Adventure Novels: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

On June 29, 2019June 29, 2019 By nymithIn 1000 Good Books List, Adventure, American writers, Children's Classics, Read Alouds, Set in Missouri, U.S. States2 Comments

An unassailable classic for boys, splendidly written and full of incident. Truly better than I had dared hoped it would be (hey, the only other Twain novel I’ve ever read was Pudd’nhead Wilson).

book tom sawyer Title: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Author: Mark Twain (1835-1910)
Original Publication Date: 1876
Edition: The Complete Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Borders Classics (2006), 190 of 337 pages
Genre: Adventure. Humour. Historical Fiction.
Ages: 11-14
First Sentence: “Tom!”

In the opening chapter of this classic of children’s literature you will find this sampler of outdated items and high-octane spelling bee words: spectacles, stove-lids, resurrected, “jimpson,” roundabout (article of clothing), ruination, kindlings, guile, revealments, diplomacy, transparent, forestalled, vexed, enterprises, diligence, unalloyed, pantaloons, ambuscade, adamantine. As awesome as this is to behold, it is a language for those generations of children who had very few books written solely for them, and who therefore learned to read by constant exposure to the King James Bible and memorization of such poets as Lord Byron and Longfellow. I suspect that my recommended age group skews higher than the historical average but this is by no means a novel to spring on a child without a firm foundation in the English language that Mark Twain wields with such expertise. I read a children’s adaptation when I was probably eight but it didn’t stick with me and I would recommend against such things – in general, because it’s ridiculous to read a simplified version of a story when simply waiting a year or two will make the original available, and more specifically, because the success of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer owes everything to Twain’s grandiloquent language: There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy’s life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. This desire suddenly came upon Tom one day. He sallied out to find Joe Harper, but failed of success. Next he sought Ben Rogers; he had gone fishing. Presently he stumbled upon Huck Finn the Red-Handed. Huck would answer. Tom took him to a private place and opened the matter to him confidentially. Huck was willing. Huck was always willing to take a hand in any enterprise that offered entertainment and required no capital, for he had a troublesome superabundance of that sort of time which is not money. The descriptions are so wildly inflated as to bring a smile to the face. Take that language away and both comedy and drama suffer while the honestly ramshackle plot stands alone.

https://www.bing.com/th?id=OIP.iL4p20dAaSEu-1j6DpkJrwHaHt&pid=Api&rs=1&p=0 — Mark Twain’s house in Hannibal.

Tom Sawyer is a young rascal growing up in St. Petersburg, Missouri (based on Mark Twain’s boyhood town of Hannibal) in the care of his long-suffering Aunt Polly. He spends most of his time in the pursuit of fun, whether that be choreographing Robin Hood scenes in the woods, stealing from the jam jar or skipping school. When he and Huckleberry Finn sneak off to the graveyard at midnight, hoping to see some devils or witchcraft, they instead witness an all-too-human murder, which is promptly pinned on the wrong man. Too scared to testify and with the real murderer on the loose, the boys bury their nagging consciences in elaborate games of make-believe. However, run-ins with the terrifying Injun Joe punctuate their summer fun until Tom, and later Huck, finally have the courage to come forward in time to save the innocent – and maybe find some hidden treasure in the process.

What I most enjoyed regarding The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was not Tom himself, but actually the wealth of historical detail provided, putting modern readers infinitely closer to the realities of growing up in that time than anything modern, however well researched, could accomplish. Shoeless in summer, the kids are off by themselves for most of the day, with their own parallel society. Tom and his friends swear oaths, court girls, hold trials (even if just a juvenile court that was trying a cat for murder, in the presence of her victim, a bird) and have a strict code of honour that is not imposed by adults; instead it is all based on superstitions, folk customs, Christian commandments and the romantic literature available at the time, all filtered through the powerful imaginations of children.

https://stephenbasdeodotorg.files.wordpress.com/2016/05/egan-robin-hood.jpg?w=809 — ‘Robin Hood and Little John’ by Pierce Egan the Younger was published in 1840 and was one of the earliest versions of Robin Hood for a strictly juvenile audience.

For fun Tom and his friends will dig for buried treasure or trade bits of eye catching rubbish back and forth. There is also a gradual crescendo to these games, as they grow in ambition, impact and dramatic peril – from running away to play pirates (and crashing their subsequent funeral) to searching haunted houses (and discovering the whereabouts of Injun Joe) to getting lost in a cave system (a truly impressive sequence in which Tom and his sweetheart Becky have to choose between staying near a water source or trying random passages while their candles burn down). As trifling as the plot may be at times, the cavalcade of mishaps, hijinks and peril keep things moving along while waiting for the next appearance of Injun Joe.

Mark Twain handles his villain perfectly, avoiding the pitfall of creating a bumbling idiot outsmarted by a couple of kids by the simple means of never having Injun Joe interact with the boys at all. Tom believes that Joe has it in for him, but Twain never confirms or denies this, and since Tom always hides when he catches sight of Joe, the sense of a truly menacing villain is maintained. Seen and heard only in glimpses, Injun Joe is a very convincing psychopath, not a cartoon bad guy.

The writing is very cinematic as well, so provided that you could handle the dialect this would indeed make a superb read-aloud: It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on a hill, about a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board fence around it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest of the time, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over the whole cemetary. All the old graves were sunken in, there was not a tombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over the graves, leaning for support and finding none. “Sacred to the memory of” So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no longer have been read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light.

https://thewesterncornerofthecastle.home.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/854ee-adventuresoftomsawyer_003.jpg — Raymond Sheppard illustration of the famous murder in the graveyard.

The dialogue is the most challenging part of Tom Sawyer, and Twain has gotten into endless trouble for making it too realistic. His contemporaries found it coarse and more recent audiences find it offensive; neither group seems to appreciate how in keeping it is with Twain’s focus on the concrete details of a childhood in the 1840s. The dialogue often slows the pace, with full pages of back-and-forth before the point of a conversation can even be arrived at, or the full transcript of every word and sound a boy pretending to be a steamboat under full crew would make. It’s a verbal verisimilitude that I sometimes found tedious but it is integral to Twain’s artistic vision.

If it is your goal to raise a generation which can read and engage with the western canon, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is an excellent bridge in that process. The writing is high caliber, Tom is a memorable and endearing protagonist (especially for boys), and there is an abundance of humour and tension in his story. I’ve said little about Huckleberry Finn in this review, because he’s often in the background of Tom’s escapades and, while he does have his chance to engage in heroics, he is less than pleased to share in Tom’s happy ending – perhaps setting the stage for a sequel…

Onwards to the thorny tangle that is a Parental Guide for Mark Twain.

Violence: Corporal punishment is routine at home and school, dead animals are used as toys and Tom thrashes other boys with some regularity. The murder involves a trio of grave robbers and, with the head of the operation being a doctor, body snatching is rather strongly implied. Injun Joe threatens the doctor, gets punched in the face, Joe’s partner Muff Potter steps into the fray and Joe stands back awaiting an opening. It is related, like all incidents herein, with a certain dramatic flair: Injun Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched up Potter’s knife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and round about the combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once the doctor flung himself free, seized the heavy head-board of Williams’ grave and felled Potter to the earth with it–and in the same instant the half-breed saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man’s breast. He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the frightened boys went speeding away in the dark.

After framing Potter (implied to be a close friend), Joe spends the rest of the novel skulking around before spouting off a remarkably gruesome bit of dialogue as he plots revenge on the widow of a man who once had him horsewhipped – supposedly merely for vagrancy, but I find myself skeptical of Joe’s story. Can’t imagine why. “Kill? Who said anything about killing? I would kill him if he was here; but not her. When you want to get revenge on a woman you don’t kill her–bosh! you go for her looks. You slit her nostrils–you notch her ears like a sow! … I’ll tie her to the bed. If she bleeds to death, is that my fault?” Injun Joe meets his end by getting trapped in a cave and starving before anyone realizes where he was, giving an abounding sense of relief and security to Tom and undoubtedly to legions of children reading and listening down through the decades.

https://i0.wp.com/cdn.history.com/sites/2/2015/05/list-8-things-mark-twain-1870-3353702.jpg — Mark Twain.

Values: Hard to tell, given Twain’s satirical voice. Superstitions don’t work, sermons are boring, medicines are always snake oil, detectives don’t solve crimes and so on. However, Tom is contrasted with other characters, notably his cousin Sid, a relentlessly well-behaved sneak, who avoids getting in trouble but equally avoids doing anything truly exceptional or brave. Tom and Huck only have their opportunities for heroics because they’re out in the night, being the inadvertent neighbourhood watch. Also, one of Tom’s unshakeable rules of the game – whether playing at pirates or robbers – is no harming women, putting him squarely at odds with the actual robber Injun Joe.

There’s also this bit, after Injun Joe is finally buried and Mr. Twain gets noticeably bored of writing for a child audience: This funeral stopped the further growth of one thing–the petition to the governor for Injun Joe’s pardon. The petition had been largely signed; many tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a committee of sappy women been appointed to go in deep mourning and wail around the Governor, and implore him to be a merciful ass and trample his duty under foot. Injun Joe was believed to have killed five citizens of the village, but what of that? If he had been Satan himself there would have been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble their name to a pardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their permanently impaired and leaky waterworks.

Role Models: There’s no denying that Tom has admirable traits – he’s capable of great cleverness, generosity and even nobility – but he is by no means a paragon (I also don’t think it’s necessary for absolutely every book in a child’s library to model good behaviour). In some ways, Tom Sawyer’s independence and self-reliance, even when not terribly constructive, are his finest and most appealing traits. However, while I doubt most kids would notice, I certainly found Aunt Polly quite ill-used and I believe she’s absolutely right when she tells her nephew “Tom, you’ll look back, some day, when it’s too late, and wish you’d cared a little more for me when it would have cost you so little.”

Educational Properties: There’s a wealth of info on life in 19th Century America to be gleaned from Tom Sawyer, everything from temperance movements to body snatching, from river transportation to the operation of a small town. The memorable cave sequence would offer a natural opportunity for a geology lesson (or in certain parts of the world, a field trip). Since the novel is based on Twain’s boyhood, it could also open up Mark Twain’s life and place in American literature to some exploration.

I expect a fairly lively discussion of ethics could also result from a shared read of the book, given the wide variety of bad, questionable and criminal behaviour on display, as well as Tom’s earnest fear of divine reprisal for his sins and Injun Joe’s attempts to justify his own crimes under the guise of “revenge.”

On the subject of 1840s education, Tom and his peers perform recitations at school, from Patrick Henry to Byron’s ‘Destruction of Sennacherib’ to ‘Casabianca,’ while the littlest children stick to nursery rhymes. For Sunday school, memorizing Bible verses is rewarded (with a Bible) and in the woods the boys fall to a more willing reinactment of Robin Hood, though again with memorization of lines a key component.

End of Guide.

I enjoyed The Adventures of Tom Sawyer much more than I expected to at the start, and I suspect that it will prove a blueprint for many of the children’s books to come on this blog. I have copies of all three sequels, but I’m going to pace myself before I launch into them. What did you think of Tom Sawyer at whatever age you read it?

Up Next: One of the three slim novels penned by E.B. White.

Fantasy: The Court of the Stone Children

On June 22, 2019June 21, 2019 By nymithIn Canadian Writers, Fantasy Fiction, Ghost Stories, National Book Award Winners, Set in CaliforniaLeave a comment

Forewarned is forearmed, as they say, and if you have the Puffin edition it’s definitely helpful to know going in that this book contains ghosts and prophetic dreams but absolutely no time travel. You will be happier.

See the source image Title: The Court of the Stone Children
Author: Eleanor Cameron (1912-1996)
Original Publication Date: 1973
Edition: Puffin Books (1990), 191 pages
Genre: Fantasy.
Ages: 10-14
First Sentence: They were standing in a group under the trees tossing up wishes for the future, wishes and predictions, grand and wild and inflated, boys and girls alike, but Nina, lost in her own musings, wasn’t taking it like that.

The Court of the Stone Children is an intellectually demanding and elusive novel which won the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature in 1974 but has since drifted into obscurity. Recapping the plot is a little tricky since no plot threads take precedence over any others (I would say to the novel’s detriment). The story follows Nina, a girl whose parents have just moved to San Francisco. Nina is dismayed by the ugliness of her surroundings and passionately wants to find a nicer apartment for them to live in. She takes solace in a private French museum and hopes to get a job there, but she soon realizes there is a ghost in the museum, a girl named Dominique, whose father was wrongfully executed by Napoleon and who enlists Nina to help clear his name. There’s also a ghost cat with a living double, a boy named Gil who studies time and a mean girl with the inexplicably ugly nickname Marnychuck.

The writing is very stylized and quite lovely. Eleanor Cameron had complete confidence in her young audience and her imagery is intriguing, her turns of phrase almost poetic and her references boldly intellectual – few children will be familiar with Chagall, whose Time is a River Without Banks features throughout the book, nor with the epigraphs lifted from Faulkner, Camus and Gerard de Nerval. It gets a bit pretentious and metaphysical but the writing keeps it afloat, being beautiful to read even when Nina is literally soaking in the ugliness of a city in the rain:

Drenched skirts whipped back; old people in broken shoes and shapeless coats talked to themselves, clutched their bundles in dripping hands, their heads down and faces twisted against the knives of rain. A man swore at her when she butted blindly into his side. Once when the rain stopped for a little, she let the umbrella fall and stood at a street corner gazing up at seagulls planing in circles in a patch of silver sky.
“Come on, come on, girl–you’ll never get home that way!” An ancient dame, merry and toothless, her old head bare to the elements, grabbed Nina by the arm and swung her into the street, then on the other side skipped off lively as a sand flea and disappeared down an alley where garbage cans spilled their orange rinds and coffee grounds and stained papers onto the sidewalk.

It reminded me somewhat of the Patricia McKillip books I read as a teen, with images of beauty and its absence, a dreamlike slow pace, a maturity of tone and sophisticated (even antiquated) language – behold the merry and toothless dame above. It almost feels as if Cameron just happened to write a child protagonist in this case and could as easily have written the same story for an adult audience. This isn’t to say it’s inappropriate for kids – it shares themes with Madeleine L’engle of time, space, intelligence and alienation, though notably lacking her spiritual center. It simply feels heavy with the influence of grown-up things.

I enjoyed Cameron’s writing from the start but language on its own is only half the battle and unfortunately, it’s the half that is most successful here. This is still a children’s book and it still features a ghost girl, ghost cat (Lisabetta looks like the cat on the right, judging by description) and historical mystery to solve. Rather than enhancing any of these elements, the structure of the story keeps them in the background for roughly three quarters of the way. Brief flickers of menace gutter out while Cameron continues with her painstaking scene setting and we wait and wait for Dominique to finally tell her sorrowful tale.

Meanwhile, less compelling B and C plots share equal time with these more intriguing elements and it’s extra frustrating because they could have made interesting mini-arcs were Nina the slightest bit proactive in pursuit of her goals; instead of which we are treated to Nina’s early declaration that she will look for a new apartment since her parents won’t (declaring a problem) and one follow-up scene several chapters later where Nina just happens to overhear a lady talking about an available apartment (solving the problem). Nina gets the address, the landlady is a kindred spirit, her parents are swiftly convinced even though it costs a little more and it’s all over. No conflict. Nina gets her dream summer job in much the same way, with the museum’s owner being another kindred spirit, ready and willing to hire her. Worse, these solutions occur quite late, forcing them to compete with Dominique’s story rather than beefing up the quiet middle section. The pacing felt really off to me, as I kept eyeing the page number and then flipping to the ill-advised cover copy with increasing disbelief. Puffin is partly to blame for my negative reaction, but by the time I adjusted my expectations it was too late.

As a very introspective book, a lot of time is spent on Nina’s perceptions and inner life, her sense of the reality of those who lived before her. Time has no effect on her and her ability to look at a painting or a manuscript and declare it a lie is not wholly due to the ghosts in her dreams. She feels fully realized as a character and these moments of clarity on her part are earned by Eleanor Cameron’s careful setup. I suspect that in the hands of the right child this could be a very enjoyable story, fully based on the kindred spirit principal that Cameron overuses here.

The intellectual ingredient list is fairly long; here’s an excerpt to give the flavour, where Nina and Gil discuss the meaning of a quote by Henri Bergson:

“But ‘Time is the ghost of space.’ I don’t get that,” Nina said. “How can it be? Why should it be?”
Gil was hunched up, cross-legged on the bed, and he frowned at her for a second. “It can be,” he said, “because space is something real–it exists–but time is only in our heads. Just as there have to be bodies for there ever to be ghosts–or, you could say, shadows–of them, so there has to be space for us to have an idea there is such a thing as time, space for objects to take time to move in, change in, because everything does change. No space, no time.”

I was reminded of Madeleine L’engle several times as I read, but it lacks the resonance I remember finding in A Wrinkle in Time, which I suspect is simply due to a difference in worldview between them. Cameron’s references are mostly secular modernists (Duchamp, Picasso) or post-18th century Jewish intellectuals (Bergson, Chagall). For a

book so concerned with the past, it has little to say about how French families of the 18th Century would have seen the world beyond Dominique noting how fast and ugly everything is now. The philosophical underpinnings that Eleanor Cameron flaunts do not enhance her chosen time period and are even alien to it, just as Time is a River Without Banks would be to both artist and model on the right. The Court of the Stone Children is an interesting experience, at times even an elegant one, but it never distills into something more than the sum of its parts.

Up next, the Parental Guide. It’s a 70s book, so I was not surprised to see Nina use “damned” and “stupid ass” during her moments of irritation. Reading so widely in children’s literature is undoubtedly going to reveal some interesting developments and fluctuations in what is and isn’t included at a given time period.

Violence: Dominique’s father was executed by firing squad for criticizing Napoleon (Napoleon comes off rather badly in general), and family servant Maurice was murdered to frame him for it. Dominique describes finding Maurice’s body, but it’s not very descriptive. She also casually mentions that she died giving birth to her third child.

Values: Objects of the past, museums, beauty, authentic and artisan creations, fine French cooking, classic architecture and rooms with a view. Nina desperately loves pretty things but the reasons for former beauty and the 20th Century’s lack of it are not addressed, so her fascination with Dominique’s life feels driven mostly by the ghost girl’s material goods. When she first enters the furnished rooms in the museum, she pretends they are hers: You could lose yourself drifting from one to another, as Nina now did, as though time were indeed a river without banks, “As though this is my home,” she said, then looked to make sure no guard or visitor was nearby, “this French–what is it? Yes, my father’s chateau, and these rooms are ours. That’s his library, and over here, our small private dining room where we have just a few friends–not like that big one back there where we give dinners for ambassadors and things like that.” There’s a recreated French peasant cottage on the grounds, and she’s nowhere near as entranced by that.

Role Models: Nina wants to be a curator, an interesting choice of profession in a children’s book. Her peers think it’s weird but Nina continually runs into older people, mostly women, who understand her quiet passions. Her mother is not included in this elect, and her father is a fairly passive person, so it’s not a family-driven story, but Nina and Gil are both very intelligent and diligent, and although pre-teen love stories are now often featured in middle grade fiction, there’s none of that found here.

Educational Properties: There’s not enough meat here to help with a historical study, though it could tie-in fairly well with one on metaphysics. Visiting some art/historical museums wouldn’t go amiss either. French cooking features frequently, which could lead to some lessons on fine cuisine (I got the photo to the left here if you want to check it out, though I haven’t had time to try it myself). Also, if you do want to discuss aesthetics with your child, this could work – even though the book itself never diagnoses the current problem, it at least acknowledges that there is one.

End of Guide.

If your child loves visiting museums, is learning French or enjoys art, this has a good chance of being a favourite, at least if the average reviews are anything to go by. The writing alone elevates it above much of the current competition. However, since I wasn’t that impressed as an adult, I would like some opinions. What did you think of this one? It won a shiny award, but is it really Eleanor Cameron’s best book?

Up Next: My first foray into the 19th Century will be Mark Twain. I’ll try not to be intimidated. Wish me luck.

Afraid to Ride – C.W. Anderson

On June 15, 2019March 16, 2020 By nymithIn American writers, Animal Stories, Horse Stories, Realistic Fiction, Set in New YorkLeave a comment

For those traumatized in early life, heads up that no animals die during this book.

Title: Afraid to Ride
Author: C.W. Anderson (1891-1971)
Illustrator: C.W. Anderson
Original Publication Date: 1957
Edition: Scholastic Book Services (1963), 95 pages
Genre: Animal Stories. Realistic Fiction.
Ages: 7-10
First Sentence: Judy pulled the tan jodhpurs over her slim legs.

I came across Afraid to Ride when I was eleven, in a crumbling antique store with a large selection of books, including three shelves devoted to vintage animal stories. The illustrations caught my eye and turned me into a collector of these forgotten gems, though sadly of no other books by C.W. Anderson – although he was a superb illustrator of horses, he has lapsed into obscurity with only the Billy and Blaze books remaining on the radar. Afraid to Ride is a very genuine little tale – I’ve read that Anderson always based his stories on real people and this adds an air of credibility in the midst of what would otherwise be standard horse crazy wish-fulfillment.

Take the beginning: Judy Ellis, who turns sixteen over the course of the novel, gets to go to a special riding camp, but Anderson brusquely pitches his audience into a very different side of the genre. The riding camp is not a dream come true of fast friends, happy trails and extraordinary steeds; instead, it’s a bunch of girls riding circles in a ring, a poisonous brew of incompetent instructors, clueless riders and wrecked mounts. Trapped in this environment, Judy’s nerves are eaten away and when the accident she’s been dreading finally happens, Judy gives up riding and brands herself a coward. Back home, neighboring equestrian Mr. Jeffers takes an interest in her woes and enlists her help to care for a traumatized Cross Country jumper called Fair Lady. Girl and horse bond on their quiet walks in the woods as they are given all the time they need to move forward.

C.W. Anderson - jump — One of Anderson’s illustrations.

Maybe it sounds like a Very Special Lesson but it never really feels that way. There’s no angst, no whining, no romance and no sense of Judy’s response to her accident being “wrong.” The novel is astoundingly gentle and sensitive to Judy’s fear and while she does conquer it given time, it is never dismissed. Riding and jumping horses is a dangerous sport, and through Mr. Jeffers, Anderson addresses the difference between courage and foolhardiness. Mr. Jeffers is a perfect gentleman, encouraging her not to feel ashamed or cut herself off from the horse community through a mistaken belief that she’s lost her credentials:

Judy felt a warmth rising in her that suffused her with happiness. Suddenly the realization had come to her that a phase of her life that had meant so much had not really ended.
As if reading her thoughts Mr. Jeffers continued. “Some of our greatest trainers have never been riders and many good riders have not been real horsemen. Understanding horses, training them, knowing them as you know yourself is as interesting as riding; I think more so. You have a chance to take something that is utterly spoiled and worthless and bring it back to something all but perfect. Isn’t that worth trying?”

There’s a great deal of emphasis on patience and when Mr. Jeffers talks about giving Lady time to recover it’s also clear how this refers to Judy as well. Trust has to be built between girl and horse for either of them to regain confidence and this is what the middle of the tale is devoted to, centering around quiet ambles in the countryside. There was a tang in the air in spite of the bright sunshine. An occasional splash of red and yellow on the trees in marshy ground told of the coming of autumn. Judy and Lady strolled along the path contentedly and it was apparent that an understanding and feeling of kinship existed between them.

C.W. Anderson - forest ride — Judy, post-recovery.

Of course, it’s no real surprise that Judy conquers her fears in the end. Anderson carries the story beyond that moment of triumph to prove that Fair Lady too has returned to former glory, which gives young riding enthusiasts a bit of action to end on and also a look at the workings of a Cross Country Club course: She remembered how she had dreamed of being a member and joining in their marvelous rides, for they tried to get the feeling of real hunting even though it was without the benefit of fox or hound. They had laid out their various rides to include all natural obstacles that a horse could take safely and the reputation of the club was such that it was considered an honor to be invited to join.

Okay, for the nuts and bolts of this production, I think it’s set in New York, because apparently that’s where Anderson set most of his stories, but I didn’t find any proof. There’s a place called Warrenville in the text – nothing came up from that search – and Mr. Jeffers got his start in the horse business in New York City but it’s all fairly amorphous. Judy is a considerate, modest girl but Afraid to Ride isn’t character-driven and very little sense is ever gained of where she lives or what her life is like away from the stables and trails, aside from the fact that she has two supportive and well-off parents. Mr. Jeffers has a wild Irish past which adds some layers to his character at least.

https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1293249907p8/63597.jpg — Clarence William Anderson.

Anderson’s writing style is not the best the field has to offer (with Judy and Lady both female the pronouns got really confusing in the early chapters). However, the manner underlying his direct sentences is very gentlemanly. It’s hard to explain but it’s something I find very valuable in the old books and is a big reason why I believe it is helpful for children to read them. The use of language changes by generation and Anderson was born in 1891. As simple as his sentences are, they resound with occasional turns of phrase such as “shanks’ mare,” which a later generation of writers would simply drop. Even if the child reader doesn’t understand the phrase, anything mannered or “dated” about the end result wouldn’t matter to her anyway. Anderson was an expert draftsman and his illustrations would make it worth bringing Afraid to Ride back into print by themselves. This man did covers for the Saturday Evening Post and he had superb skill. Like his character Mr. Jeffers, he took a keen interest in conformation and his horses just standing still, in plain black and white, are the prettiest things you’ll ever see.

All else aside, this is just a sweet and gentle little story. She stroked Lady’s neck and told her many things that were not strictly true. Perhaps she was not the finest horse in the world. Still, she was in Judy’s world. Aww.

The shorter-than-average Parental Guide!

Violence: No dead animals. There are some anecdotes of runaway horses. Judy’s accident (she breaks a leg but blacks out right away). The “mean girl” prerequisite to this genre has an accident and Judy finds her unconscious, bleeding badly from a cut on her head. In a panic Judy tried to stop the flow of blood with her handkerchief but it did no good. Actually, the image of this accident is the most disturbing bit, as the girl pitching headfirst over her horse looks very similar to Judy and it isn’t until you turn the page that any context for this image is even given.

C.W. Anderson - accident — Turn the page.

Values: Patience and compassion. Slowing down and observing nature. Kindness to horses. The concept of real courage as far greater than foolhardy bravado. Also, this bit caught my eye, as Judy observes big stone walls on her walks which showed that once these were cleared fields. Thinking how back-breaking that work must have been, with always the threat of an Indian arrow finding its mark, Judy marveled at the endurance and courage of those pioneers. This is definitely the 1950s, since she’s not ashamed of her ancestors.

Role Models: Judy is considerate, affectionate and conquers her fear. Her parents are positive figures. Mr. Jeffers and the Master of the Country Club have the courtesy of true gentlemen. The Club is male-dominated yet no one belittles Judy and she wins their respect and admiration through skill and courage. No manufactured drama here.

Educational Properties: Unless it becomes your child’s introduction to older novels or equines, probably none.

End of Guide.

I read this several times when I was 11 and was pleased that it held up so well on this revisit, which I don’t think is just nostalgia talking. Have you read any of Anderson’s books?

Up Next: Haven’t done a fantasy novel yet, so I’m trying one that won the National Book Award in the 1970s.

Adventure Novels: The Black Joke

On June 8, 2019June 5, 2019 By nymithIn Adventure, Canadian Writers, Great Depression, Historical Fiction, Nautical Novels, Read Alouds, Set in Newfoundland1 Comment

When your tagline reads ” Who said pirates, booty, and high adventure were a thing of the past?” and the reader flips the book over and reads “The time: the 1930s” – you did, pal. This has been an episode of How to Lose Your Argument. I suspect this will not be the last time I take issue with the cover copy on these things.

Title: The Black Joke
Author: Farley Mowat (1921-2014)
Illustrator: Victor Mays (1927-)
Original Publication Date: 1962
Edition: McClelland & Stewart Ltd. (2004), 218 pages
Genre: Adventure. Historical.
Ages: 9-12
First Sentence: One wind-whipped summer day in the year 1735, a black-hulled ship came storming in from seaward toward the mountain walls which guard the southern coast of Newfoundland.

The Black Joke has a slightly perplexing title until you realise it’s the name of a ship, a ship which stood out from her sisters as a ballerina would stand out in a crowd of folk dancers. Her slim, black-painted hull had a grace and delicacy which was unique amongst the rough-built, hard-working fishing ships. The Black Joke is owned by Jonathan Spence, a Newfoundland fisherman with a scrupulous work ethic, independent streak and strong will to avoid debt. His adversary, local merchant Simon Barnes, resents Spence and fears he’ll set a precedent for the local community. Unluckily for Spence, it’s the early 1930s and American Prohibition has created a thriving business for east coast rum-runners, all of whom are looking for fast yet innocuous vessels to smuggle liquor into the United States and in them Simon Barnes sees a way to turn a profit and rid himself of Spence. Framed and separated from his ship, Spence devises a plan to get her back but an accident intervenes and it falls to his young son Peter and his nephew Kye to rescue Black Joke before she sails for America.

Farley Mowat, Victor Mays - boat — An example of the illustrations by Victor Mays.

Most reviews of this little book make it sound like a fairly standard boys’ adventure novel, but I want to emphasize that for over half the duration, Jonathan Spence is the de facto protagonist, with Farley Mowat’s omniscient third person narrator hopping between ancillaries as needed. Children’s books with adults as main characters are pretty much a thing of the past but used to be quite common and The Black Joke is generally a serious story of a man falsely accused and the friends who come to his aid; Peter and Kye don’t get the chance to go rogue until the final quarter. While it is definitely an adventure tale, it’s not quite The Hardy Boys. Everything is kept very real, very plausible.

Take note that this is indeed a boating book. If Jack London’s Cruise of the Dazzler was essentially a human interest story that happened to go to sea, The Black Joke is all about the ship and the setting, with little leftover for the humans involved. I’m lucky to have a nautically knowledgeable friend and a few sea stories behind me but if you present this book to an unversed kid who has no one to discuss it with, he may not make it to the exciting parts, as the first chapters do have a strongly documentary feel.

As an American child, I had little exposure to any books set in Newfoundland. The only one I ever came across was Star in the Storm by Joan Hiatt Harlow, so I was especially interested in The Black Joke‘s setting and Mowat did not disappoint:

By this time it was full daylight, with the sun just showing to the east. The cliffs no longer looked quite so formidable and, seen from the bottom, they were not absolutely sheer. The many ledges were thick-covered with deep moss which was riddled by the burrows of rats and puffins.
Having started the two boys up the cliff, Jonathan remained behind to scuff a small avalanche of moss down over the dory, effectively concealing it from any but the closest inspection. Then he too shouldered a pack and began climbing upward.
Peter led the way, scrambling from ledge to ledge, pausing now and again to search for the best route, but gradually gaining height. A hundred feet up he found a narrow ravine that slanted sideways up the cliff, so that the going became easier. All the same, it took half an hour of hard climbing before the three of them were at the top.

farley mowat, victor mays - boys — On top of Colombier.

The Black Joke leaves Newfoundland and the Spence’s are forced to island-hop from St. Pierre to Colombier to Miquelon and each location is distinctive. Mowat does equally well with weather patterns, which can be as big of an obstacle as the human villains, and also accents. Not only do his characters’ accents vary by ethnicity (Irish, French, Basque) and location (Newfoundland, New Jersey), he even modulates between generations. Pierre the Basque fisherman has a French accent you could cut with a knife but he married a Newfoundlander and their son Jacques speaks English in a stiff and formal, learned-lesson way. Meanwhile, when Pierre is talking to another Basque in private his accent vanishes, our clue that the two are conversing in French. I thought it worked quite well.

The story is very entertaining and the pace picks up as soon as they approach St. Pierre. Mowat strings out the plot, packing a lot of incident into a short space – smuggling and stowaways, fire and a sea battle and even a chapter spent marooned. He also ensures that something goes badly wrong at the last possible moment of every plan the heroes concoct, until finally something actually goes so wrong it goes right. Good stuff.

One thing Mowat does not do so well is character. Throughout the book, Peter and Kye are almost interchangeable. Peter is more emotional and risk-taking, while Kye is the voice of caution but it never feels like more than an outline. When Jacques joins the group he’s pretty much the same. The boys have different levels of knowledge and gumption but when push comes to shove and work needs doing they’re all three good sports and courageous lads. The one character who did stand out amongst the noble Spences and their friends was Smith, the Yankee rum-runner. A villain with significant personal flaws, he also has some genuinely admirable traits that come to the forefront in the eleventh hour.

https://travelcravingsdotcom1.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/1024px-miquelon_shore.jpg — The coast of Miquelon.

I ran some of the boating information here past my nautical friend and he found it all legit – even the actions taken during the sea battle were plausible and smart. I found the story engaging and the setting and cultural assemblage utterly refreshing. The writing has that straightforward masculine quality that I associate with the American midcentury and writers such as Jack Schaefer, Jim Kjelgaard and Jean Craighead George, where feelings take a backseat to rugged endeavour and sweeping natural beauty. It is exactly the kind of low-profile gem I was hoping to uncover for this project.

Parental Guide up next. Some spoilers, as always.

Violence: Nobody dies. Jonathan is taken out of the picture by tipping over and hitting his head, leaving him in the hospital with a severe concussion until the action is over. There’s gunfire that doesn’t hit anyone and a fire that leaves brave Smith choking, hair singed and with hands that bore a ghastly resemblance to two freshly boiled lobsters.

Language use actually surprised me. Mowat sticks to standard Yosemite Sam usage, with “the blazes you will!” and so on, until Smith loses his temper and we get him yelling “you name of a New Jersey name!” and various uses of “blank.” I was so puzzled I had to re-read the passage to understand that this was being substituted for actual cursing. It knocked me completely out of the story; I’d say Yosemite Sam works a lot better.

Values: Men’s work is strongly emphasised throughout and the simple hardness of a fishing life is shown as routine. The boys are enlisted in a world of working that is not 9 to 5 but literally dawn to dusk, until the task is completed. This demand is an important source of fulfillment for them. Kye and Peter caught each other’s glances. Neither would have admitted it, but they were as pleased as only two boys can be who have been told they can do a man’s job and do it well.

Farley Mowat, Victory Mays - ship Loyalty to one’s boat almost as to a living thing is the driving force of the novel – the Black Joke might as well be the Black Stallion for the Spence’s determination to be reunited with it – but loyalty between people is also emphasised. Communities are very tight-knit and old friends do not forget one another.

No value judgement is made on the rum-runners. To the poor coastal towns, smuggling is just another job opportunity and the rum-runners get off scot-free. French authorities don’t come off too well and the true villain is the merchant Simon Barnes, who uses debt as a tool to control and profit from his neighbours. What happens to him is left completely up in the air.

Fishing and hunting are a standard pastime and this Mowat does put a value judgement on: “It is not good to kill more than one needs,” says Jacques.

Role Models: Aside from an impish prank or two, the boys have no real flaws, which is probably why I find them a bit dull. When they lose adult leadership they are forced to improvise and carry on without aid or orders, showing great fortitude and also making things a lot worse before they get better.

When Jonathan is framed he chooses to turn fugitive rather than stand his ground, disregarding the good advice he had given the boys earlier: “When ye’re in the right of a thing, hang on. Don’t change yer mind. There’ll be many a time some feller what’s bigger’n you, or maybe richer, or maybe just louder in the mouth’ll try and shove you off your course. Don’t take no heed.”

Educational Properties: An interesting look at Prohibition from the outside and it could be a nice supplement to learning about the North Atlantic settlers. The setting is very strong and those who love the north countries will probably want to learn more about the dynamic landscape of Newfoundland.

https://images.thestar.com/content/dam/thestar/photos/2014/05/07/in_pictures_canadian_author_farley_mowat/undated.jpg.size-custom-crop.1086x0.jpg — Farley Mowat.

End of Guide.

Farley Mowat only wrote a few books for young readers, all of which I will be on the lookout for. Now that I’ve read both him and Montgomery, I am very curious about Canadian children’s books. What are some other authors I shouldn’t miss?

Up Next: I haven’t done an animal story yet, so up next is a girl and her horse, courtesy of C.W. Anderson and the 1950s.

Coming-of-Age Stories: Anne of Green Gables

On June 1, 2019March 17, 2020 By nymithIn 1000 Good Books List, Canadian Writers, Children's Classics, Coming-of-Age Stories, Read Alouds, Set in Prince Edward Island2 Comments

This is a retooled rendition of the review I originally wrote for my other book blog, Pseudo-Intellectual Reviews, which I have currently discontinued to focus on this more pleasant project. I purchased a complete set of the Anne books on Ebay and intend to work through them in a timely manner. Seven books in twelve months should be feasible. I’m looking forward to it.

Title: Anne of Green Gables (Anne Novels #1)
Author: L.M. Montgomery (1874-1942)
Original Publication Date: 1908
Edition: Modern Library Classics (2008), 287 pages
Genre: Coming-of-Age.
Ages: 9-16
First Sentence: Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde’s Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.

The Cuthberts of Green Gables, an unmarried brother and sister, send away for an orphan boy to help them on the farm and receive an eleven year old girl by mistake. Unable to bring themselves to send Anne Shirley back to the orphanage they set themselves the task of bringing her up properly. In return the lovable orphan warms their hearts and charms the whole town. However, the plot soon ceases and is replaced by life in all its vagaries as the chapters follow the incidents of Anne’s youth: from being afraid of a haunted wood to getting her best friend drunk (quite by accident) to discovering a passion for schooling and finally to death and grieving. And Anne grows up.

I never read Anne of Green Gables when I was little (my orphan of choice was Sara Crewe) but reading it as an adult its appeal is obvious. Imaginative children would find it easy to identify with Anne, as she has enough flaws to balance out as a relatable character: a girl whose imagination preserves her soul in dreadful circumstances and also gets her into ridiculous scrapes; who only gets out of said scrapes by her good character (apologising when she’s wrong and standing up for herself when maligned). She’s charming, funny, hard-working, honest and clever – a role model, in other words, but never a goody-two-shoes.

She nearly drowns reinacting the Lady of Shalott, she appalls surrounding adults with her temper and she has a disastrous tendency to drift off at critical household moments leaving ruined dinners in her wake (oh, how ruefully I sympathized). Marilla waits patiently for each new disaster to unfold and after a while can even sense when Anne’s getting overdue for one. Anne is not an easy child to raise and that keeps the novel grounded.

A strong secondary appeal is L.M. Montgomery’s romantic depiction of Avonlea, a rural paradise in a corner of Prince Edward Island where everyone knows everybody else, the four seasons march in beautiful parade and the hard shells of the stuffiest individuals can be melted away by an open-hearted little girl. The novel is almost extravagantly European in its culture and it was an absolute dream for me to find the children of Avonlea welcoming spring by gathering mayflowers and singing as they march down the country lanes. Everyone is Christian (the arrival of a new minister is a great local event) and yet the children, especially Anne, have something pagan about their outdoor roving and wreathing:

All the boys and some of the girls went to Mr. Bell’s spruce grove as usual, fully intending to stay only long enough to “pick a chew.” But spruce groves are seductive and yellow nuts of gum beguiling; they picked and loitered and strayed; and as usual the first thing that recalled them to a sense of the flight of time was Jimmy Glover shouting from the top of a patriarchal old spruce, “Master’s coming.”
The girls, who were on the ground, started first and managed to reach the schoolhouse in time but without a second to spare. The boys, who had to wriggle hastily down from the trees, were later; and Anne, who had not been picking gum at all but was wandering happily in the far end of the grove, waist deep among the bracken, singing softly to herself, with a wreath of rice lilies on her hair as if she were some wild divinity of the shadowy places, was latest of all. Anne could run like a deer, however; run she did with the impish result that she overtook the boys at the door and was swept into the schoolhouse among them just as Mr. Phillips was in the act of hanging up his hat.

children maying

It is a beautifully written scene. The pastoral joys of Avonlea are pure and unspoiled but Montgomery tempers the considerable sweetness with strong doses of narrative sarcasm and realism – there are natural results to letting the children run wild, as they play ‘dare’ so vociferously that someone finally lands on a broken ankle (no surprise who). While the inevitability of death is depicted in the final chapters of the novel, most other misfortunes are comical or else relegated to Anne’s mostly unspoken past – this is above all a cheerful book, something which the current Anne with an E Netflix series has stridently corrected for. Early viewers were dismayed by the darkness of the end product but I don’t think the creators of the show had much choice – after all, a faithful adaptation would have meant an idyllic portrayal of a white Christian community being shown to kids, so a violent purge of the original content was really their only option.

Then there are the morals. Most of Anne’s choices and Marilla’s teachings are at odds with the advice given to droves of modern girls. Case in point: Anne’s own identity. Anne, like many girls her age, is terribly self-conscious. She hates her red hair and wishes she had raven tresses and a dramatic, elegant name like Cordelia to go along with them. However, Anne’s reinvention of herself is to learn to love being Anne of Green Gables, leaving Cordelia to the realm of make-believe. She does purchase hair dye from a passing peddler – hoping for black hair, it instead turns a hideous bronzy green that won’t wash out. Marilla has to hack it all off while chiding Anne over her vanity and the lesson is learned: “I never thought I was vain about my hair, of all things, but now I know I was, in spite of its being red, because it was so long and thick and curly.” Anne learns to appreciate her features in the future – it’s a genuinely good example of much-heralded “body positivity” for a culture that can now peddle its green hair dye openly.

Consider also the layers of meaning to Marilla and Matthew deciding to keep Anne. Anne does not ever attempt to be the farm boy they sent for and needed, because she isn’t a boy. Marilla doesn’t require any help around the house either, so the girl is given no outlet to “earn” her keep. On the other hand, the Cuthberts never officially adopt Anne – though they grow to love her, neither of them wants to become a parent at the outset. Marilla expects a certain standard of behaviour from Anne but that’s as far as her wants go. Anne is therefore established as superfluous to the Cuthbert’s well-ordered needs and yet they might be good for her and so she stays. They sacrifice for her sake.

And then comes the end of the novel. Spoilers ahead.

Anne has won a coveted scholarship and is going away to college, “living the dream,” when Matthew tragically passes away. Marilla, whose eyesight is failing, cannot afford to maintain Green Gables and so Anne resolves to postpone higher education and become a local schoolteacher instead. “I’m just as ambitious as ever. Only, I’ve changed the object of my ambitions.” She chooses home and family over career, directly foreshadowing her future (depicted in the later sequels) as a married mother of six and dismaying some modern readers in the process. “Anne should never have grown up to become a conformist” says Jack Zipes in his introduction to the Modern Library edition, strongly implying she shouldn’t have grown up at all. What was she expected to do in this situation? Peck Marilla on the cheek as she dropped her off at a nursing home? “Bye, you’ll literally never see me again!” Would that have made her a greater heroine?

Zipes also quotes another children’s scholar, Perry Nodelman, who says that in the wholesome orphan stories of yore “childhood never really ends, the most childlike children never really grow up, and even terminally mature people can become childlike again. It is the secret desire of grownups to be children again that makes these novels so appealing to grown-ups, and it may be the secret desire of children to never grow up that makes these novels appealing to them.” That’s a lot of secret desires right there (are you sure you’re not projecting, Perry?). If children don’t want to grow up why do they consistently prefer their heroes to be older than themselves? You would think that there would be far more stories like Peter Pan if Nodelman’s theory was correct but in fact immortal children are vastly outnumbered by the other kind. And doesn’t becoming an orphan in fact destroy childhood in these stories, a la Sara Crewe in the attic or Harry Potter under the stairs? Why do the Pevensies get shut out of Narnia? Why does Travis shoot Old Yeller? For the same reason that Anne gives up her hard-won scholarship. Good children’s literature is about growing up, about surviving, because childhood is supposed to end. It has to. Anne of Green Gables is a particularly affectionate roadmap to that process, in all its sweetness and melancholy.

And so the Parental Guide.

Violence: Matthew dies of a heart attack at the close of the novel, and although it is lightly foreshadowed it may come as a bit of a shock considering how rosy the rest of the book is. Anne’s dismal past is handled very circumspectly and the dare game culminating in a broken ankle is as “violent” as the story gets.

Values: Aside from those I singled out earlier, Anne of Green Gables is a solidly Christian novel. Anne arrives at Green Gables and is first of all taught to pray and attend Sunday school. Marilla declares “she’s next door to a perfect heathen,” and that is a very good assessment. Although she is irreverent at times her questioning never leads her anywhere near atheism, and as she gains a sense of belonging in her community, she also sheds her early ignorance of Christianity, the symbol of her previous neglect. It’s very nicely done.

There’s a strong sense throughout the book of Canadian identity and local pride in Avonlea. Naturally there is no diversity to be seen in such a time and place (another thing Anne with an E has “fixed,” of course). Prince Edward Island is so thoroughly sequestered from the world that Marilla shudders even at the thought of acquiring a British orphan: “Give me a native born at least. There’ll be a risk, no matter who we get. But I’ll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born Canadian.”

Role Models: Montgomery gives Anne a number of excellent role models as she matures, each with their own gifts. Marilla is my favorite, with her sense of justice and well-bestowed sarcasm. There is also the schoolteacher Miss Stacy, who holds nature studies and inspires her students. Meanwhile, Mrs. Allen the minister’s wife shows Anne that religion can be a “cheerful thing” and even Mrs. Lynde the town gossip has plentiful good advice and a kindly, if somewhat officious heart. Anne is, of course, a wonderful example for all the reasons earlier mentioned.

The men are somewhat more flawed characters. Matthew shuns difficult decision-making and has no financial acumen but he has a good heart and won’t back down from his principles. Many of the most heartwarming moments in the novel stem from his quiet understanding of Anne. Gilbert Blythe starts out as an obnoxious classmate but he grows up to be quite the gentleman and scholar, and is the soul of chivalry when Anne needs it most. I look forward to reading of their future interactions.

Educational Properties: In all honesty, I drew a complete blank on this one. It could expand everything from the child’s vocabulary and reading material to his or her soul but to me, Anne of Green Gables is really a perfect “delight read.” It’s a book to read aloud or independently and to savour. Obviously, there is a great deal of social and historical detail one could mine from this book (and it has been annotated before), but it almost seems contrary to the spirit of the work to make too much of it.

End of Parental Guide.

Anne of Green Gables would make a lovely read-aloud to share with your children. It’s sweet, funny, wise and beautifully written. I enjoyed it thoroughly and am very keen on the sequels, though also a little nervous. How do they hold up? Also, while I’m maxed out on L.M. Montgomery for the upcoming year, which of her non-Anne books should I keep an eye out for in future?

Up Next: A boy’s boating adventure from the 1960s, courtesy of another respected Canadian writer, Farley Mowat.

https://i0.wp.com/ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51OhjS4JpTL._SY282_BO1%2C204%2C203%2C200_.jpg — I have plenty of reading ahead of me…

The Western Corner of the Castle

Month: June 2019

Adventure Novels: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Fantasy: The Court of the Stone Children

Afraid to Ride – C.W. Anderson

Adventure Novels: The Black Joke

Coming-of-Age Stories: Anne of Green Gables