Adventure Novels: The Cruise of the Dazzler

On May 25, 2019June 3, 2019 By nymithIn Adventure, American writers, Nautical Novels, Read Alouds, Set in California, U.S. StatesLeave a comment

Word of Warning: I own two Jack London omnibuses and both contained a magazine version of The Cruise of the Dazzler which had been significantly abridged. Both volumes also failed to make note of the abridgement, and it wasn’t until I had read it, taken notes and started researching that I realized my mistake. I found the full text on Project Gutenberg, which isn’t a very fun way to experience an old book, but it let me save my review, and I admire their site tremendously. So here is Jack London’s forgotten boy’s adventure story!

Title: The Cruise of the Dazzler
Author: Jack London (1876-1916)
Original Publication Date: 1902
Edition: Project Gutenberg EBook HTML, unknown page count
Genre: Adventure.
Ages: 10-12
First Sentence: They ran across the shining sand, the Pacific thundering its long surge at their backs, and when they gained the roadway leaped upon bicycles and dived at faster pace into the green avenues of the park.

When reading old books I often will stumble upon oddly resonant, even poignant, passages, that seem to illuminate some tremendously modern concern that we often believe was not an issue in the old days. In the very first chapter of The Cruise of the Dazzler I came upon one of these passages, as protagonist Joe Bronson lashes out at his sister in frustration. “Oh, you can’t understand!” he burst out. “You can’t understand. You’re a girl. You like to be prim and neat, and to be good in deportment and ahead in your studies. You don’t care for danger and adventure and such things, and you don’t care for boys who are rough, and have life and go in them, and all that. You like good little boys in white collars, with clothes always clean and hair always combed, who like to stay in at recess and be petted by the teacher and told how they’re always up in their studies; nice little boys who never get into scrapes—who are too busy walking around and picking flowers and eating lunches with girls, to get into scrapes. Oh, I know the kind—afraid of their own shadows, and no more spunk in them than in so many sheep. That ‘s what they are—sheep. Well, I ‘m not a sheep, and there ‘s no more to be said.” This was in 1902 and Jack London could already see where this was going.

Fed up with the controlled environment of his parents’ guidance, bored with schoolwork, young Joe Bronson gets into fights and flunks all his tests before shipping off with the first crew that will have him, on board the Dazzler, only to discover too late that his new companions are San Francisco Bay pirates. At first he wishes only to escape or alert the authorities somehow but as he bonds with a fellow crewmate known as the ‘Frisco Kid he feels a reformer’s urge to save said Kid from jail, complicating his escape.

I’ve got to mention the fact that this book would make a splendid read-aloud. London provides a slightly wry narration that really brings out the humour of Joe’s predicament: But suddenly a man sprang out of the gloom, flashing a dark lantern full upon him. Blinded by the light, he staggered back. Then a revolver in the man’s hand went off like the roar of a cannon. All Joe realized was that he was being shot at, while his legs manifested an overwhelming desire to get away. Even if he had so wished, he could not very well have stayed to explain to the excited man with the smoking revolver. So he took to his heels for the beach, colliding with another man with a dark lantern who came running around the end of one of the piles of iron. This second man quickly regained his feet, and peppered away at Joe as he flew down the bank.

While the sea story doesn’t begin until the second half of the novel, there’s a fair amount of action throughout, as Joe ends up in the ‘Frisco slums brawling with Irish kids and running from the cops before the main plot even gets going. The violence is treated in a very sportsmanlike fashion, with both sides knowing the rules. Upon calling his captain French Pete a liar, for example: Joe had not been a boy among boys for nothing. He knew the penalty which attached itself to the words he had just spoken, and he expected to receive it. So he was not overmuch surprised when he picked himself up from the floor of the cockpit an instant later, his head still ringing from a stiff blow between the eyes. It’s very different from the brutal scenes in his famous dog books, which were not intended for young readers in the first place, and so could make for a much gentler introduction to Jack London.

Jack London - cruise of the dazzler — From the illustrations in the St. Nicholas magazine abridgement.

As far as subtext goes, there is little to speak of here. Morals are found embedded within the narrative which are then recapitulated in a “job well done” finish. In this day and age it all seems very quaint – charming if you miss those days, somewhat hokey otherwise. Responsibilities were showering upon him thick and fast. But a few days back he had had but himself to consider; then, in some subtle way, he had felt a certain accountability for ‘Frisco Kid’s future welfare; and after that, and still more subtly, he had become aware of duties which he owed to his position, to his sister, to his chums and friends; and now, by a most unexpected chain of circumstances, came the pressing need of service for his father’s sake. It was a call upon his deepest strength, and he responded bravely. While the future might be doubtful, he had no doubt of himself; and this very state of mind, this self-confidence, by a generous alchemy, gave him added resolution. Nor did he fail to be vaguely aware of it, and to grasp dimly at the truth that confidence breeds confidence—strength, strength.

This passage is key to the entire tale. Strength is repeated three times and Joe’s epiphany was meant to serve as an example to boys as he learns responsibility and self-reliance. As a matter of fact, Project Gutenberg reveals that The Cruise of the Dazzler was selected as part of a series called Every Boy’s Library, put out by the Boy Scouts of America with this Jack London - storm specific ideal in mind: We know so well, are reminded so often of the worth of the good book and great, that too often we fail to observe or understand the influence for good of a boy’s recreational reading. Such books may influence him for good or ill as profoundly as his play activities, of which they are a vital part. The needful thing is to find stories in which the heroes have the characteristics boys so much admire—unquenchable courage, immense resourcefulness, absolute fidelity, conspicuous greatness. I would love to find a list of the other books that made the cut.

Joe is a likable protagonist and his struggle with schoolwork is very realistic. He can’t see how it could impact his life, he can’t concentrate on it and even when he wants to study he associates it with shame and gives up quickly, angry at his own failure. His final epiphany only occurs at sight of fellow pirate Nelson (a deliberate choice of name on London’s part, I suspect, as every schoolboy would have known about Trafalgar): Beside him, his injured arm in a sling, was Red Nelson, his sou’wester gone and his fair hair plastered in wet, wind-blown ringlets about his face. His whole attitude breathed indomitability, courage, strength. It seemed almost as though the divine were blazing forth from him. Joe looked upon him in sudden awe, and, realizing the enormous possibilities of the man, felt sorrow for the way in which they had been wasted. A thief and a robber! In that flashing moment Joe caught a glimpse of human truth, grasped at the mystery of success and failure. Life threw back its curtains that he might read it and understand. Of such stuff as Red Nelson were heroes made; but they possessed wherein he lacked—the power of choice, the careful poise of mind, the sober control of soul.

It’s an important passage and a beautiful one. I enjoy Jack London’s writing a great deal and this book does not disappoint. There are some passages that bog down in the world of sailing terminology, with reefing down of jib and mainsail and all that but this price asserts itself in all of the great boating books to come, from The Riddle of the Sands to Moby-Dick, so you might as well start adjusting early.

Aside from Joe, characterization isn’t terribly strong but the major cast are all believable human beings and have moments of deeper feeling to round them out a bit. I have no idea why this book isn’t in print. It seems there is very little space for masculine, nature-oriented adventures on a modern child’s bookshelf but you would think Jack London would still rate an exception.

Got the Parental Guide up next, with spoilers and everything.

Violence: Yes, there’s gunfire, injury, fistfights, death at sea and criminal activity. A dearth of swearing though. “You rat!”

Values: Joe ships off to taste independence and discovers instead that he is responsible to his family no matter where he goes. In ‘Frisco Kid’s loneliness and wish for a sister – the Dazzler’s sole streak of Victorian sentiment – Joe realises that not all children have the support of good families and learns not to take his for granted. Other morals include knowing one’s limitations, protecting the family property, staying honest among thieves and never backing down from a bully. There’s some fairy tale philanthropy offered to ‘Frisco Kid, but Mr. Bronson is cautious of the outcome: “if he comes through his period of probation with flying colors, I’ll give him the same opportunities for an education that you possess. It all depends on himself.”

London’s worldview of solitary excellence is invoked, as Joe Bronson is not able to summon the proper authorities and has to deal with things on his own. London softens it up for his youthful audience though, because ‘Frisco Kid always has Joe’s back and the sea takes care of the wicked without Joe having to navigate any treacherous moral quandaries about life, death, freedom and imprisonment. It all wraps up tidily with lessons learned, patrician forgiveness and the first step to manhood attained.

Role Models: Joe is front and center here as a proper example to good Boy Scouts everywhere. Mr. Bronson is a strong father figure. Joe’s mother and sister Bessie are referred to in sympathetic tones throughout; Bessie is shown as studious and sensitive.

Educational Properties: You could probably use this to introduce the idea that there were pirates of the non-Caribbean in the world, or to accompany a social history of old San Francisco as it takes in rich and poor, schooling, philanthropy and the criminal classes. It also deals in part with the oyster pirates, a unique phenomenon and a cool topic from history.

Joe Bronson’s school test shows what was expected of students before the era of multiple choice tests. Nothing besides the question itself would be there to jog the student’s memory and each child would be expected to know the answer and be able to write it down cogently. The questions on the history test center on the laws of Draco and the reforms of Solon, which were things young teens were expected to know all about.

End of Guide.

I have read both The Call of the Wild and White Fang before, but I don’t trust my omnibuses to contain the official book texts, so I’ll wait on revisiting them. I’m unaware of any other London stories suitable to a young audience, so my biggest question this time is – what are some other good boating adventures I should be on the lookout for? If I read enough of them, maybe the sailing descriptions will actually start making sense. That would be a plus.

Up Next: A perfect June read by L.M. Montgomery.

Mythology: In the Beginning

On May 18, 2019March 16, 2020 By nymithIn American writers, Mythology, Newbery Honor Books, World MythologyLeave a comment

It is relatively easy to avoid bad children’s picture books because they’re such eyesores but what do you do with one that’s simply a disappointment? I do battle with boring prose for the sake of mythology, that’s what.

Title: In the Beginning: Creation Stories from Around the World
Author: Virginia Hamilton (1936-2002)
Illustrator: Barry Moser (1940-)
Original Publication Date: 1988
Edition: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich (1988), 161 pages
Genre: Mythology
Ages: 9-10
First Sentence: Time was, there were no people on earth.

On the face of it, this striking volume is exactly what I would want in a children’s library, which should always come replete with a generous selection of myths and legends, fables, folklore and fairy tales. Virginia Hamilton is a celebrated and award-winning writer while Barry Moser, in addition to illustrating numerous picture books, has composed engravings for such pillars of the written word as Moby Dick and even the King James Bible. So far so good.

https://thewesterncornerofthecastle.home.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/in-the-beginning-hamilton.jpg?w=300&h=300 — Virginia Hamilton.

Hamilton wrote several books of mythology but she is best known for middle grade novels such as The House of Dies Drear (1968) and M.C. Higgins the Great (1974), and she won pretty much every major children’s book award over the course of her long career – In the Beginning is only one of her Newbery Honor books. However, this is the first of hers that I’ve read and so far I find her prose depressingly dull, with flat, simplistic sentences and no underlying melody. Take for instance this segment from the Russian Altaic story of Ulgen the Creator:

In the beginning, Erlik and God Ulgen were friends. But then Erlik tried to create life of his own. He boasted about it.
“I can do as well as Ulgen. I can make a man.”
That made Ulgen angry. He commanded Erlik down to the depths. Now Erlik is the leader of dead spirits. He is the devil.

I read the whole book and assumed from the above writing style that it was aimed at kids in third or fourth grade. Only after I had finished and was in research mode did I learn that Scholastic actually recommends this book for grades 6-8, meaning 11-12 years old and up. This is the age group that gets recommended books by Philip Pullman and Wilson Rawls – they should be fluent readers. Of course, if the writing was deliberately stripped down to mimic oral traditions, the result should have the rhythm and repetition of speech but when I experimented with reading several of the myths out loud no such pattern manifested itself. The prose remained lifeless, so I went to Project Gutenberg. Compare the above quotation with this one from Old Greek Stories (1895) by James Baldwin (1841-1925):

There was Juno, the queen of earth and sky, who sat at the right hand of Jupiter and gave him all kinds of advice. There was Mars, the great warrior, whose delight was in the din of battle. There was Mercury, the swift messenger, who had wings on his cap and shoes, and who flew from place to place like the summer clouds when they are driven before the wind.

Hamilton’s 9 sentences contain 58 words. Baldwin’s 3 sentences contain 70 words. Read them both aloud and hear the difference. One could certainly accuse Baldwin of being an “old-fashioned” writer but that would not be possible if he hadn’t had some style to start with. At least he expected his young readers to be able to keep up with his winding whimsies, whereas Hamilton seems to expect nothing of her audience beyond the most basic levels of literacy. The only things she brings to the table here are the collective theme (which is definitely interesting and which I will get to in a moment) and her multicultural selection process, which were enough with her and Moser’s reputations to win this volume considerable adulation. Either 1988 was a thin year or the quality and cadence of the writing really didn’t matter to critics in this case. So enough on that subject and on to what I actually did find interesting about In the Beginning.

barry moser - babylonian myth — The endless sea recurs, as in the Enuma Elish.

I do believe this book could open up some rather interesting discussions between a questioning child and his or her parent as the thematic selection from so many cultures is a natural start to a comparative mythology class. One could discuss the intent behind the myths and how imagery recurs and alters from one region to another, as geographical location plays its own part in these stories. Obviously, one could also contrast how recurring elements are handled – for instance, in the aboriginal Karora myth the violence is depicted uncritically as Karora and his human sons hunt down and devour all of his first children, the bandicoots, whereas to the Greeks the tale of Kronos was a morality play, as he who transgressed and killed his father must in turn be slain by his own son.

In the Beginning has good educational merit at its core and all its myths are sourced. I really wanted to like this book, yet am forced to acknowledge another problem: In the Beginning‘s layout. The myths are not arranged geographically, thematically or even alphabetically and the short commentary on each myth and its culture of origin is found at the end of each story rather than the beginning, summarizing events you literally just read. Adding to the confusion, there is a final section: ‘More on These Myths.’ This segment arranges the myths in a helpful thematic order that really enhances reader comprehension – already after you and your children have read them in the random fashion given.

barry moser - nyambi — From the Lozi creation myth of Zambia.

The book’s strongest point is in fact Barry Moser. His watercolor illustrations are moody and often striking, singlehandedly supplying In the Beginning‘s atmosphere. The cover art is superb and caught my eye immediately. He uses light beautifully throughout, from the pearly haze on the first ocean of the world to the harsh illumination as Adam contemplates the apple. His style is fairly grave – his humans are intense and careworn, his animals peaceful yet somber, his monsters genuinely frightening and his abstracts eerie. He does a very fine job with much of the material and I always do enjoy his work.

Clearly, in spite of the sentence structure, this book is indeed meant for older kids who have developed strong comprehension skills. It shouldn’t be your child’s first access to mythology but I would have come to that conclusion regardless of the writing style, as beginning mythology “in the beginning” is a rather terrible idea (Kirkus doesn’t agree with me). The Greek hero myths are so popular for a number of reasons: there are warriors and monsters, epic adventures, treachery and triumph. They also contain a measure of morality that children find easy to understand, advocating and rewarding bravery and cleverness, while punishing hubris. Creation myths on the other hand are quite esoteric. The landscapes are amorphous: In the beginning, all was dark. There was water everywhere. There was no sun and no moon and no stars. The gods’ behaviours are perplexing and changeable; in many myths they quickly decide to destroy what they have made, though this does not always work out well for them. The purpose of these tales often lack in relatable substance for a child – for instance the Babylonian myth concludes with: He let there be Man and thus freed the gods from eternal labor.

With such a wide range of mythology for children now available, In the Beginning is simply not one that I would recommend to parents. Yes, the comparative aspect is interesting but I believe it would be more beneficial for a child to have a larger collection of world mythology written with passion and depth. I doubt any single author could do equal justice to myths from so many different cultures, nice as the concept might sound. Consider In the Beginning supplementary, not essential.

To conclude with the Parental Guide.

Violence: Creation myths are full of death for the most part. Actually, so are most myths. The only caution I would therefore apply to this book regards Barry Moser’s illustrations, which in several places are not appropriate for young or sensitive children. I for one would not have been a happy child to flip through the book and see this:

Values: At the end of the book you will find three Greek myths and two from Genesis. They seem to serve as a summation of sorts, since they are the most recognizable material, and I genuinely think Hamilton did a nice job of retaining some of the King James feel for the Biblical stories. However, I noted one GoodReads reviewer who seemed pleased to think that Hamilton wrapped with the seven-day creation as some kind of “take that!” to Christianity. I didn’t read it that way, but it’s something Christians might want to be aware of.

Hamilton was clearly interested in how different peoples see the world and promoted the value of cultural anthropology and awareness. For those curious to know the cultural breakdown for this book, I’ve arranged them by geographical location. Twenty five myths are included from twenty two cultures, with the Judaic and Greek selections getting split up as mentioned.

Five African myths, from Nigeria, Togo, Benin, Guinea and Zambia.
Five North American myths, of the Blackfoot, Huron, Maidu, Mayan and Eskimo people.
Four myths from Oceania: Australian aboriginal, Micronesian, Melanesian and Polynesian.
Three from the Middle East: Babylonian, Egyptian and Judaic.
Three from Asia: Chinese, northeastern Indian and Altaic Siberian.
Two from Europe: Norse and Greek.

Educational Properties: Besides the obvious comparative mythology angle I think this book could also be used to teach writing. Have your student select his or her favorite myth and retell it in fewer sentences. It would also be a good springboard to a fairly wide-ranging geography lesson.

End of Guide.

barry moser - eskimo woman — I don’t want to leave you with a picture of a cyclops, so here is the first woman, from the myth of Raven the Creator.

Having checked the Classical Christian List as I always do for authors, Virginia Hamilton appears twice – with a picture book entitled The Bells of Christmas and with The House of Dies Drear. Her reputation remains unassailable to this day. Would reading something else by her change my mind on her prose? What could you recommend me as her best work?

Up Next: Getting back to Jack London with a boys’ boating adventure no one remembers.

Historical Fiction: Time Enough for Drums

On May 11, 2019May 3, 2019 By nymithIn 1000 Good Books List, American Revolution, American writers, Historical Fiction, Romance, Set in New Jersey, U.S. States, Young Adult6 Comments

Headstrong teenage girl falls for dashing tutor against the sweeping backdrop of the American Revolution. Horses and pretty dresses also feature. Never say Ann Rinaldi didn’t know her audience.

Title: Time Enough for Drums
Author: Ann Rinaldi (1934-)
Original Publication Date: 1986
Edition: Laurel-Leaf Books (2000), 249 pages
Genre: Historical. Romance.
Ages: 13-15
First Sentence: The cold wind stung my face and brought tears to my eyes when I turned into it to look at my brother Dan, who stood next to me on the hill.

Trenton, New Jersey, 1775. Fifteen year old Jemima Emerson is engaged in a battle of wills with her hated tutor John Reid, an avowed Tory. Jem doesn’t understand why her parents insist on employing him despite their own devotion to the Revolutionary cause. Over the next two years war comes to the Emerson doorstep as Jem grows from an air-headed patriot to a strong young woman – and falls in love with the man she despised, who is not all he first seemed. Time Enough for Drums has a bit of a mini Gone With the Wind vibe as the spoiled girl is forged into a woman by the deprivations of war, while John Reid is more of a Mr. Knightley figure, battling Jemima for her own good – and certainly nothing like John Reed from Jane Eyre (okay, I’m done).

Ann Rinaldi had already published three contemporary young adult novels when, apparently with the encouragement of Avi, she made the jump to historical fiction and became the reigning queen of the genre for the next 20 years or so. Time Enough for Drums was selected as an ALA notable book and made the indispensable CC Education Booklist. While the romance between Jem and John Reid is a major plot thread, this is certainly a more serious historical novel than the cover would lead one to surmise.

The book contains a lengthy author’s note explaining the historical background and which portions she fictionalized. Also included are Rinaldi’s lengthy acknowledgements to various historical societies and a good-sized bibliography (of which only one title, Spies of the Revolution by Katherine and John Bakeless, Scholastic Book Services, would fit within the purview of this blog, though I doubt I’ll ever see a copy). Rinaldi clearly took her new genre very seriously and it shows.

She also seems to have had an unromantic understanding of teenage girls. Jemima begins this story as an absolute brat – she skips school, lies and snipes and says whatever petulant thing springs to mind. She is highly politicized (using ‘Tory’ like a curse word) but very immature, hating to study, ignorant of complications to her simple worldview and embracing the concept of “liberty” as a child does, as an excuse to never get married or work. She does start to grow up later in the book but this puts a lot of weight on the secondary characters to provide some rational discourse early on. Luckily, Jem’s parents and grandfathers fulfill this role and keep the story from sagging into undivided teen angst. Mr. Emerson with his love for breakfast table debates is an especially enjoyable character. From his conversation with oldest son Dan:

Father was about to say more when Dan stood up.
“I’d like to be excused, Father.”
“Excused? From what? Breakfast? You not hungry? Impossible.”
“Breakfast and services. I can’t go to church and pray for the king.”
“Ah.” Father took off his spectacles, intrigued by the possibility of the discussion. “Nobody expects you to pray for the king.”
“Reverend Panton always includes prayers for him in the services.”
“So he does. And do you know why?”
“Because Reverend Panton is a Tory.”
“Not so simple, Dan. As a condition of his ordination in the Church of England he has taken an oath of the king’s supremacy. To depart from that oath would be to break his solemn vows.”
“Well, I took no such vows. My loyalties are to our Cause.”
“As they should be. But we still belong to the Church of England. So we go to services. But we don’t have to join in the prayers for the king. Many remain silent.”
“I know that. But I also know that the whole parish is torn. And that church is a hotbed of controversy. Why go and practice hypocrisy? You always said hypocrisy is the worst sin of mankind.”
“Second only to rudeness, Dan. Civility is all we have left in times of war. As an officer, you should know that.”
“As an officer in the Continental army I know one thing, Father. That I have no place in a church where prayers are said for George the Third–or any king.”

Of course, to the target audience the major attraction of this novel is neither Jemima nor her family. It is of course arrogant John Reid, with his dark good looks and long legs. At fourteen, I would have found John Reid very appealing and I expect many of the girls who read this book felt the same. He’s manly, bitingly sarcastic and he gives Jem Shakespeare sonnets as a token of affection. Their romantic battle of wills is quite entertaining, though I did notice several killjoys on GoodReads talking about grooming and abuse. Listen, in the eighteenth century John Reid is a catch. He’s intelligent, hardworking, stalwart and mature, and he expects no less from Jemima – perish the thought. The only pity in this romance is that Jem’s attitude doesn’t begin to improve until she learns he isn’t really a Tory, which limits her character growth.

Ann Rinaldi uses short chapters and numerous subplots to maintain an illusion of swift pace in the early portion of the novel. These subplots range from Jem’s relationship with a Quaker boy to the various contributions the Emersons make to the war effort to Jem’s frosty interactions with her older sister. In the second half of the story, most of these extra characters are dispensed with and the tone darkens considerably. Jem deals with the British occupation, Hessian mercenaries and war deprivations without the aid of her family. I went into Time Enough for Drums expecting something highly romanticized but Rinaldi does convey the cost of war fairly well to her young audience.

hessian-soldiers — Hessian mercenaries. Maybe lose the hats.

The writing is decent overall, if a little uneven. The dialogue is intelligent and entertaining, as demonstrated above, but Jem’s narration does have its weaknesses: When he stopped [kissing me], I felt an anguish I had not known a body was capable of. And in that moment I possessed and lost the whole world and everything in it and was left with the feeling and the knowledge, which is love, that no matter how we give ourselves we always end up losing. That to love is to lose, the moment we agree to the bargain. And that, being human, we keep standing there wanting to lose more. Say what?

Historically, Time Enough for Drums is quite sound. Rinaldi takes care to note where she embellished, and the only thing that did not ring true for me was her fictional Quaker family, the Moores. When their son Raymond decides to enlist (kind of a big deal, I thought) and their daughter Betsy wants to marry Jem’s brother the Moore parents respond with a shrug. “For the most part we Quakers do not look kindly on our children marrying out,” says Mrs. Moore, and then proceeds to do just that.

On a larger scale, Rinaldi does very well, relating the fall of Fort Washington, the British occupation of Trenton and their subsequent rout by General Washington in an entertaining and relatable fashion. It would help girls learn an important piece of American military history in the guise of a romance and it does so with integrity. Recommended.

For the spoiler-packed Parental Guide this is what I believe is called a “clean romance.” Jem moons over Reid’s arms, legs and face. There’s some kissing, first with Raymond the lapsed Quaker and then, after Jem has “let him down easily,” with John Reid. They get engaged afterward. That’s it. If your daughter/niece/etc is just getting interested in romantic plotlines this is a good option.

Violence: This is a fairly soft-focus war novel with only off-screen deaths. For instance, Jem hears that Raymond the lapsed Quaker has died of dysentery in a letter. She witnesses the battle of Trenton, which amounts to confusion, cannon fire and men falling down. There’s an unspoken understanding of what could befall Jem in an occupied town, with one young officer later saying “Don’t you think, if I were going to ravish you, I would have tried it already?” The only surprising moment was the death of Jem’s father, a twist that did take me by surprise. Between chapters it is revealed that he was beaten to death and Jem viewed the body, related in about the same language (not how modern YA would play it).

Values: Jemima is taught to use a musket in the opening chapter. She’s not very good at it and never has to use it but it comforts her to know its an option.

Jem makes disparaging comments regarding feminine behaviour but it’s always thrown back in her face as an insult to her mother and her brother’s fiancee. She also insults the house slave Lucy, later realizing how poor that behaviour was. Jem’s parents are planning to free Lucy and later do so.

The Emerson family seems tight-knit at the beginning but gets blown apart by the war. Between death, madness and political estrangement, the family is a quarter of the size by the end and the Patriot/Tory divide (as represented by Jem and her sister) is not healed.

The teaser of my Laurel-Leaf edition gives away John Reid’s secret – he’s a spy for the Patriots – and while this is a rather dirty profession for a romantic lead he at least responds harshly when Jemima tries to admire his bravery.

Role Models: Jem’s parents and grandfathers model reason, hard work and stoicism – traits she eventually shares, though it takes time. Worth noting here is that Mrs. Emerson turns out to be a really horrible person, full stop. Feeling to blame for her husband’s death, she feigns madness and hides from the world, pretending not to recognize anyone and leaving her 16 year old daughter to struggle on alone. It’s an incredibly cold betrayal. Interestingly, her mother’s hollow justification that “your heart breaks in life no matter what decision you make” is rejected by Jem at the close of the novel. “I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to keep on going when you want to do nothing but drop. And that just doing the everyday things, like keeping a shop running or getting up every morning, will keep the world going until things can straighten out again.” Well done, Jem.

Educational Properties: Twofold. Time Enough for Drums is a good historical supplement to the Revolutionary War and if you live in or near New Jersey it might inspire a visit to some historic sites. There are references in the text to the complications of running a shop. It’s not a big part of the story but Jem does worry over blockades, inflation and military requisition of goods – all good things to learn about.

219250ef31e00de9ac28a520fcb44026 — MDCCLVIII = 1758.

Jem’s own education is vastly different to a modern teenager’s: French, Latin, penmanship, etiquette, geography and sums. Her required reading includes Shakespeare, Milton and Dryden while she reads Tom Jones on the sly. When she melts down over how boring her assignments are and disses Milton, John Reid responds in passive-aggressive style, gifting her a copy of Paradise Lost for her birthday. I laughed, anyway.

End of Guide.

I enjoyed Time Enough for Drums and do plan to review more of Ann Rinaldi’s novels in the future. Is she consistent? Can you recommend some of her best novels? Is Time Enough for Drums among them? Also, do homeschoolers and libraries still utilize her books or has she been forgotten? Comments greatly appreciated.

Up Next: We remain in the decade with a Newbery Honor Book from 1989. Must have been a thin year because there’s only two choices for what that could be.

Historical Fiction: The Scarlet Pimpernel

On May 4, 2019May 2, 2019 By nymithIn 1000 Good Books List, Adventure, British writers, Classics, French Revolution, Historical Fiction, Romance, Set in England, Set in Europe, Set in France1 Comment

A Hungarian Baroness writes a love letter to all things British starring a French heroine and incidentally creates one of the greatest swashbucklers of all time all without recourse to a single swordfight. This is why we read classics.

Title: The Scarlet Pimpernel (The Scarlet Pimpernel #1)
Author: Baroness Emmuska Orczy (1865-1947)
Original Publication Date: 1905
Edition: Puffin Classics (1997), 323 pages.
Genre: Historical. Romance. Swashbuckler.
Ages: 12-14
First Sentence: A surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate.

One has to admire the effort taken by a publisher like Puffin. Their line of classics, complete and unabridged, gives a gentle yet firm admonishment to today’s parents: children, when competently taught and engaged, are highly capable readers and, once given a foundational vocabulary and cultural knowledge, many of the classics would appeal to them just as they did to previous generations. Teens looking for unsightly horror once sought out Frankenstein or The Phantom of the Opera while romantics read Jane Eyre. It is worth remembering that adventure and romance narratives WERE the young adult literature of past decades, among them the Baroness Orczy’s tale of love, espionage and a mysterious hero rescuing aristocrats from the bloody French Revolution…The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Half-empty glasses littered the table, unfolded napkins lay about, the chairs–turned towards one another in groups, of twos and threes–seemed like the seats of ghosts, in close conversation with one another. There were sets of two chairs–very close to one another–in the far corners of the room, which spoke of recent whispered flirtations, over cold game-pie and champagne; there were sets of three and four chairs, that recalled pleasant, animated discussions over the latest scandal; there were chairs straight in a row that still looked starchy, critical, acid, like antiquated dowagers; there were a few isolated, single chairs, close to the table, that spoke of gourmands intent on the most recherche dishes, and others overturned on the floor, that spoke volumes on the subject of my Lord Grenville’s cellars.
It was a ghostlike replica, in fact, of that fashionable gathering upstairs; a ghost that haunts every house where balls and good suppers are given; a picture drawn with white chalk on grey cardboard, dull and colourless, now that the bright silk dresses and gorgeously embroidered coats were no longer there to fill it in the foreground, and now that the candles flickered sleepily in their sockets.
…
It all looked so peaceful, so luxurious, and so still, that the keenest observer–a veritable prophet–could never have guessed that, at this present moment, that deserted supper-room was nothing but a trap laid for the capture of the most cunning and audacious plotter those stirring times had ever seen.

Just this one passage is proof enough that the Baroness, a native Hungarian who chose to write in English and spent the majority of her life in England, adored the English language. She was also a creative force in her time, penning her historical romance when “modernity” was the fashion and publishers scorned the result. Rather than giving up on her mysterious hero, the Baroness adapted her work into a play, adopting the “if you can’t go through, go around” idea. The play was such a success on stage that it proved there was a demand for old-fashioned heroism and the novel The Scarlet Pimpernel was published in 1905 and affectionately dedicated to the lead actors of the play. Johnston McCulley’s first Zorro story, The Curse of Capistrano, did not appear until 1919, leaving Baroness Orczy the clear originator of the “masked avenger” so widespread in 20th Century entertainment. Given how prevalent the trope has become, I have to wonder if anyone could possibly be surprised by the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel anymore. Given how few characters are in the book, I also wonder when her original audience was expected to have it sussed out.

The Scarlet Pimpernel is told mostly from the perspective of Marguerite Blakeney, a Frenchwoman married to the wealthy English fop Sir Percy. The couple is not a happy one since the day of their marriage and now they avoid one another in private and wound each other in public. Marguerite’s only happiness is an occasional visit from her brother Armand. Approached by the French agent Chauvelin with evidence incriminating Armand as a traitor to the Revolution, Marguerite is blackmailed. To save her brother she must discover the location of the brave and cunning Scarlet Pimpernel and hand him over to Chauvelin. Marguerite must summon all her resourcefulness to save the hero all of England admires from her own betrayal.

This is fairly gripping stuff despite having very few action scenes. Baroness Orczy focuses on Marguerite’s internal struggle in the high stakes choice she must make: to save her brother she must send a noble man to the guillotine. Her emotions are believable and her motives sympathetic while the choices she must make are so dire that they keep the pages turning as she devises a spying method, tries to avoid getting caught, wonders whether to engage her husband on the matter and finally struggles to locate the Pimpernel before Chauvelin and his men – one woman alone in France. It’s very well done and livened up by Chauvelin’s always appearing at the worst possible moments and by occasional bouts of delightful realism little seen in books of this type. After all, when an epic chase is underway and the Channel must be crossed before it’s too late one hardly expects the mission to be called off on account of weather, yet heroes and villains alike are forced to wait out a sudden storm in a quiet seaside town. A sure drowning is of no use to the cause, yet so many adventure tales would prefer a dramatic battle with the elements where the practical Baroness chose to delay, thus exacerbating Marguerite’s fears and putting her in a spirit of desperation as things build to a finish.

The Scarlet Pimpernel is not without its flaws, however. Baroness Orczy falls prey to some repetitive language, more noticeable in some chapters than others. I lost track of how many times she referred to Percy’s inane laugh. In spite of the brilliantly ghoulish opening scene, she seems averse to violence and this lack of traditional derring-do, while not impairing the story as a whole, does leave the grand finale feeling somewhat deflated. The cinematic adaptations I have watched have each changed the ending to have greater suspense, and they also inject more scenes from the rescue missions performed by the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, crafting a more conventional swashbuckler around the Baroness’ framework.

Though the ending disappointed me, there is plenty of satisfaction to be had in getting there and I was surprised by how reminiscent the set-up was to the young adult books I read as a teen. A nominally clever heroine interacting with two moody guys who are not all they might seem on the surface. It’s a common enough recipe and Chauvelin, whose impeccable manners never conflict with his gleeful villainy, is a splendid antagonist. Cosmetically, this whole plot could probably be instantly recycled with the addition of fangs or feminism, and the result would probably look a lot like the miniseries from 1999, which traded in guile for violence, gave Marguerite a more active role in events, equipped Chauvelin with a multilayered personality and hinted at some past attraction between the two. Baroness Orczy on the other hand maintains a strict demarcation between the just and the unjust in her story and I’m not holding my breath for a more accurate adaptation in the future.

Richard E. Grant 1999 — It did have its good points.

I enjoyed this novel a great deal and would highly recommend it for literary, conservative and homeschooling families. Perhaps best suited for those 12 to 14 year olds who are old enough to be interested in romance plotlines but who are not ready to try and field the more explicit material to be found in modern young adult. While there are something like a dozen sequels, none of them are held in the same regard. All are available on Project Gutenberg but I don’t have any plan to pursue them. The original has a fond place on my shelves and that will do for me.

Here follows the spoiler-packed Parental Guide:

Violence: For a novel of the French Revolution this is fairly genteel stuff, owing to the majority of the novel taking place in England and on a lonely stretch of French coast. Chapter One, told from the combined viewpoint of the salivating mobs of Paris, is a much different kettle of fish, full of ghoulish rejoicing and vivid little details, with the tricotteuses especially memorable: knitting and gossipping…whilst head after head fell beneath the knife, and they themselves got quite bespattered with the blood of those cursed aristos. Orczy paints a grim picture of the mob rule she had so feared from her youth and it colours the whole book the appropriate scarlet. Elsewhere there’s not much to speak of – a scuffle where two of the League are captured (later released anticlimactically offscreen) and a severe flogging toward the very end of the book, all described in mild language. Speaking of language, this book is replete with wonderfully quaint expressions of vexation: La! Lud! Zooks! Zounds! Demmed! Jackanapes! Odd’s life! One usage of “damn” late in the book is therefore a little surprising.

Values: The Scarlet Pimpernel takes a staunchly conservative view on the French Revolution with hints of disapproval at the Revolution’s atheism and full sympathy for the aristocrats. All things English are revered.

This being a romance, a great deal of attention is paid to the Blakeney’s strained marriage. They only have one big scene together, a fairly electric conversation as they hesitate – cautious, proud, suspicious and yet hurt by the distance between them as the omniscient narration shows their frustrated love and inability to voice it. It’s truly a marvel that so much can be achieved within one dialogue while the grievances and poor decisions made by Marguerite and Percy are a rich example of the immature ideals of “romance” that plague relationships. After Marguerite finally confesses the full history of her time as a Revolutionary this stinging dialogue follows:

Percy: “…at the time of the Marquis’ death, I entreated you for an explanation… I fancy that you refused me all explanation then, and demanded of my love a humiliating allegiance it was not prepared to give.”
“I wished to test your love for me, and it did not bear the test. You used to tell me that you drew the very breath of life but for me, and for love of me.”
“And to prove that love, you demanded that I should forfeit mine honour,” he said, whilst gradually his impassiveness seemed to leave him, his rigidity to relax; “that I should accept without murmur or question, as a dumb and submissive slave, every action of my mistress.”

If they’d just talked it out from the first instead of arranging tests of character and dishing out the silent treatment… However, heroism wins the day and brings about reconciliation and reaffirmed devotion between these two. The language is a treat, by the way. “Forfeit mine honour” is the sort of phrase I love but will probably never have opportunity to use.

Bravery is valued but the Baroness yet more highly prized cleverness, for the Scarlet Pimpernel never once confronts his enemies but instead uses disguise and subterfuge. The finale has him disguised as a Jew, relying on French anti-semitism to see him escape unnoticed. This doesn’t really work as a plot point since it shares identical tactics and motivation with the role of the pestilential old woman he played in the first scene, and it ends up feeling both drab and parodic – perhaps it had some comedic visual element that worked in theaters of the time, but subsequent filmmakers always change the ending to something more workable.

Role Models: The Scarlet Pimpernel achieves his ends without the use of violence, preferring trickery. His valor and daring are unmatched in the text and the men who follow him are loyal unto death, yet Baroness Orczy contrasts them starkly with Chauvelin’s men, who follow the boss’s directives with unbending zeal and what proves a disastrous lack of imagination. The League of the Pimpernel have that spark of independent thought which allows Sir Andrew Ffoulkes to accompany Marguerite on her mission to France without any input from his leader.

As for Marguerite, while she does make a fairly believable (if somewhat abrupt) transformation from a distant and disdainful wife to loving and self-sacrificing, several GoodReads reviewers took issue with her being described as the cleverest woman in Europe when she is so often slow on the uptake. However, I do believe this reference is made to social wit and repartee rather than intelligence as we would think of it today. From being surprised that accusing an aristocrat of treason would get him executed to completely missing all clues to her husband’s hidden depths, Marguerite is sadly just not that bright.

Educational Properties: This is one of the big reasons I recommend this book to homeschoolers. This would make a great kickstart to a unit on the French Revolution, perhaps compared and contrasted with the American Revolution or even (since so much of the book is about Britain) a nice civics lesson on the differences between the neighboring monarchies and the attendant results. This book would also make a good springboard to classic Hollywood filmmaking through the 1934 film, starring Leslie Howard, Merle Oberon and Raymond Massey. The film still holds up very well today and could itself make a good compare and contrast with The Mark of Zorro, as the two masked avengers share many qualities. Superheroes would also apply if your child likes them.

Creative exercises might include something like a map charting escape routes from Paris or some kind of Diary of an Aristo. The storm system halting all action could tie-in to the science of storms and famous shipwrecks in history. And if your child really enjoys the novel, A Tale of Two Cities could be a good future read.

End of Guide.

Overall this is an enjoyable yarn that’s held up well through the years. Let me know your thoughts on The Scarlet Pimpernel. Also, if you’ve read any of the sequels, am I wrong to dismiss them?

Up Next: We jump ahead to the 1980s and a historical novel by Ann Rinaldi.

‘To Repel Boarders’ and Why I Love Vintage Children’s Books

On May 1, 2019 By nymithIn Adventure, American writers, Read Alouds, Set in California, U.S. StatesLeave a comment

Welcome to The Western Corner of the Castle! For this inaugural post I thought I’d start with a short story that sums up many of the qualities I find appealing in older children’s books: ‘To Repel Boarders’ by Jack London, written for St. Nicholas magazine in June 1902. You can read it online here. It’s a simple boys’ boating adventure, starting with two lads, Bob (the narrator) and his “chum” Paul, onboard a boat and deep in a surprisingly relevant conversation for modern malcontents:

“No, honest, now, Bob, I’m sure I was born too late. The twentieth century’s no place for me. If I’d had my way–“
“You’d have been born in the sixteenth,” I broke in, laughing, “with Drake and Hawkins and Raleigh and the rest of the sea-kings.”
“You’re right!” Paul affirmed

The boys bemoan the times they live in – too soft, too “civilized” – and Bob makes casual reference to historical figures who are unlikely to be referenced by modern boys. Drake, Hawkins and Raleigh were Elizabethan privateers. Hawkins revamped the British navy (directly contributing to the defeat of the Spanish Armada), lobbied for and won a pay increase for sailors and, together with Drake, founded both a charity and a hospital for sick and aging mariners. These men sailed the globe as empire-builders and Drake became the first Englishman to circumnavigate the globe. They had skill and daring, were hated by the Spanish, loved by the British and did exactly the sort of bad things that are part of the privateer job description – they beat down the Irish and traded slaves and killed people. I doubt a modern author would choose these names for a boy to speak of admiringly, or indeed at all.

Sir Walter Raleigh also knew how to dress.

Continuing on, it is revealed that the boys, whose ages are unspecified, are out at midnight on their very own boat; a truly dazzling amount of freedom from a modern perspective. The boys have earned this privilege through the ability to delay and forego gratification. By saving money, by earning more, and by each of us foregoing a bicycle on his birthday, we had collected the purchase-price of the ‘Mist,’ a beamy twenty-eight footer, sloop-rigged, with baby topsail and centerboard. No idea what that last part means, but good for them. The boys learned boating from Paul’s father, a yachtsman who inspected the Mist for them, and now that the Mist was ours, we were hard at work adding to our knowledge. So they’re our for a week’s excursion and Paul’s complaining about how dull his middle-class life is. “And today we go from school to high school, and from high school to college, and then we go into the office or become doctors and things, and the only adventures we know about are the ones we read in books.”

As Paul persists in his lachrymose train of thought, however, we get at the heart of what he’s trying to say. When he talks of adventure he’s not using the phrase in its common manner. He’s not talking about a jolly lark and home by supper, he’s questioning his mettle. Since brave men as well as cowards can have moments of panic and since their lives are so sheltered and they only go amongst civilized men, it looks likely to Paul that he will never know what he would do faced with an emergency and he thirsts for that self-knowledge. It’s a sensation I suspect is very common to boys, which is why they are on average much higher risk-takers than girls, and Jack London clearly understood that impulse and did not condescend to the young audience he wrote for here.

The boys’ hypothetical adventure arrives when they accidentally run into what they assume must be mud-flats and discover too late that the Mist is caught on a fishing-net. The boys are chilled by the approach of a boat containing two foreign-looking fellows with sun-bronzed faces… For all the world they were like pirates stepped out of the pages of romance. And, to make the picture complete, their faces were distorted with anger, and each flourished a long knife. This exciting turn of the plot is soon revealed to be, not pirates per say, but instead a pair of volatile Italian fishermen attempting to board their vessel. Paul and Bob try to hold them off with the oars while explaining that they will pay for the damages, but the men are bigger and stronger. With the peace attempt failing, the boys have to use quick thinking, teamwork and a little sailor’s luck to repel the boarders and escape. Paul later admits to Bob how scared he was during the incident and the story ends.

This isn’t the greatest story in the world but as I read it I realized it really encapsulates a lot of the virtues you will find in vintage children’s literature in a few short pages:

The boys have been raised to a high standard of both independence and personal responsibility, with parents who are neither hovering nor neglectful and who are themselves portrayed as neither a hindrance nor as the enemy.

There are no female characters because the story does not require any.

The contemporary notion of what “traditional masculinity” used to mean is shown as the false parody it really is, because here is Jack London, the ultimate in masculinity, a real man’s man of a writer, spinning a tale where Paul freely admits to his best friend how shaken and scared he feels. Well, knock me over with a feather.

The Italian fishermen can be the villains of the piece without worry that some kid will take them as a representation of all Italians everywhere and base all future life decisions on the idea.

The child characters reference historical figures most modern people don’t have a clue about.

The scenario is unusual and escapist yet perfectly plausible – a backyard adventure of sorts, not speculative fiction (and don’t get me wrong; I like the speculative genres, but they have rather over-saturated the market).

The language is descriptive and nicely fashioned, and a parent could read it out loud without stumbling over fragmented sentences or anything that feels like practice prose.

I couldn’t find an image for the June issue, but I did find this picture of the July issue, containing *The Cruise of the Dazzler,* his full-length novel on the subjects of boating and boys.

My affection for these old books is the chief inspiration for this blog and I hope like-minded people, parents or otherwise, will find The Western Corner of the Castle helpful and informative as I delve into the many decades of children’s literature, with new book reviews every Saturday.