological system is not for the little boy’s benefit because he paid his fee. It is a warning to children and adults of the dangers of destroying the environment through the deforestation and pollution of irresponsible industry, and just as the Once-ler puts the last truffula seed into the boy's hands, Seuss puts the responsibility of renewing the environment on his readers.
But Dr. Seuss is not alone is writing books that aim to teach children lessons. These types of books have existed as long as books for children have been written, and they will continue to be written. In our library, the Sommer-time books by Carl Sommer are quite popular, as are the series books such as Thomas the Tank Engine, Franklin, and Arthur, all of which lead children through moral or social issues by encouraging them to identify with their protagonists.
The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss
Kindergarten and up
I cannot foresee The Cat in the Hat ever going out of favor with children – they will always be bored by having nothing to do and will always be fascinated by the idea of Thing 1 and Thing 2. Children like to make messes, and the Cat plays on the almost innate tendency to touch that which is forbidden and to do whatever mischief is possible without getting caught.
No contemporary book quite reaches the balance that Dr. Seuss achieved in The Cat in the Hat between “right” (doing as the fish says) and “wrong” (doing as the Cat says), nor quite has the fun wordplay of a classic Seuss book. Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are celebrates the little beast inside children while it stresses the caring of their adults. Van Allsburg’s Jumanji and Zathura allow children a romp through some terribly destructive situations in the name of beating a game to get back to their homes in the normal world. Dav Pilkey’s Captain Underpants shows how two delinquent children can save the world and their necks by hypnotizing their principal into thinking he is a diaper-wearing superhero. But no author allows his characters to cause quite the havoc, or to clean up with such finesse, as Seuss did with his Cat.
I cannot foresee The Cat in the Hat ever going out of favor with children – they will always be bored by having nothing to do and will always be fascinated by the idea of Thing 1 and Thing 2. Children like to make messes, and the Cat plays on the almost innate tendency to touch that which is forbidden and to do whatever mischief is possible without getting caught.
No contemporary book quite reaches the balance that Dr. Seuss achieved in The Cat in the Hat between “right” (doing as the fish says) and “wrong” (doing as the Cat says), nor quite has the fun wordplay of a classic Seuss book. Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are celebrates the little beast inside children while it stresses the caring of their adults. Van Allsburg’s Jumanji and Zathura allow children a romp through some terribly destructive situations in the name of beating a game to get back to their homes in the normal world. Dav Pilkey’s Captain Underpants shows how two delinquent children can save the world and their necks by hypnotizing their principal into thinking he is a diaper-wearing superhero. But no author allows his characters to cause quite the havoc, or to clean up with such finesse, as Seuss did with his Cat.
The Hired Hand by Robert D. San Souci, Illustrated by Jerry Pinkney
3rd grade and up
This picture book with text by the great folklorist Robert D. San Souci draws on an old African-American tale of a stranger who could restore people’s youth by cutting them into pieces, washing them, and then putting them back together under magic words. The story itself is worded in such a way that the tale could take place anywhere, anytime before the mechanization of the world. Jerry Pinkney’s illustrations lend to this atmosphere; watercolor paintings allow for colors to bleed into each other to blur the lines between magic and reality.
Pinkney used a similar technique to illustrate Julius Lester’s Tales of Uncle Remus: The Adventures of Brer Rabbit (reviewed elsewhere in this blog). The watercolor effect in the color pictures of that book give a naturalness to these tales of the animal world, while the pencil and graphite drawings help portray the old age of the tales. The dress of the animals indicates that they are really representations of human frailties and strengths; Pinkney also ties them through their apparel to the slaves whose oral traditions kept the characters alive. In both of these African-American tales, Pinkney’s style at once grounds the stories in their natural feel and lets the imagination soar in their rich, nicely saturated colors.
This picture book with text by the great folklorist Robert D. San Souci draws on an old African-American tale of a stranger who could restore people’s youth by cutting them into pieces, washing them, and then putting them back together under magic words. The story itself is worded in such a way that the tale could take place anywhere, anytime before the mechanization of the world. Jerry Pinkney’s illustrations lend to this atmosphere; watercolor paintings allow for colors to bleed into each other to blur the lines between magic and reality.
Pinkney used a similar technique to illustrate Julius Lester’s Tales of Uncle Remus: The Adventures of Brer Rabbit (reviewed elsewhere in this blog). The watercolor effect in the color pictures of that book give a naturalness to these tales of the animal world, while the pencil and graphite drawings help portray the old age of the tales. The dress of the animals indicates that they are really representations of human frailties and strengths; Pinkney also ties them through their apparel to the slaves whose oral traditions kept the characters alive. In both of these African-American tales, Pinkney’s style at once grounds the stories in their natural feel and lets the imagination soar in their rich, nicely saturated colors.
The Tiger’s Apprentice by Laurence Yep
4th grade and up
When I read this book, I had no profound revelations about the state of humanity as I might in reading some of the other books I examined for this blog. Instead, I found a neat little adventure fantasy that was pure escapism – a much needed diversion during an extraordinarily busy semester.
The book centers around Tom, whose grandmother’s life was devoted to, and has just been sacrificed for, the protection of a phoenix egg, the possession of which would give the evil Vatten ultimate power. Her guardianship of the egg, and of Tom, passes to her greatest former pupil, a fastidiously tidy tiger named Mr. Hu. Together with a down-on-her-luck dragon named Mistral and Monkey from Chinese legend, Tom and Mr. Hu fight to keep the egg away from Vatten’s forces.
On more than one occasion, I felt a kinship between this book and the world of Harry Potter. The magical world and the normal world coexist in such a way that most humans have no idea that magic exists; a trip to Chinatown for supplies becomes much like a trip to Diagon Alley with a secret entrance to a marketplace that exists on a plane parallel to the human world. The difference between the two series lies in the mythological underpinnings of the tales. While Rowling’s world draws on Western myth and legend, Yep’s magic comes from Eastern mythology. Chinese creation myths are vital parts of the plot, as are characters from Chinese legend. Dragons, for example, are not bloodthirsty beasts, but rather noble firstborns of the world – they seem to have more in common with the dragons of LeGuin’s Earthsea cycle or Middle-Earth’s elves in their ancient wisdom.
I found Yep’s treatment of dragons interesting in his The Dragon Prince as well. There, the dragon is wise, gentle, and fearsome all at the same time. As a Chinese Beauty and the Beast story, The Dragon Prince draws once again on the Eastern view of dragons as creatures of great magic and power whose benevolence far outweighs the terror their appearance inspires. Like in The Tiger’s Apprentice, the realm of the dragon is under the sea, which makes for a beautiful, poetic setting for a romance.
When I read this book, I had no profound revelations about the state of humanity as I might in reading some of the other books I examined for this blog. Instead, I found a neat little adventure fantasy that was pure escapism – a much needed diversion during an extraordinarily busy semester.
The book centers around Tom, whose grandmother’s life was devoted to, and has just been sacrificed for, the protection of a phoenix egg, the possession of which would give the evil Vatten ultimate power. Her guardianship of the egg, and of Tom, passes to her greatest former pupil, a fastidiously tidy tiger named Mr. Hu. Together with a down-on-her-luck dragon named Mistral and Monkey from Chinese legend, Tom and Mr. Hu fight to keep the egg away from Vatten’s forces.
On more than one occasion, I felt a kinship between this book and the world of Harry Potter. The magical world and the normal world coexist in such a way that most humans have no idea that magic exists; a trip to Chinatown for supplies becomes much like a trip to Diagon Alley with a secret entrance to a marketplace that exists on a plane parallel to the human world. The difference between the two series lies in the mythological underpinnings of the tales. While Rowling’s world draws on Western myth and legend, Yep’s magic comes from Eastern mythology. Chinese creation myths are vital parts of the plot, as are characters from Chinese legend. Dragons, for example, are not bloodthirsty beasts, but rather noble firstborns of the world – they seem to have more in common with the dragons of LeGuin’s Earthsea cycle or Middle-Earth’s elves in their ancient wisdom.
I found Yep’s treatment of dragons interesting in his The Dragon Prince as well. There, the dragon is wise, gentle, and fearsome all at the same time. As a Chinese Beauty and the Beast story, The Dragon Prince draws once again on the Eastern view of dragons as creatures of great magic and power whose benevolence far outweighs the terror their appearance inspires. Like in The Tiger’s Apprentice, the realm of the dragon is under the sea, which makes for a beautiful, poetic setting for a romance.
The Happiest Ending by Yoshiko Uchida
4th grade and up
I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to the characters in this coming-of-age story set in 1936 as the war years came upon them, for every character was Japanese-American, foreigners in their own homes because of their heritage. Rinko’s frustrations about the arranged marriage between 19-year-old Teru and 40-year-old Mr. Kinjo and her confusion about the difference between romantic love and romanticized love seem to pale in comparison to the lives I envisioned for them in the future. I could see Rinko’s brother Cal entering an all Japanese-American regiment to prove his loyalty. I could see Rinko herself, grown out of her 12-year-old awkwardness and into 18-year-old determination to become a school teacher, being yanked out of her freshman year of college to be sent along with her family and friends to an internment camp. I could see her father carefully packing the American flag he displayed so proudly on holidays into the meager collection of possessions he could carry with him as they left their homes and businesses amid their neighbors’ looks of fear and hate.
I could see all these things because I know the history of the time period, and so could feel anger at the indignities I knew would be coming for these characters whose lives depend on their honor and determination to help each other survive and succeed in their adopted country. I doubt this anger was what Uchida was aiming for when she wrote what is otherwise a run-of-the-mill contemporary realistic novel about the awkward pre-teen years. After all, the intended audience is those very tweeners who, in all likelihood, do not know the real-life history of Japanese-Americans. But in some way, I hope that reading Uchida’s books about the Japanese-American experience in America gives children some clues about the injustices of racial hatred. The constant worry that the children will not be able to achieve their dreams because no one will hire them and their occasional bitterness that they are not allowed to be citizens in the country they would live and die for are never overstated – the book is, after all, about Rinko’s growing sense of the fineries of relationships – but they do come up often enough to tempt readers to find out more about the conditions of 1936 Berkeley. Perhaps in learning about past injustices they may grow to avoid future ones.
I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to the characters in this coming-of-age story set in 1936 as the war years came upon them, for every character was Japanese-American, foreigners in their own homes because of their heritage. Rinko’s frustrations about the arranged marriage between 19-year-old Teru and 40-year-old Mr. Kinjo and her confusion about the difference between romantic love and romanticized love seem to pale in comparison to the lives I envisioned for them in the future. I could see Rinko’s brother Cal entering an all Japanese-American regiment to prove his loyalty. I could see Rinko herself, grown out of her 12-year-old awkwardness and into 18-year-old determination to become a school teacher, being yanked out of her freshman year of college to be sent along with her family and friends to an internment camp. I could see her father carefully packing the American flag he displayed so proudly on holidays into the meager collection of possessions he could carry with him as they left their homes and businesses amid their neighbors’ looks of fear and hate.
I could see all these things because I know the history of the time period, and so could feel anger at the indignities I knew would be coming for these characters whose lives depend on their honor and determination to help each other survive and succeed in their adopted country. I doubt this anger was what Uchida was aiming for when she wrote what is otherwise a run-of-the-mill contemporary realistic novel about the awkward pre-teen years. After all, the intended audience is those very tweeners who, in all likelihood, do not know the real-life history of Japanese-Americans. But in some way, I hope that reading Uchida’s books about the Japanese-American experience in America gives children some clues about the injustices of racial hatred. The constant worry that the children will not be able to achieve their dreams because no one will hire them and their occasional bitterness that they are not allowed to be citizens in the country they would live and die for are never overstated – the book is, after all, about Rinko’s growing sense of the fineries of relationships – but they do come up often enough to tempt readers to find out more about the conditions of 1936 Berkeley. Perhaps in learning about past injustices they may grow to avoid future ones.
Holes by Louis Sachar
4th grade and up
Everyone I talked to about my book selections for this blog told me how hilarious this Newbery winner would be. I assumed they were talking about the kind of slapstick nonsensical hilarity that I associated with Shia LaBeouf from his Even Stevens days since I knew he played the main character, Stanley Yelnats, in the movie version of the book. I had never seen the movie, and so felt that my reading would not be unduly influenced, aside from the fact that I saw a young Disneyesque Shia LaBeouf in my head.
I cannot say that the book was laugh-out-loud funny as everyone said. But because I didn’t experience the side-splitting laughter they described does not mean Holes was not a worthwhile experience. Indeed, I was terribly impressed with the plot turns that tied the various stories together, not to mention particularly sickened by the idea that Stanley and Zero would actually drink hundred-year-old sploosh. I found myself smiling and "ahhing" at the ways the characters’ histories intertwined, with the deeds of long dead ancestors playing a direct role in their descendants’ lives. I can’t think of another children’s book that is so tightly plotted – the last time I was this impressed with the cohesion of a plot was when I read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but even that story does not come close to the way that every detail of Holes depends on every other detail. This level of intricacy seems appropriate to the primary focus of the book; it mirrors Stanley and Zero’s growing realization that they must depend on each other and work together to achieve their goals. The cleverness of the plot, while a worthy accomplishment, would have been nothing without the heart that the boys’ friendship brings, and so I applaud Sachar for realizing that a story can have all the plot in the world, but making the reader care about the characters is what really makes a book a winner.
Everyone I talked to about my book selections for this blog told me how hilarious this Newbery winner would be. I assumed they were talking about the kind of slapstick nonsensical hilarity that I associated with Shia LaBeouf from his Even Stevens days since I knew he played the main character, Stanley Yelnats, in the movie version of the book. I had never seen the movie, and so felt that my reading would not be unduly influenced, aside from the fact that I saw a young Disneyesque Shia LaBeouf in my head.
I cannot say that the book was laugh-out-loud funny as everyone said. But because I didn’t experience the side-splitting laughter they described does not mean Holes was not a worthwhile experience. Indeed, I was terribly impressed with the plot turns that tied the various stories together, not to mention particularly sickened by the idea that Stanley and Zero would actually drink hundred-year-old sploosh. I found myself smiling and "ahhing" at the ways the characters’ histories intertwined, with the deeds of long dead ancestors playing a direct role in their descendants’ lives. I can’t think of another children’s book that is so tightly plotted – the last time I was this impressed with the cohesion of a plot was when I read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but even that story does not come close to the way that every detail of Holes depends on every other detail. This level of intricacy seems appropriate to the primary focus of the book; it mirrors Stanley and Zero’s growing realization that they must depend on each other and work together to achieve their goals. The cleverness of the plot, while a worthy accomplishment, would have been nothing without the heart that the boys’ friendship brings, and so I applaud Sachar for realizing that a story can have all the plot in the world, but making the reader care about the characters is what really makes a book a winner.
The Tales of Uncle Remus: The Adventures of Brer Rabbit as told by Julius Lester
Middle School and up
I remember reading “The Tar Baby” from a collection of classic children’s stories my grandmother had when I was just a little girl. I think what stayed with me was not the story itself, but the strange illustration of a rabbit with all four paws stuck to this sticky, shiny effigy wearing a straw hat. Of course, I’ve heard that story often since that first time, but I had never experienced any of the other Brer Rabbit tales – now I know why. I would never expose a child to the story of Brer Rabbit beheading Brer Fox and tricking Miz Fox into boiling the head for her children’s supper. I would never tell an elementary class how Brer Rabbit poured boiling water over Brer Wolf, or burned Brer Wolf alive, or tricked him into boiling one of his own children. When all is said and done, Brer Rabbit is, in the vernacular, just plain rotten.
This horror at Brer Rabbit is not to say I don’t get a good laugh out of his descendant, Bugs Bunny, who can pull some fast ones on Yosemite Sam or Wiley Coyote that would make Brer Rabbit proud. I’m not one of those people who think children cannot handle anything stronger than Barney the Dinosaur. But the difference between their brands of mischief comes from their motives – Bugs almost invariably acts in self-defense, or at least out of righteous indignation, whereas Brer Rabbit inflicts misery because he is greedy, unfeeling, or worse, bored.
Of course, I realize that the Brer Rabbit tales come not from Lester’s imagination, but rather from the trickster tales that came to America with African slaves and became part of their oral heritage. For his part, Lester effectively translates the tales out of the heavy dialect of Joel Chandler Harris’s version and honors the tales’ oral tradition by writing in a way modern readers can understand. The prose reads much like a monologue – I could almost hear a storyteller’s inflections on the words and how he or she might dramatize a scene with a whisper and a shout. This aspect of the book made the biggest impression on me, despite my shock at the heartless violence of the tales themselves. As I read the tales in Lester’s words, I feel in my very bones the need to speak them, if only to myself, for with the exception of the tamer tales where the only part bruised is one’s pride, I won’t be speaking them to young children.
I remember reading “The Tar Baby” from a collection of classic children’s stories my grandmother had when I was just a little girl. I think what stayed with me was not the story itself, but the strange illustration of a rabbit with all four paws stuck to this sticky, shiny effigy wearing a straw hat. Of course, I’ve heard that story often since that first time, but I had never experienced any of the other Brer Rabbit tales – now I know why. I would never expose a child to the story of Brer Rabbit beheading Brer Fox and tricking Miz Fox into boiling the head for her children’s supper. I would never tell an elementary class how Brer Rabbit poured boiling water over Brer Wolf, or burned Brer Wolf alive, or tricked him into boiling one of his own children. When all is said and done, Brer Rabbit is, in the vernacular, just plain rotten.
This horror at Brer Rabbit is not to say I don’t get a good laugh out of his descendant, Bugs Bunny, who can pull some fast ones on Yosemite Sam or Wiley Coyote that would make Brer Rabbit proud. I’m not one of those people who think children cannot handle anything stronger than Barney the Dinosaur. But the difference between their brands of mischief comes from their motives – Bugs almost invariably acts in self-defense, or at least out of righteous indignation, whereas Brer Rabbit inflicts misery because he is greedy, unfeeling, or worse, bored.
Of course, I realize that the Brer Rabbit tales come not from Lester’s imagination, but rather from the trickster tales that came to America with African slaves and became part of their oral heritage. For his part, Lester effectively translates the tales out of the heavy dialect of Joel Chandler Harris’s version and honors the tales’ oral tradition by writing in a way modern readers can understand. The prose reads much like a monologue – I could almost hear a storyteller’s inflections on the words and how he or she might dramatize a scene with a whisper and a shout. This aspect of the book made the biggest impression on me, despite my shock at the heartless violence of the tales themselves. As I read the tales in Lester’s words, I feel in my very bones the need to speak them, if only to myself, for with the exception of the tamer tales where the only part bruised is one’s pride, I won’t be speaking them to young children.
Crispin: The Cross of Lead by Avi
5th grade and up
Historical novels have been among my favorites since I started reading the Little House series in the third grade, but stories set in the Middle Ages are generally not appealing to me unless they have dragons or wizards to shake up the monotony of plowing fields for the lord of the manor or fighting the king’s war to fill his coffers. Maybe reading Chaucer in the Middle English ruined my view, or perhaps it was A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, with all its ridicule of the feudal system. However, I picked up Crispin anyway because I knew I could rely on Avi to tell a good story, and I trusted the Newbery Medal sticker on its cover. The political and historical aspects were, as I expected, my least favorite parts of the book, but I did enjoy it as a whole because of its reliance on a number of archetypal images, which I love to pick out and explore. Crispin is the classic put-upon orphan with an important and mysterious past, and Bear is the mentor and huge protector. He is almost like an academic Little John, or a mixture of John and Friar Tuck, though Crispin is no Robin Hood. The boy spends too much time worrying about himself to qualify as a do-gooder, but his worry is for survival’s sake, not selfish reasons; as Bear says, Crispin is one of the most innocent souls ever created. And the steward is very much like a Sheriff of Nottingham in his one-dimensional evil plots to keep Crispin from taking his rightful place.
What keeps the book from being a generic adventure tale, however, are the moral questions Crispin must confront, as well as the inundation of religious thought in everything Crispin does. He’s a good boy, and Bear is a good man, but their theologies are vastly different, with Crispin hanging on to the traditional views of the Catholic church of his time, and Bear espousing more modern, and thus more radical, ideals presaging Luther and Calvin – Bear’s theology goes farther to the left than even these reformers. These are heady issues for a children’s book, but because Avi stays so truly inside this child’s head, he pulls them off while telling a stirring adventure.
Historical novels have been among my favorites since I started reading the Little House series in the third grade, but stories set in the Middle Ages are generally not appealing to me unless they have dragons or wizards to shake up the monotony of plowing fields for the lord of the manor or fighting the king’s war to fill his coffers. Maybe reading Chaucer in the Middle English ruined my view, or perhaps it was A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, with all its ridicule of the feudal system. However, I picked up Crispin anyway because I knew I could rely on Avi to tell a good story, and I trusted the Newbery Medal sticker on its cover. The political and historical aspects were, as I expected, my least favorite parts of the book, but I did enjoy it as a whole because of its reliance on a number of archetypal images, which I love to pick out and explore. Crispin is the classic put-upon orphan with an important and mysterious past, and Bear is the mentor and huge protector. He is almost like an academic Little John, or a mixture of John and Friar Tuck, though Crispin is no Robin Hood. The boy spends too much time worrying about himself to qualify as a do-gooder, but his worry is for survival’s sake, not selfish reasons; as Bear says, Crispin is one of the most innocent souls ever created. And the steward is very much like a Sheriff of Nottingham in his one-dimensional evil plots to keep Crispin from taking his rightful place.
What keeps the book from being a generic adventure tale, however, are the moral questions Crispin must confront, as well as the inundation of religious thought in everything Crispin does. He’s a good boy, and Bear is a good man, but their theologies are vastly different, with Crispin hanging on to the traditional views of the Catholic church of his time, and Bear espousing more modern, and thus more radical, ideals presaging Luther and Calvin – Bear’s theology goes farther to the left than even these reformers. These are heady issues for a children’s book, but because Avi stays so truly inside this child’s head, he pulls them off while telling a stirring adventure.
Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne-Jones
5th grade and up
Usually, I don’t like to watch a movie after reading the book, as film so rarely lives up to the visions I’ve conjured on my own. I’ve learned, however, that if I view the two versions of a story as separate creatures, I can enjoy both, even if they turn out to be as far apart in content as they can be. Such is the case with Howl’s Moving Castle.
What I found so fun about Diana Wynne-Jones’s novel was the way it seems to fly in the face of conventional fairy tales while it simultaneously immerses itself in those conventions. Nineteen-year-old Sophie lives in a world where seven league boots are manufactured for armies, wizards are conscripted, and magic is spoken into sewing thread. As the eldest of three sisters, Sophie believes the accepted path of her life is one of mediocrity simply because no eldest sister has ever had a happy ending in a fairy tale. When Sophie unknowingly bewitches the hats she makes, thus creating a series of lucky coincidences for her customers, she incurs the jealousy and wrath of the Witch of the Waste, whose spell turns her into an old woman. Unwilling to burden her family, she sets out on her own, where she meets the mysterious wizard Howl and his fire demon Calcifer. Vain to a fault, but generous and kind, Howl is a man who follows no accepted path, but seems determined to outrun destiny despite his own curse from the Witch of the Waste. Their adventures and subsequent romance are like no other fairy tale; theirs is as much a coming-of-age story as it is a fairy tale, with the 27-year-old Howl growing far more than even Sophie, whose transformation from a mousy wallflower to an outspoken and strong woman comes of fulfilling the role of a cantankerous old woman. They must see past each other’s facades – Howl’s “heartlessness” and Sophie’s wrinkles – to see the real person beneath in a sort of twist on the Beauty and the Beast story.
Because the movie retains this relationship despite changes in the plot that can sometimes make it unrecognizable, I truly was able to enjoy it thoroughly. An anime feature by the famed director Hayao Miyazaki, this version of the story takes quite a few liberties so that the tale becomes as much Miyazaki’s as the original author’s. Anti-war sentiments shadow what was in the book a fun romp to maturity and self-knowledge; nevertheless, the original themes are not lost, and the beautiful, rich animation even serves to highlight aspects of Howl’s character that in the book are only allusions. The scene in his bedroom is particularly telling: amid the talismans and charms are children’s stuffed animals and toys. Howl is still a scared child, unable to move past the egocentrism of youth so long as the pact between him and Calcifer remains unbroken. Jean Simmons and Emily Mortimer lend weight to Sophie’s simultaneous innocence and wisdom as both old and young Sophie, and Christian Bale’s portrayal of Howl gives him material I’ve seldom seen him tackle. His voice is smooth and endearing when Howl is serious or melancholy, moods Bale has practically patented, but his voice becomes unrecognizable and shrilly over-the-top when vain Howl panics at having his hair dyed the wrong color, a vocal choice that makes the scene hilarious in its ridiculousness. Yet it’s easy to fall in love with this Howl, despite his childish tantrums and cowardice, because underneath it all, he is finally becoming a man.
Usually, I don’t like to watch a movie after reading the book, as film so rarely lives up to the visions I’ve conjured on my own. I’ve learned, however, that if I view the two versions of a story as separate creatures, I can enjoy both, even if they turn out to be as far apart in content as they can be. Such is the case with Howl’s Moving Castle.
What I found so fun about Diana Wynne-Jones’s novel was the way it seems to fly in the face of conventional fairy tales while it simultaneously immerses itself in those conventions. Nineteen-year-old Sophie lives in a world where seven league boots are manufactured for armies, wizards are conscripted, and magic is spoken into sewing thread. As the eldest of three sisters, Sophie believes the accepted path of her life is one of mediocrity simply because no eldest sister has ever had a happy ending in a fairy tale. When Sophie unknowingly bewitches the hats she makes, thus creating a series of lucky coincidences for her customers, she incurs the jealousy and wrath of the Witch of the Waste, whose spell turns her into an old woman. Unwilling to burden her family, she sets out on her own, where she meets the mysterious wizard Howl and his fire demon Calcifer. Vain to a fault, but generous and kind, Howl is a man who follows no accepted path, but seems determined to outrun destiny despite his own curse from the Witch of the Waste. Their adventures and subsequent romance are like no other fairy tale; theirs is as much a coming-of-age story as it is a fairy tale, with the 27-year-old Howl growing far more than even Sophie, whose transformation from a mousy wallflower to an outspoken and strong woman comes of fulfilling the role of a cantankerous old woman. They must see past each other’s facades – Howl’s “heartlessness” and Sophie’s wrinkles – to see the real person beneath in a sort of twist on the Beauty and the Beast story.
Because the movie retains this relationship despite changes in the plot that can sometimes make it unrecognizable, I truly was able to enjoy it thoroughly. An anime feature by the famed director Hayao Miyazaki, this version of the story takes quite a few liberties so that the tale becomes as much Miyazaki’s as the original author’s. Anti-war sentiments shadow what was in the book a fun romp to maturity and self-knowledge; nevertheless, the original themes are not lost, and the beautiful, rich animation even serves to highlight aspects of Howl’s character that in the book are only allusions. The scene in his bedroom is particularly telling: amid the talismans and charms are children’s stuffed animals and toys. Howl is still a scared child, unable to move past the egocentrism of youth so long as the pact between him and Calcifer remains unbroken. Jean Simmons and Emily Mortimer lend weight to Sophie’s simultaneous innocence and wisdom as both old and young Sophie, and Christian Bale’s portrayal of Howl gives him material I’ve seldom seen him tackle. His voice is smooth and endearing when Howl is serious or melancholy, moods Bale has practically patented, but his voice becomes unrecognizable and shrilly over-the-top when vain Howl panics at having his hair dyed the wrong color, a vocal choice that makes the scene hilarious in its ridiculousness. Yet it’s easy to fall in love with this Howl, despite his childish tantrums and cowardice, because underneath it all, he is finally becoming a man.
Eragon by Christopher Paolini
5th grade and up
I devour science fiction and fantasy; give me Luke and Obi-Wan, Frodo and Gandalf, Harry and Dumbledore, Ged and Ogion, Aerin and Luthe, Arthur and Merlin, and I am satisfied. But with Eragon and Brom, as much as I wanted to love them in their roles as hero and mentor, I was left hungry. The Inheritance Saga is quite the hot commodity at the library where I work, but I fail to see the continued appeal of what to me was a work of stunning mediocrity. Granted, Paolini was only 15 when he wrote the story, and my literary palate has probably been spoiled by the greats in the genre, but so much of the plot and characterization was derivative, and the dialogue was so stilted, that I could never immerse myself in the world of Alagaesia as I might in Middle-Earth, where at least the speech patterns fit the characters – ethereal elves speak formally and elegantly, and grounded hobbits speak forthrightly and simply. In the great works, I can care about the characters because they are fleshed out and distinct. I just couldn’t muster the caring for Eragon’s characters that I wished I could. The idea for the story had such potential, what with a farm boy hero who seems destined to save his people from a tyrannical ruler. But it’s been done before, and much better.
So I was not surprised that the movie was disappointing as well, despite having Jeremy Irons, an actor whose work I typically enjoy. His death scene astride Saphira – the old dragon rider soaring one last time – was the single affecting scene in the entire movie. The movie suffered not only from the limitations of the book, but also from poor acting, poor pacing, and a poor sense of what plot points were essential to the story. Rachel Weisz’s voicing of Saphira was not bad, I must say – at least, it was far better than a rendition I heard on an audiobook of the story where the narrator sounded like he had swallowed a pound of gravel and was trying to regurgitate it. But two actors can not carry a movie that, to my mind, was doomed from the beginning.
I devour science fiction and fantasy; give me Luke and Obi-Wan, Frodo and Gandalf, Harry and Dumbledore, Ged and Ogion, Aerin and Luthe, Arthur and Merlin, and I am satisfied. But with Eragon and Brom, as much as I wanted to love them in their roles as hero and mentor, I was left hungry. The Inheritance Saga is quite the hot commodity at the library where I work, but I fail to see the continued appeal of what to me was a work of stunning mediocrity. Granted, Paolini was only 15 when he wrote the story, and my literary palate has probably been spoiled by the greats in the genre, but so much of the plot and characterization was derivative, and the dialogue was so stilted, that I could never immerse myself in the world of Alagaesia as I might in Middle-Earth, where at least the speech patterns fit the characters – ethereal elves speak formally and elegantly, and grounded hobbits speak forthrightly and simply. In the great works, I can care about the characters because they are fleshed out and distinct. I just couldn’t muster the caring for Eragon’s characters that I wished I could. The idea for the story had such potential, what with a farm boy hero who seems destined to save his people from a tyrannical ruler. But it’s been done before, and much better.
So I was not surprised that the movie was disappointing as well, despite having Jeremy Irons, an actor whose work I typically enjoy. His death scene astride Saphira – the old dragon rider soaring one last time – was the single affecting scene in the entire movie. The movie suffered not only from the limitations of the book, but also from poor acting, poor pacing, and a poor sense of what plot points were essential to the story. Rachel Weisz’s voicing of Saphira was not bad, I must say – at least, it was far better than a rendition I heard on an audiobook of the story where the narrator sounded like he had swallowed a pound of gravel and was trying to regurgitate it. But two actors can not carry a movie that, to my mind, was doomed from the beginning.
Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo
3rd grade and up
After experiencing this book, I have decided to own everything Kate DiCamillo ever publishes. Truly one of the best children’s books I have ever read, Because of Winn-Dixie does what I can only hope to do as a writer; it communicates the deep, abiding need people have for connection through prose that speaks genuinely through a child’s voice. These characters simultaneously inhabit the eccentric mythos of the small-town South and transcend that milieu through the very act of connecting with each other. Spinsters, witches, drifters and preachers seem always to have their places in Southern myth, but here they become real people whose pain brings them together as surely as Winn-Dixie does.
Like Flannery O’Connor for grade schoolers, DiCamillo relies on the common people of the South to tell a larger moral truth – the vast majority of the loneliness in the world comes from people’s inability to share either their sorrow or their joy. This truth is particularly important for the Preacher to learn, for despite being the closest to Opal, he is the most closed off of her friends and family. In the movie version of the book, Jeff Daniels gives a fine portrayal of his inner turmoil. His body language perfectly captures the description of Opal’s father as an old turtle hiding in his shell; the audience rarely sees him when he is not slouching at his computer with his head in his hands, or leaning over a sink with his head leaning down below his shoulders, or lounging deep in his chair, cowed by the weight of his sorrow. His transformation at the end, after Opal has done more to ease the suffering of the townsfolk than he has been able to do from his pulpit, is certainly a spiritual transformation, but it is one that manifests itself physically as he raises his hands in a song of praise and lets his voice ring out over that of even Dave Matthews's Otis. His story and the stories of all the townspeople Winn-Dixie and Opal touch are vivid examples that life is like the taste of a Littmus Lozenge: sweet laced with sorrow.
After experiencing this book, I have decided to own everything Kate DiCamillo ever publishes. Truly one of the best children’s books I have ever read, Because of Winn-Dixie does what I can only hope to do as a writer; it communicates the deep, abiding need people have for connection through prose that speaks genuinely through a child’s voice. These characters simultaneously inhabit the eccentric mythos of the small-town South and transcend that milieu through the very act of connecting with each other. Spinsters, witches, drifters and preachers seem always to have their places in Southern myth, but here they become real people whose pain brings them together as surely as Winn-Dixie does.
Like Flannery O’Connor for grade schoolers, DiCamillo relies on the common people of the South to tell a larger moral truth – the vast majority of the loneliness in the world comes from people’s inability to share either their sorrow or their joy. This truth is particularly important for the Preacher to learn, for despite being the closest to Opal, he is the most closed off of her friends and family. In the movie version of the book, Jeff Daniels gives a fine portrayal of his inner turmoil. His body language perfectly captures the description of Opal’s father as an old turtle hiding in his shell; the audience rarely sees him when he is not slouching at his computer with his head in his hands, or leaning over a sink with his head leaning down below his shoulders, or lounging deep in his chair, cowed by the weight of his sorrow. His transformation at the end, after Opal has done more to ease the suffering of the townsfolk than he has been able to do from his pulpit, is certainly a spiritual transformation, but it is one that manifests itself physically as he raises his hands in a song of praise and lets his voice ring out over that of even Dave Matthews's Otis. His story and the stories of all the townspeople Winn-Dixie and Opal touch are vivid examples that life is like the taste of a Littmus Lozenge: sweet laced with sorrow.
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