Misty of Chincoteague – Marguerite Henry

On December 9, 2019May 21, 2020 By nymithIn 1000 Good Books List, Adventure, American writers, Animal Stories, Children's Classics, Horse Stories, Read Alouds, Set in Virginia1 Comment

Remember when you could buy a pony for 100 dollars? Me neither.

Related image Title: Misty of Chincoteague (Misty #1)
Author: Marguerite Henry (1902-1997)
Illustrator: Wesley Dennis (1903-1966)
Original Publication Date: 1947
Edition: Aladdin Paperbacks (1991), 174 pages
Genre: Animal Stories. Adventure.
Ages: 5-11
First Line: A wild, ringing neigh shrilled up from the hold of the Spanish galleon.

Paul and Maureen Beebe are growing up on their grandparent’s horse farm in the isolated commuity of Chincoteague Island. Tired of bonding with colts that always get sold, the siblings set out to earn 100 dollars to spend at the annual Pony Penning Day, when the wild herds on Assateague Island are rounded up and the colts auctioned. Paul and Maureen have their hearts set on an elusive mare called the Phantom, who has avoided capture two years in a row. Faced with the challenges of earning enough money, capturing and gentling her, an added complication is thrown into the mix when Pony Penning Day arrives and reveals that this year the Phantom has a colt of her own…

The Newbery list is certainly hit-and-miss but (with a few notable exceptions like The Phantom Tollbooth and Little House on the Prairie) they have historically been quite good at recognising children’s classics when they appear on the American stage and that’s exactly what the 1948 Honor Book Misty of Chincoteague is. A horse story that can appeal to a broad age range, full of action and purpose as the protagonists dedicate themselves to a series of goals, yet devoid of the emotional punches that are found in other famous horse books like Black Beauty. The ending is memorable and wistful, but without tragedy, and the story as a whole is sunny, lacking any villains beyond circumstances that must be overcome. With Paul and Maureen sharing viewpoints, it even has equal appeal to boys as well as girls, something that has become unusual in the genre.

Wesley Dennis — Paul heading off to work.

Marguerite Henry instills her book with a strong sense of place right from the start, not only with the wild herds on Assateague but also the fishing community of Chincoteague, whose independence forms a parallel to the ponies, for these men and women are also making do with less, cut off from the larger nation yet thriving. There’s a real American ethos within the book and it captures a place in time with its own culture and cuisine (there’s a small pile of food descriptions with oysters, cornbread, clam fritters, dumplings and wild blackberry jam). Henry spent a great deal of time on Chincoteague, and even though she changed the larger “true story” drastically, I have no reason to distrust her eye for detail, which even renders the old-timers’ accent through Grandpa and Grandma Beebe:

Maureen: “…if you came here to Pony Ranch to buy a colt, would you choose one that was gentled or would you choose a wild one?”
Grandpa chuckled. “Can’t you jes’ see yer Grandma crow-hoppin’ along on a wild colt!”
“Thar’s yer answer,” laughed Grandma, as she cut golden squares of cornbread. “I’d take the mannerly colt.”

The real draw are the horses, of course, and Henry supplies two perfect equine characters in the Phantom and Misty. The Phantom has a map of the United States on her withers – a clear cut case of symbolism in a patriotic novel. “Lad,” [Grandpa] said, “the Phantom don’t wear that white map on her withers for nothing. It stands for Liberty, and ain’t no human being going to take her liberty away from her. … The Phantom ain’t a hoss. She ain’t even a lady. She’s just a piece of wind and sky.”

https://78.media.tumblr.com/a995b367ed67762425a704e360e5c91e/tumblr_oigdbozsVX1tedwcmo7_500.jpg — Paul’s first glimpse of the Phantom and Misty.

The only thing that really tames the Phantom is her “colt” (islanders in this book refer to every young horse as a colt, which I thought only referred to males), whom Paul names Misty. Misty drives none of the plot – she is the counterweight to the Phantom’s wildness, playful and domestic by nature, belonging to Chincoteague from the moment her hooves land on the shore. Slowly and dejectedly the wild ponies paraded through the main streets of Chincoteague. Only the Phantom’s colt seemed happy with her lot.

I would be remiss not to single out Wesley Dennis as a large part of Misty of Chncoteague‘s charm, as he always supplies the perfect image for every scene. The personalities of every character, horse and human, shine through and equal the best of Garth Williams’ work. Dennis draws comic characters without caricaturing and his equines emote without crossing the line and losing their realism. His dramatic talents also enhance the impact of what is a fairly short and low-stakes adventure tale, making the risks feel bigger and the triumphs sweeter. Nicely done.

https://thehaynesblog.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/il_fullxfull-291177439.jpg — Maureen surrounded by wild ponies – a brief line of text given epic treatment.

I have no complaints to make. Misty of Chincoteague was quite nearly as enjoyable today as it was when I was a child. It makes a lovely addition to the family bookshelf and would make a good read-aloud for high summer, maybe even for 4th of July week given how civic minded the story is. For more on the 1940s value system this is steeped in, check out the Parental Guide below.

Violence: The book opens with a Spanish shipwreck in which the original Assateague ponies, destined for the mines of Peru, successfully swim to shore. All hands perish in the storm, with Henry softening that blow by depicting the Captain as gold-hungry and indifferent to the ponies’ welfare. In the present day, there’s a high ratio of distressed ponies, due to their captivity on Pony Penning Day and the auction. None are injured or die.

Values: Hard work and responsibility as Paul and Maureen seize any type of summer employment they can find to earn money for the Phantom – and then do it all over again to pay for Misty. They have a whole series of chores round the Ranch and almost every time the grandparents are depicted they are in the middle of work, whether that be feeding chickens, preparing food, maintaining the horses or doing laundry.

Misty is very patriotic in tone – Pony Penning revenue goes toward maintaining the island’s fire department, school is “what me and Grandma pays taxes for,” every roundup man is well-known by his day job and the island is a well oiled machine with every man, woman and child doing their part to keep it running. The kids have a great deal of independence and are allowed their own goals and their own time to tell about them, but once Paul is picked for the roundup crew he is expected to obey his leader’s orders (and is promptly rewarded when following instructions leads him to the Phantom). There’s even material about fair play, as Paul and Maureen pull a wishbone to decide who gets to race the Phantom, and liberty, when Paul makes a hard decision about the Phantom’s future.

Role Models: Paul has a keen head for business but also a romantic streak, and he’s the one most attuned to the Phantom. Maureen is given less to do, which disappointed me growing up, and a friend of mine found several disparaging remarks (such as “Quit acting like a girl, Maureen!”) concerning as a parent. As such, I paid close attention to the topic and found the only source of the quotes to be Paul, which could easily be attributed to big brother posturing. Such occasional put-downs never stop him from treating her as an equal partner in their plan to buy and gentle the Phantom and the actual text never devalues Maureen’s (or Grandma Beebe’s) contributions. It’s certainly true that she doesn’t get any action scenes, but it’s also true that not everything has to be about girls. There are thousands of horse and pony books catering to the pre-teen girl demographic, books which I devoured indiscriminately and which rarely ever give equal time or weight to male characters – such that when I first read Misty I assumed that Maureen should naturally have a greater bond with the Phantom just because she was a girl. No one ever labels that a cause for concern, so a mix of recent and vintage horse books would balance out nicely.

Aside from that, not a lot to say. Every character is trustworthy and fair and probably most kids would wish they had grandparents like the Beebes. Oddly, Paul and Maureen’s parents are absent due to being in China (I guess Henry thought orphaning them would be too predictable).

Educational Properties: I would normally advise researching the true story behind the fiction, but in this case there is no historical sweep that would prove schoolworthy and Misty is meant for such young readers that there’s no point digging for disillusion here.

On the other hand, the wild ponies have been observed for decades, which offers quite a lot of information and data for a bit of natural science. Theories on how the ponies arrived on Assateague are also well worth researching. Those in nearby states might want to take a trip to the islands as well.

End of Guide.

I have copies of all three sequels to Misty, which I will be posting in the next few months. I can then embark on her larger bibliography, which consists mostly of other horse stories (one of which won the Newbery Medal), many of which were also illustrated by Wesley Dennis.

Up Next: A springtime poetry collection by Cicely Mary Barker.

The Cat Who Wished to Be a Man – Lloyd Alexander

On December 2, 2019December 7, 2019 By nymithIn American writers, Cat Stories, Fantasy Fiction, Read AloudsLeave a comment

A comic parable for kids who will likely grow up to read Terry Pratchett.

Title: The Cat Who Wished to Be a Man
Author: Lloyd Alexander
Original Publication Date: 1973
Edition: Dell Yearling (1992), 107 pages
Genre: Fantasy. Humour.
Ages: 9-12
First Line: “Please, master,” said the cat, “will you change me into a man?”

Lionel is an improbably nice cat whose master, the cynical wizard Magister Stephanus, gives him the gift of human speech. However, with this new trait Lionel begins to wonder what life is like as a man, and so Magister Stephanus reluctantly changes him into one – sending him to the nearby town of Brightford in hopes of curing the cat’s folly. Lionel’s journey is full of dangers and he encounters thieves, knaves and corruption in Brightford, but also generosity, courage and love. In the end Lionel must make a choice: does he wish to become an innocent feline once more, or remain human?

https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1353430382p5/8924.jpg — Lloyd Alexander, top of his field and pleased about it.

In the ten years after publishing Time Cat, Lloyd Alexander became one of the premier children’s novelists of his era, winning a Newbery Honor, Newbery Medal and the National Book Award for three separate works. The Cat Who Wished to Be a Man finds him post magnum opus and probably looking to decompress – hence another cat-centric fantasy, this time set in a generic medieval time that probably required only five minutes of world-building. The characters sport Dickensian names like Pursewig, Tudbelly and Swaggart and to all appearances it’s a fairly simple little book, a comic trifle. However, it is an obviously more sophisticated affair than Time Cat, and shows a new mastery and conviction of the form.

I mentioned in my review of Time Cat that its prose was not quite polished enough to made a great readaloud, a criticism which is no longer the case. Alexander’s writing is sharper, wry and intelligent enough to place real demands on a young reader’s vocabulary and cultural understanding – helped in large part by the character of the endearing snake-oil salesman Dr. Tudbelly, whose commercial patter features a sizable amount of Latin, cod-Latin and medical misuse. Read widely or miss the jokes:

“Everything is more confusing on an empty stomach. Natura abhoret vacuo. I dislike having my breakfast interrupted. It produces palpitations of the jejunum.”
Opening a compartment of the Armamentarium, Dr. Tudbelly took out the leftovers he had salvaged from the inn: the remains of chicken and some bread crusts.
“Here,” he said cheerfully, offering half to Lionel. “You’d better have something. You look a little green around the gills.”
“Gills?” cried Lionel, clapping his hands to his neck. “Am I turning into a fish?”
“Only a manner of speaking,” Dr. Tudbelly said. “Eat, my boy. It’s the best way to ward off splenetic chilblains.”

Combining memorable characters with wide-ranging comedy and clever writing makes The Cat Who Wished to Be a Man an easy book to recommend. Lionel’s absolute innocence as he careens from one problem to the next like Candide for 10 year olds creates ample plot, both humourous and suspenseful, all in a novel that barely breaks 100 pages. Throughout the silly escapade Lionel finds that as he grows more human he begins to lose his catlike qualities such as the ability to land on his feet, threading a theme of lost innocence into the mix. Indeed, it is implied that Magister Stephanus is himself to blame for Lionel’s “fall,” for:

“Since when does a cat not feel like a cat?”
“Since you gave me human speech.”

https://dreamingandsleeping.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/Prometheus-Greek-God-Mythology-Symbolism-and-Facts.jpg — Alexander probably expected his audience to know about Prometheus before reading his stuff.

In some ways, Stephanus actually has more in common with science fiction doctors – tampering with the natural order of things like Moreau and Frankenstein – rather than the good wizard archetype who appears to restore order. There is also an odd variation on the Prometheus story, where the wizard regrets his interference in mankind’s evolution:

“When I first came here, the people of Brightford were tilling their soil with pointed sticks. I pitied them in those days. So I gave them a gift: all the secrets of metalworking. I taught them to forge iron for plows, rakes, and hoes.”
“They must have been glad for such tools.”
“Tools? They made swords and spears! There’s not one gift I gave them they didn’t turn inside out, upside down, and wrong side to. They were a feeble, sickly lot, so I taught them to use roots and herbs for medicines. They found a way to brew deadly poisons. I taught them to make mild wine; they distilled strong brandy! I taught them to raise cows and horses as helpful friends; they turned them into drudges. Selfish creatures! They care for nothing, not even each other. Love? They love only gold.”

https://i.imgflip.com/tcoht.jpg — The supreme self-satisfaction of the true cat.

Once Lionel arrives in Brightford, he finds himself taking sides in a conflict between young innkeeper Mistress Gillian and corrupt Mayor Pursewig, who seeks to put her out of business and take control of the inn’s revenue himself. Lionel makes a much better man than he ever did a cat, being appalled at Pursewig’s greed rather than bored and indifferent. Really Lionel should have gone home immediately upon realising how hard it was to get a bowl of milk in human form, and slept on a shelf the rest of the day. Instead, Lionel learns the finer points of humanity as the situation in Brightford goes from bad to worse. After a good samaritan intervenes on his behalf, Lionel said glumly to him:

“You’d have been better off if you hadn’t tried to do us a good turn.”
“I suppose I would,” replied Tolliver, with a grin. “Even so, I’d do the same again.”
Lionel looked at him in surprise. “Why, not even a cat would make the same mistake twice.”
“Well, now,”said Tolliver, “what may be true for a cat isn’t always true for a man. I might regret doing a wrong thing, but I’ll surely never be sorry for doing a right thing.”

Alexander grew in subtlety after Time Cat, and the morals are seeded through the narrative naturally rather than given grand summations. The ending is extremely pat but it still avoids insulting the intelligence, and the comedy runs quite a gamut (without dipping into vulgarity), from slapstick to rhetorical confusion, and with the added bonus of a Kafka shoutout:

“Silence!” cried Pursewig, rapping on the table. “I’ll judge the facts for myself.”
“They’re already noted down,” said Swaggart. “And the verdict. Guilty as charged.”
“Guilty?” exclaimed Lionel. “Of what?”
“That will be determined in due course,” replied Pursewig. “One thing sure: You’re guilty of something. Otherwise, you’d not be on trial in the first place.”

https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51xJ1eIABXL._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg — Does anyone remember this fabulous little trilogy?

This is a clever little book and it might give its young readership a taste for other clever books going forward – after all, it’s not so far from Alexander’s cats-eye view of humanity to Terry Pratchett’s musings from the nome perspective in Truckers. There’s more thoughtful material to be found here than in many modern fantasies of five times the length. Vintage wins again.

See Also: Time Cat, which is suitable to a slightly younger readership.

Parental Guide.

There’s a little romance between Lionel and Gillian. He learns what kissing is and, although they get off to a rocky start given that she thinks he’s a half-wit, they do end up in love. This subplot is integral to the book’s themes, so I can’t really fault it for being an improbable love story.

Violence: Lionel spends much time being threatened by crossbow, thumbscrew, drowning and a burning building – nothing is very detailed, though (what thumbscrews actually do isn’t described). Swaggart gets into some G rated harassment of Gillian, reminiscent of the old swashbuckler films. “Vixen! You’ll wish you’d sung me a sweeter tune!” Nobody dies or is seriously injured and the villains are quickly dispatched at the end, with Swaggart transformed into a skunk and Pursewig humiliated before the town and somehow demoted to dishwasher.

Values: Magister Stephanus condemns humanity as greedy, violent and self-serving at the start of the book, and Lionel is never able to prove him wrong. Instead, Lionel embraces the better nature of humanity and refuses the offer of returning to cat form. Indeed, the only way he could go back would be by forgetting everything that had happened, losing his memories to reclaim the unknowing Edenic state of the animals. Fairly theological for so small a tale.

Lionel accepts the world as it is, the good and the bad. Stephanus refuses to do the same (in the one plot thread that doesn’t end in a neat little bow) and remains a bitter and begrudging hermit, unconvinced to the end.

Role Models: Lionel is a brave, good-natured innocent, making for a nice hero who is comical yet both sympathetic and just. Gillian has inherited her father’s inn and has a good head for business, also holding her own against the “village gallants” by giving them a whack of her broom. The illustrious Dr. Tudbelly is quite generous with his time, ready to commit to Lionel’s cause or enact a little stone soup scamming for the benefit of Brightford. Even Stephanus, a powerful wizard, spends much of his day gardening and cooking rather than enchanting his house to run itself (as is stated to be well within his power).

Educational Properties: If you and your family are studying Latin, this might have some added use. Otherwise, just read, reference and discuss.

End of Guide.

At this point I am thoroughly charmed by Lloyd Alexander and look forward to my next acquisition of his, whatever it may be.

Up Next: A Newbery Honor Book by Marguerite Henry.

Mystery: Tom Sawyer, Detective

On November 25, 2019November 21, 2019 By nymithIn Adventure, American writers, Mystery, Set in Arkansas, Superfluous Sequels2 Comments

Mark Twain had many talents but Stratemeyer Syndication wasn’t one of them.

book tom sawyer Title: Tom Sawyer, Detective
Author: Mark Twain (1835-1910)
Original Publication Date: 1896
Edition: The Complete Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Borders Classics (2006), 281 to 337 (56) of 337 pages.
Genre: Adventure. Mystery.
Ages: 11-13
First Sentence: Well, it was the next spring after me and Tom Sawyer set our old nigger Jim free the time he was chained up for a runaway slave down there on Tom’s Uncle Silas’s farm in Arkansaw.

Our scene opens upon a fairly decent description of spring fever on the parts of Tom and Huck, which leads immediately to an odd little passage as Huck details what thoughts this pent-up energy can lead to: …you want to go and be a wanderer; you want to go wandering far away to strange countries where everything is mysterious and wonderful and romantic. And if you can’t do that, you’ll put up with considerable less; you’ll go anywhere you can go, just so as to get away, and be thankful of the chance, too. This appears to be Twain’s way of saying the previous installment’s Arabian fantasia never happened, as the text otherwise refuses any acknowledgement of Tom Sawyer Abroad. Goodbye airship captain, hello Perry Mason.

https://tvguide1.cbsistatic.com/i/2019/03/22/6b96228a-1d98-4a52-aba1-1b70f3d8f4f9/7723ea02e4e58ff4fd479b156c8940ff/190322-raymond-burr-perry-mason.png — Raymond Burr is about to ruin some hoodlum’s day…

Also, goodbye Jim, who is nowhere to be found in this volume. It’s certainly more realistic than having him continue to be part of the gang, but a big part of the allure to sequels is in the audience’s desire to find out what happened to previous characters. Would it have killed Twain to insert one line of explanation? Jim headed north. Jim joined the Underground Railroad. Jim hopped a ship on route to Liberia. Something.

https://flaglerlive.com/wp-content/uploads/c42-355.jpg — Remember this scene, Aunt Sally?

This leaves Tom and Huck, bored and looking for adventure, when Tom’s Aunt Sally sends for them because Uncle Silas has been in an altercation with his neighbours, brothers Brace and Jubiter Dunlap. It’s not clear why Aunt Sally thinks that Tom and Huck will be an asset, a “comfort” in these hard times, considering their last visit included heavy gaslighting of both her and her husband, vandalism of house and property, inciting a mob to violence and getting Tom shot in the leg, but no matter. The boys head down on the riverboat and run into Jubiter’s identical twin, Jake Dunlap, who was presumed dead years ago and is now on the way home with a fortune in stolen diamonds and two angry ex-partners in hot pursuit. Everyone arrives in Arkansas and murder is the result. Tom Sawyer must take to the stand and defend his uncle to unveil the real murderer among them.

Since this is a mystery, I will do my best to avoid spoilers, just in case someone does intend to read this book.

As much trouble as I’ve had with the Tom Sawyer sequels thus far, there have always been praiseworthy elements, even in the dubious science fiction of Tom Sawyer Abroad. At that point it still felt like Mark Twain was enjoying some part of the money-grubbing process, as the book had glimmers of wit and elegant passages hidden away where you least expected them. However, in this final installment, all those better qualities have shrunk almost to nothing in a tale that seems to exist only for the entertainment of its closing chapter. Twain seems completely bored with proceedings, keeping Tom and Huck on a very tight leash until near the end, when Tom decides to borrow a neighbour’s bloodhound. Until that point they are simply observers of the action, unable to get into mischief because mischief would create subplots and this book was written to be published in a hurry – it’s the shortest in the series, 56 pages to Abroad‘s 80, and it feels it. In previous volumes, Tom and Huck’s intelligence levels have been on a dizzying see-saw, but this is the first time they’ve felt so tired as characters.

https://cdn.britannica.com/03/6703-004-A81DF9EE/Steen-Steensen-Blicher-detail-drawing-ink-pencil.jpg — Steen Steensen Blicher (1782-1848), one of Denmark’s great writers who remains little known internationally.

Tom Sawyer, Detective is a mystery, which is not a genre Twain was suited for. Incidentally, he was later accused of plagiarizing this plot from a Danish crime novella called The Vicar of Weilby (now more commonly translated as The Rector of Veilbye), written in 1829 by Steen Blicher and itself based on a true event from 1626. The two stories are admittedly quite similar, although the original Danish is way more depressing (big surprise). It doesn’t appear that a consensus has ever been reached on whether the allegation was true or not, and I couldn’t find any information outside of Wikipedia, so it does not appear to be a big source of debate at present. Let’s move on.

For the plot, Twain makes use of identical twins, a conceit he also engaged with in Pudd’nhead Wilson – the problem with bringing such a topic into a mystery setting is that readers know immediately that there will be a case of mistaken identity at some point. Meanwhile, Uncle Silas’s farm is clearly at the center of a mystical convergence, as once again a bunch of criminals all descend on the same stand of trees at the same time as Huck and Tom – it’s given a slightly more probable setup than it was in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but it certainly doesn’t make the already contrived plot feel any better. Then there’s the courtroom bit where Tom reveals the identity of an imposter because of a hand gesture he’d seen the man use before, and which the audience was never privy to in the first place. So the tale is at once predictable in its twists and impossible to “solve” alongside our erstwhile Perry Mason. All this on top of the problem that comes with Tom and Huck spending so much time watching and listening to other people rather than investigating. They spend four chapters thinking that their best clue is actually a supernatural occurrence, bogging the mystery down for the sake of a tired joke.

https://www.thekennelclub.org.uk/media/220836/credit_john_leslie.jpg — A kennel club bloodhound trial.

There are a couple of rays of light in all of this. First there’s the adorable scene where the boys wander across the countryside with a happy bloodhound, corpse-hunting. It’s a cute mix of ghoulish proclivities with classic childhood revels, and features the boys being proactive even though they feel like idiots for trying:

It was a lovely dog. There ain’t any dog that’s got a lovelier disposition than a bloodhound, and this one knowed us and liked us. He capered and raced around ever so friendly, and powerful glad to be free and have a holiday; but Tom was so cut up he couldn’t take any intrust in him, and said he wished he’d stopped and thought a minute before he ever started on such a fool errand. He said old Jeff Hooker would tell everybody, and we’d never hear the last of it.
So we loafed along home down the back lanes, feeling pretty glum and not talking. When we was passing the far corner of our tobacker field we heard the dog set up a long howl in there, and we went to the place and he was scratching the ground with all his might, and every now and then canting up his head sideways and fetching another howl.
It was a long square, the shape of a grave; the rain had made it sink down and show the shape. The minute we come and stood there we looked at one another and never said a word. When the dog had dug down only a few inches he grabbed something and pulled it up, and it was an arm and a sleeve. Tom kind of gasped out, and says–
“Come away, Huck–it’s found.”

This is an effective little scene hidden away in the midst of the slow plot, and the other entertaining portion is saved for the final courtroom scene, in which Tom takes to the stand to reveal the dastardly truth about every crime, stringing out each revelation for “effect” and feeling more like himself again – a final farewell to the brash, theatrical know-it-all. Energized by the limelight, Tom solves the case and gets the reward money, with our last glimpse of the pair summing up their friendship and their finest qualities in a rather beautiful sendoff: And so the whole family was as happy as birds, and nobody could be gratefuler and lovinger than what they was to Tom Sawyer; and the same to me, though I hadn’t done nothing. And when the two thousand dollars come, Tom give half of it to me, and never told anybody so, which didn’t surprise me, because I knowed him.

It’s a worthy goodbye to humble Huck and his compatriot, and I felt appropriately wistful as I closed the omnibus – an impressive feat, considering what a slog I found this volume to be. Despite building on established characters and settings here, I actually much preferred the wild departure of Tom Sawyer Abroad, which had greater amounts of wit, imagery and bafflement, wrapped in a sci-fi expedition that gave it a vague sense of fun. Tom Sawyer, Detective just made me wonder if Mark Twain were depressed when he wrote it. While very young kids might find the plot more surprising than their parents, I can’t recommend it when such series as Nancy Drew are so easily available.

https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2014/07/Twain_looking_out_a_window-1/lead_720_405.jpg?mod=1533691683 — Mark Twain casting a cold eye on something.

To summarize my opinions on this series, there is sadly a good reason the last two volumes are so forgotten. They have not been unjustly spurned as I at first suspected, and even Twain’s use of the vernacular is far more sloppy than anything found in the truly perfectionist narrative he first gave Huck. When it comes down to it I would only recommend The Adventures of Tom Sawyer – a truly inspired and essential classic of children’s literature. Follow up with Adventures of Huckleberry Finn only if you’re studying the history of American literature, and the final two only from morbid curiosity. Reading all three sequels has not diminished the original though. Quite the opposite.

Parental Guide, with no spoilers.

Violence: It’s a murder mystery for kids. At some point, murder was struck from the list of appropriate mystery topics for juveniles and I’m not sure when it was added back into the mix (I’d suspect the 70s, and am genuinely curious to start collecting Edgar winners to find out). At any rate, the boys do witness a murder, in nowhere near the visceral detail of the bloody brawl in book one. There’s no way anyone who has already read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer would be bothered by anything in this book.

Values: The final passage seems to indicate that the best virtues in life are intelligence and humility, with Twain’s lack of satiric bite making it easier to get a read on such things…maybe.

Role Models: Tom and Huck are good kids, and even though they’re a bit tired on this outing, neither one feels like a caricature of their worst qualities. This is a nice note to go out on and is possibly the only reason this installment might be worth reading – although if you take my advice and skip all of the sequels, you’ll never have that problem in the first place.

Educational Properties: Nothing occurs to me.

End of Guide.

With that I conclude my first series for the WCC. From the start it wasn’t at all what I was expecting, but the complete Tom Sawyer was oddly endearing. As for Mark Twain, he only wrote one other novel that was intended for a juvenile audience – The Prince and the Pauper, which I have acquired a copy of and plan to review within the next few months.

Up Next: December, and to honor the Christmas spirit I will try to keep all reviews on books with a hopeful outlook (since I really don’t have enough Christmas-themed books for an entire month). So up next is Lloyd Alexander with a short novel in praise of the human condition.

Sentimental Fiction: Anne of Windy Poplars

On November 18, 2019November 21, 2019 By nymithIn Canadian Writers, Sentimental Fiction, Set in Prince Edward Island, Superfluous Sequels, Young AdultLeave a comment

Anne Shirley is now a guardian angel to all who cross her path and I have to create a new genre heading to contain this much glurge…

Title: Anne of Windy Poplars (Anne Novels #4)
Author: L.M. Montgomery (1874-1942)
Original Publication Date: 1936
Edition: Bantam Books (1998), 258 pages
Genre: Sentimental Fiction. Romance.
Ages: 12-14
First Line: (Letter from Anne Shirley, B.A., Principal of Summerside High School, to Gilbert Blythe, medical student at Redmond College, Kingsport.)

Taking place over the course of three years while her fiance Gilbert is studying to be a doctor, Anne takes a new job as the principal of Summerside High School, where she embraces her new role with great enthusiasm despite the difficulties of being an outsider to the area. Soon enough she wins over even her fiercest critics and is comfortably ensconced as Summerside’s resident maiden aunt, meddling in the domestic and love lives of almost everyone who crosses her path.

The seventh Anne novel written, Windy Poplars is listed as fourth in chronological order and it changes the format slightly by alternating between the usual third-person narration and Anne’s letters to Gilbert. This sounds like an intriguing change of pace but the execution leaves something to be desired, as Gilbert’s replies to these letters are never shown, nor are her letters even rendered in their entirety, with any portions pertaining to Avonlea, family, former friends and her romance with Gilbert carefully excised. The chief pleasures of the epistolary format are thus absent. Sadly, that is not the only missed opportunity herein.

The novel begins in a fairly exciting fashion as, after introducing the latest set of old dears Anne will be staying with, it becomes clear that not everyone is happy to have her around – notably the local gentry, the Pringles. The entire clan is arrayed against her, down to the children and in-laws, and this makes it impossible for Anne to do her job or even maintain order in the classroom. This is an incredibly refreshing development and creates a situation of rapidly escalating unfairness. Anne finds it hard to maintain a hopeful outlook against such poor treatment that she did nothing to warrant and which none of the parents will lift a finger to check (and even encourage): “The Pringle situation grows a little more acute every week. Something very impertinent was written across one of my books yesterday and Homer Pringle turned handsprings all the way down the aisle when leaving school. Also, I got an anonymous letter recently full of nasty innuendoes. Somehow, I don’t blame Jen [Pringle] for either the book or the letter. Imp as she is, there are things she wouldn’t stoop to. Rebecca Dew is furious and I shudder to think what she would do to the Pringles if she had them in her power. Nero’s wish isn’t to be compared to it. I really don’t blame her, for there are times when I feel myself that I could cheerfully hand any and all of the Pringles a poisoned philter of Borgia brewing.”

Fresh possibilities arise from this storyline, as Anne has actual enemies to contend with. Will she win them over with a magnanimous gesture? Will she best a Pringle in some fashion that earns their grudging respect? Will her sheer tenacity win the day? So many options, with perhaps the Pringles even starting to split around the Anne issue as the novel wears on, and instead (mild spoilers) Montgomery resolves the whole conflict not even a quarter into the book when Anne accidentally (accidentally!) convinces the Pringles to call an end to the feud. From this point on Anne is back to being adored by all who know her – holdouts like her bitter coworker Katherine Brooke just need a little extra TLC before they too join the chorus of approbation: “In spite of my hatred there were times when I acknowledged to myself that you might just have come from some far-off star.” I have enjoyed Anne as a character to this point because she was never a Mary Sue – she had storms of feeling and got into predicaments, confronted life’s sorrow and made an effort to be better. Now she’s a perfect Pollyanna and the world around her feels manipulated rather than idyllic.

https://artdeco-fengshui.com/zen-shop/_media/img/medium/big-0-crbst-fee-etoiles-ellhea.jpg — That about sums it up. Painted by contemporary French artist Ellhea.

The sad thing is that Montgomery was previously able to write very charming novels about Anne that did not betray human nature (see the resolution to Anne’s clash with Anthony Pye, or for that matter her entire “Prince Charming” misstep). Now her heroine gushes about how “The Pringles are delightful people. How could I ever have compared them to the Pyes?” as if her tormentors were kindred spirits all along.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1d/LMM_signed_photo.jpg — Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Aside from the problem of Anne, Windy Poplars is styled as a collection of stories, with Anne making the acquaintance of a Summerside local and his or her especial problem before, in the course of two or three chapters of incautious meddling, setting her new friends on course for happy futures. It’s impossible to keep all of the different families straight, but it’s also not really necessary. Each story is standard Montgomery, with her signature cast of sad children, timid wallflowers, grouchy elders and fickle lovers appearing in new guises throughout. At the start of each set-piece I would make a quick guess at how the story would resolve itself and was usually correct, though not in every detail. The ones I got completely wrong were also the best stories: Lewis and the photography contest, Rebecca Dew and the cat and Anne’s visit to regal Miss Minerva, last of the Tomgallons. Incidentally, none of these tales had anything to do with romance. I suspect Montgomery simply gave her Anne readers what she knew they wanted while her heart was drawn to quite different ideas.

One of the most successful elements of this book is actually Montgomery’s whimsical sense of the macabre. Anne’s early attempt at a poetic stroll through the graveyard is hijacked by an old gossip who insists on telling her all about the rumours, mysteries and eccentricities that lie buried there (enough for an entire book of short stories) while towards the end of the book Anne is invited to dinner by Miss Minerva and hears all about the Tomgallon Curse and its victims, as she is walked through the gallery. A sample:

“Oh, yes, that was my Aunt Emilia… not my aunt really, of course. Just the wife of Uncle Alexander. She was noted for her spiritual look, but she poisoned her husband with a stew of mushrooms… toadstools really. We always pretended it was an accident, because a murder is such a messy thing to have in a family, but we all knew the truth. Of course she married him against her will. She was a gay young thing and he was far too old for her. December and May, my dear. Still, that did not really justify toadstools. She went into a decline soon afterwards. They are buried together in Charlottetown… all the Tomgallons bury in Charlottetown. This was my Aunt Louise. She drank laudanum. The doctor pumped it out and saved her, but we all felt we could never trust her again. It was really rather a relief when she died respectably of pneumonia.”

Image result for cold comfort farm book penguin] — Cold Comfort Farm, 1932.

At these moments, I can only wonder if Montgomery was actually more inclined towards the writing of gothic parodies, something in the vein of Cold Comfort Farm (which had come out only four years earlier). Anne could have made a wonderful star for such a premise. It’s a curious thought, but as it stands, Anne of Windy Poplars is best if approached as a set of short stories for those who relish Montgomery’s style – after all, there were legions of authors writing sentimental stories for teenage girls in those days, and even when less inspired, Montgomery is a cut above much of her competition.

Unfortunately, as a continuous novel about the life of Anne Shirley, Windy Poplars is fairly short on substance. To my knowledge, the Anne books do not inspire the same passionate debate on chronological vs. publication order as C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, but I wonder if perhaps they should. Most people agree that this is one of the weakest volumes in the series and I doubt if it should actually be read fourth when it contains so little Avonlea material and such a starched and simplified interpretation of Anne herself. I shall know more upon reading Anne’s House of Dreams, which I certainly hope to find an improvement on this installment.

See Also: The earlier Anne novels, Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea and Anne of the Island.

Parental Guide, with a Pringle spoiler as well.

Violence: Aside from the lighthearted anecdotes of various Summerside skeletons in closets (including cannibalism at sea, being set on fire and a wide assortment of actual deaths) there is one fairly disturbing (and random) bit of bullying on the part of eight year old twins that Anne is supposed to be watching. Their victim is only seven.

They pounced like furies on the unfortunate Ivy, who kicked and shrieked and tried to bite but was no match for the two of them. Together they hauled her across the yard and into the woodshed, where her howls could not be heard.
…
Gerald held Ivy’s legs while Geraldine held her wrists with one hand and tore off her hair bow and shoulder bows and sash with the other.
“Let’s paint her legs,” shouted Gerald, his eyes falling on a couple of cans of paint left there by some workmen the previous week. “I’ll hold her and you paint her.”
Ivy shrieked vainly in despair. Her stockings were pulled down and in a few moments her legs were adorned with wide stripes of red and green paint. In the process a good deal of the paint got spattered over her embroidered dress and new boots. As a finishing touch they filled her curls with burrs.
She was a pitiful sight when they finally released her. The twins howled mirthfully as they looked at her.

Anne hardly even punishes them for this.

Values: Meddling in the private affairs of casual acquaintances is fine and will always achieve good or at least neutral results. Being positive and nice to absolutely everyone will lead to fast friendships, never mind that the Pringles only backed off of Anne’s case because she accidentally blackmailed them (they’re such nice people).

Role Models: Anne is now a sugar cube of happiness and wonder. Gilbert doesn’t get a single line of dialogue. Most everyone else is a lovable eccentric of some stripe.

Educational Properties: Little enough to speak of, with very little info on what Canadian high schoolers of this era would have been expected to learn.

End of Guide.

I will continue through the series with great interest, as we are now halfway there and Anne is about to embark on a new career as a wife and mother. Expect the next installment in January.

Up Next: Finishing off a different saga as Mark Twain tries his hand at detective fiction…

Adventure: Tom Sawyer Abroad

On October 7, 2019March 16, 2020 By nymithIn Adventure, Aeronautical Novels, American writers, Bizarre Children's Books, Humour, Science Fiction, Set in North Africa, Steampunk, Superfluous Sequels1 Comment

Although written by Mark Twain, this particular Tom Sawyer adventure feels more like an unauthorized fanfiction, complete with random sci-fi insert and artificially tampering with established character traits… Oh wait…

book tom sawyer Title: Tom Sawyer Abroad
Author: Mark Twain (1835-1910)
Original Publication Date: 1894
Edition: The Complete Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Borders Classics (2006), 193 to 277 (85) of 337 pages
Genre: Adventure. Humour. Science Fiction.
Ages: 10-12
First Sentence: Do you reckon Tom Sawyer was satisfied after all them adventures?

Mark Twain had many talents but character continuity was not among them. The scene opens upon a grandstanding Tom Sawyer, a last gift from the hard swerve his character took during Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, thirsting for new adventures as the townsfolk slowly lose interest in his previous folly. Hearing of a mad inventor about to set sail in a balloon of his own invention, Tom decides to go see the launch, with Huck and Jim accompanying him. Why is Jim still hanging with them? Does he have a job? What about his family, still enslaved? Is he working to free them? Not a word about any of it, and the trio are off to St. Louis, where they see the strange balloon, which has wings and fans and all sorts of things, and wasn’t like any balloon you see in pictures, according to Huck. I just ended up picturing a miniature zeppelin – it was easier. The trio get abducted in a haphazard fashion and soon find themselves hundreds of miles across the ocean and on their way to London when their lunatic pilot plunges to his death and they are swept off course to the Sahara Desert…

It’s very difficult to recommend Tom Sawyer Abroad, as even the most enthusiastic Twain fans are dismissive of it. It is laced with problems, starting with the age group it’s written for. It’s clearly aimed at a younger audience than Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and most kids who’ve successfully navigated that American hellscape would probably find Abroad somewhat juvenile. On the other hand, younger readers who just love Tom and want more of his adventures would probably have to skip Huckleberry Finn, rendering the beginning of this volume (and Jim’s inclusion) even more nonsensical than it already is. The third book in most series has a ready-made audience – this one, not so much.

The writing is also subpar on this outing; although narrated by Huck, the use of vernacular is looser and simplified, showing the speed at which Twain churned this one out, having entered financial ruin by this point in his life. Whatever organic interest he might have felt in this Verneian escapade dried up fairly quickly, judging by the slapdash “and then we all went home” ending. Oh yes, and then there’s the matter of the plot…

It doesn’t have one.

https://thewesterncornerofthecastle.home.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/9eedf-saharadesertmorocco.jpg — Camel train in the Sahara.

Tom Tom Sawyer Abroad is usually called a Jules Verne parody. Granted, I’ve only read one of Verne’s Extraordinary Voyages at this stage, but the statement doesn’t seem particularly accurate toward the meat of this short novel. It would be more telling to call it a predictor of Samuel Beckett, given that the bulk of the text is given over to dimwitted people embroiled in arguments while they and the audience wait for something to happen. There are a few vistas and scattered dramatic incidents but they mostly serve as triggers for the arguments Tom has with Huck and Jim, whether the topic be mirages, the speed a flea can travel at or the reason the Sahara has so much sand. In a curious about-face from the previous installment, Tom has regained his good traits and is once more capable of understanding the books he reads. He’s the one who figures out how to operate the balloon, he has memorized and retells portions of the Arabian Nights for their evening’s entertainments and he’s got the hopeless task of trying to argue the scientific facts of mirages and the earth’s rotation with the pair of nimrods he’s traveling with.

While Tom has regained his wits, it’s safe to say that Huck and Jim have utterly lost theirs to compensate. Huck’s characteristic street smarts are long gone by this point, while Jim’s main contribution to the crew is a tendency toward superstition and panic. I expect fans of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn would be just as insulted by this depiction as I was by Tom’s in the previous. Sure, I might personally appreciate Tom’s disgusted remark that as for people like me and Jim, he’d just as soon have intellectual intercourse with a catfish, but it doesn’t change the fact that Twain treats his core characters very cheaply. Aunt Polly is more consistent over these three novels than any of the leads.

https://i0.wp.com/twain.lib.virginia.edu/projects/applebaum/images/TS2.jpg — Way to go, Aunt Polly.

The thing is, with all of these caveats, I actually somewhat liked Tom Sawyer Abroad. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to Twain’s storytelling slip-ups but I found much of this little book vaguely entertaining rather than massively irritating. As dumb as the slapstick sequences are, the arguments Tom struggles to win have a certain obstreperous intent that I found endearing. After Jim maintains that the sun is (obviously) moving around the earth:

Tom turned on me, then, and says–
“What do you say–is the sun standing still?”
“Tom Sawyer, what’s the use to ask such a jackass question? Anybody that ain’t blind can see it don’t stand still.”
“Well,” he says, “I’m lost in the sky with no company but a parsel of low-down animals that don’t know no more than the head boss of a university did three or four hundred years ago. Why, blame it, Huck Finn, there was Popes, in them days, that knowed as much as you do.”
It warn’t fair play, and I let him know it. I says–
“Throwin’ mud ain’t arguin’, Tom Sawyer.”
“Who’s throwin’ mud?”
“You done it.”
“I never. It ain’t no disgrace, I reckon, to compare a backwoods Missouri muggings like you to a Pope, even the orneriest one that ever set on the throne. Why, it’s an honor to you, you tadpole, the Pope’s the one that’s hit hard, not you…”

Tom Sawyer, hero to every kid who’s ever felt superior for knowing about centrifugal force, the Fibonacci Sequence, Charles Martel, The Iliad or [insert your own nerd credential here]. The poor lad even has to deconstruct his insults for them. I suppose there is a chance that some juvenile readers would relate to Tom’s mindset here, provided they could look past the surrounding deficiencies of plot.

https://i0.wp.com/ens-newswire.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/20131205_lion.jpg — The African lion (Panthera leo) has never made its home in the Sahara, preferring savannahs and riverlands.

On that front, as silly as it is to read about “lions and tigers” in the Sahara (to say nothing of the repeated gag in which Huck is left stranded at the bottom of the balloon’s rope ladder sweeping along like a giant cat toy with the “lions and tigers” in pursuit while Tom looks for a safe place to deposit him), there is some throwaway imagery here deserving of a more well-crafted tome:

We were watching the shadder of the balloon slide along the ground, and now and then gazing off across the Desert to see if anything was stirring, and then down on the shadder again, when all of a sudden almost right under us we see a lot of men and camels laying scattered about, perfectly quiet, like they was asleep.
We shut off the power, and backed up and stood over them, and then we see that they was all dead. It give us the cold shivers. And it made us hush down, too, and talk low, like people at a funeral. We dropped down slow and stopped, and me and Tom clumb down and went amongst them. There was men, and women, and children. They was dried by the sun and dark and shriveled and leathery, like the pictures of mummies you see in books. And yet they looked just as human, you wouldn’t a believed it; just like they was asleep, some laying on their backs, with their arms spread on the sand, some on their sides, some on their faces, just as natural, though the teeth showed more than usual. Two or three was setting up. One was a woman, with her head bent over, and a child was laying across her lap. A man was setting with his hands locked around his knees, staring out of his dead eyes at a young girl that was stretched out before him. He looked so mournful, it was pitiful to see.

http://www.trbimg.com/img-4fd0f68d/turbine/la-ca-mark-twain-20120610 — Mark Twain.

It seems unlikely that Twain had a developed plot in mind for Tom Sawyer Abroad, as after a series of random encounters, extensive arguments and occasional soapboxing, he wraps the whole thing up and deposits the adventurers back home with Aunt Polly in the space of one page. However, the feeling I’m left with in this particular entry in the haphazard tales of Tom Sawyer (hardly a series as we would consider it today) is of disappointment for what this could have been, rather than frustration at what it was. After all, Tom Sawyer is in the public domain, and I could picture a really fantastic adventure being spun from this premise, packed with historical details and steampunk flourishes, with all three leads in character at once and all manner of exciting incidents and clever shout-outs to Twain, Verne and Beckett. Sadly, that book does not exist, nor does this unloved volume have the cult status likely to inspire it.

All theories for improvement aside, this is another superfluous sequel to The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, giving only a few hints at what sort of man Tom might grow up to be while breaking almost all continuity with that classic. If you’re a mad fan of Mark Twain, or enjoy collecting peculiar children’s books, this might be of interest.

See Also: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, the classic that started this whole crazy train of rafting and ballooning adventures, with marvelous writing and delightful comedic (and dramatic) sequences.

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the literary juggernaut meant for older readers, full of satiric darkness and incredibly stupid decisions made by all of the main characters.

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, an enchanting adventure for Victorian enthusiasts of all ages. Contains no balloon in spite of what your memories might be telling you.

Parental Guide, always a tricky thing for Mark Twain’s books.

Violence: There are occasional beduin attacks, but there’s never any dread on the part of the characters and usually they just pull their balloon up and watch the skirmish from a safe height. The encounter with the mummified dead, and a later sandstorm which buries a peaceful group of beduin without trace, are exceptions – Tom and company are shaken and these eerie sequences are standouts as a result.

Twain in Nikola Tesla’s lab remains one of the coolest historical photos of all time.

The mad inventor plummets to his death in a storm, with his demise being lit by the flashes of midnight lightning in a prediction of classic horror movies to come – and given that he fell while trying to push Tom out instead, it’s understandable that he is not then missed.

Values: Twain doesn’t seem to like Jules Verne much. Or the Crusades. Or the newspapers. As usual, it’s hard to tell what he actually does like. Tom’s education/intelligence seems to be slowly driving a wedge between him and Huck, such that it’s hard to picture them still being friends as adults, but I can’t tell if that was deliberate commentary or not.

Role Models: Huck and Jim are a total wash in this area. Granted they weren’t the most proactive pair before, but it’s still noticeable how little dignity either one now possesses. Tom is now a miniature man of action, still utterly indifferent to any worry he might be putting Aunt Polly to, but he’s moved on from being a prankster to a know-it-all.

Educational Properties: Most Victorian children’s books, whatever other failings they might have, would help your child to read at a higher level. This is one of the weaker offerings in that regard.

The best role this book could take in a homeschool setting would probably be to parse out the arguments as a demonstration of sophistry, strawmanning, logical fallacy, devil’s advocacy and other fun aspects of rhetoric.

There’s not enough detail to match this novel with a study on the Sahara, but assigning kids to design the balloon might lead to some artistic engineering attempts.

End of Guide.

One more to go and I’m done with the strange saga of Tom Sawyer. Expect the final volume in November. If anyone has ever read this book, please leave a comment with your opinion. I liked it better than it probably deserved but, in all fairness to Twain, at least he tried new things every time rather than rubber-stamping each new adventure with the same old form. Doubtless I shall look back on these with fondness when I’m embroiled in the 18 sequels to The Boxcar Children.

Up Next: An extended hiatus for family reasons. I shall return in November, probably with the next Anne novel. We shall see.

Fantasy: The Stones are Hatching

On September 30, 2019 By nymithIn British writers, Fantasy Fiction, Horror, Poison Pills, Young AdultLeave a comment

Nine pages from the end and the whole magnificent edifice comes crashing down into the sea… Hey, do you remember classic Twin Peaks? “How’s Annie?” It’s kind of like that, only, you know, for kids.

Title: The Stones are Hatching
Author: Geraldine McCaughrean (1951-)
Original Publication Date: 1999
Edition: HarperCollins (2000), 230 pages
Genre: Fantasy. Horror.
Ages: 15-17
First Sentence: Phelim had always thought there must be more to magic than rabbits or handkerchiefs–that if it existed at all, it would be too large to palm or to hide up your sleeve.

The constant hammer of the guns of World War One has caused the Stoor Worm, a monster meant to sleep for centuries, to stir. Its harbingers are the Hatchlings, creatures forgotten in British folklore now spreading across the unsuspecting countryside, for the old ways are no longer practiced and people are helpless before the onslaught of merrows, corn wives, ushteys and other creatures too terrible to contemplate. Eleven year old Phelim is thrown out of his own house by strange invaders who insist that he is Jack o’ Green, the only one who can save Britain and slay the Worm. Scared and miserable, with his sister’s mocking voice ever echoing in his head, he sets out with a Fool, a Maiden and a Horse to the place where the Stoor Worm lies…

Discussing The Stones are Hatching without the ending is very difficult, as without those final pages this is an excellent dark fantasy novel for teens, rooted in history and folklore, with horrible monsters roaming across beautiful landscapes. Think of the film Princess Mononoke and you have an idea of what to expect. Geraldine McCaughrean has immense talent at her disposal, and she’s not afraid to make use of it. I first became interested in her oeuvre when she used her 2018 Carnegie acceptance speech to draw the world’s attention to the fact that publishers now set limits on what words authors can use in books for little kids, nixing any material considered too demanding and setting off a domino effect into the upper reading levels:

https://lemonwire-lthfr4usl8x.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/geraldine-mccaughrean-wins-carnegie-childrens-book-prize.jpg — Geraldine McCaughrean.

“The only way to make books – and knowledge – accessible is to give children the necessary words. And how has that always been done? By adult conversation and reading. Since when has one generation EVER doubted and pitied the next so much that it decides not to burden them with the full package of the English language but to feed them only a restricted diet, like invalids, of simple words…
Worst and most wicked outcome of all would be that we deliberately and wantonly create an underclass of citizens with a small but functional vocabulary: easy to manipulate and lacking in the means to reason their way out of subjugation, because you need words to be able to think for yourself.”

This won me over to her right away, even though I don’t agree with all of her opinions in that speech (subjects for another time!) and unboxing my copy of The Stones are Hatching rapidly convinced me that she is one of the finest stylists currently contributing to the field of children’s literature. By itself, this makes me want to recommend this book, as her descriptive skills enliven a classic hero’s journey, one that is rendered darker than average by returning the tale to its unbowdlerized roots in Celtic folklore. Seven pages in and Phelim is faced with his first creature of nightmare:

He pictured an Alsatian outside, broken loose from its kennel, maltreated perhaps and starving. He thought of the police, but they were ten miles away in Somerton. The dog’s breath rasped in its throat like a hacksaw; its claws scrabbled paint off the door in crackling sheets. When it barked, the glass of the wall lights shook. Five, six, seven times it hurled itself against the door and then, when the bolts held, fell back and prowled around the house, slavering over the spilled dustbin, setting small plant pots rolling, clawing at the brittle tarpaper covering the cellar door. Phelim felt his own shanks shaking, his feet and palms melting like butter…
…
Phelim knew he had to move. He knew he had to do more than wait for the dog to scratch or climb its way into the house and come ravening down the stairs. He rushed up the staircase on hands and feet, sobbing with the exertion, and threw open both bedroom doors to check that the windows were shut tight. He went over and pressed his face against the dirty glass, trying to catch a squinnying glimpse of the dog below–the hound besieging his sister’s cottage. Good thing she was away; Prudence was not fond of animals at the best of times.
But Phelim could not see; the dog was too close in against the house, clawing at the brickwork. All he could see was the overturned chicken house crushed into splintery shards, the chickens lying about like torn-off scarlet dahlia heads.

https://mythology.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/Black-Dog-Ghost-380x240.jpg — Artist’s impression of Black Dog.

No good or even ambiguous creatures hatch from the Stoor Worm’s eggs; they are all vile monsters, repelled by commonplace items – from marigolds to spilled blood to hot cross buns – but otherwise pitiless and unstoppable. Nightmare fuel is a constant throughout the book as the apocalyptic scenario unfolds. It’s one of the finest examples I’ve come across of fantasy as social metaphor (something often poorly executed), as World War One was essentially an apocalypse, with lasting social and psychological damage to this very day, and making it trigger a literal end of the world is fitting and powerful. The shadows of the dead men hang over everything, from Mad Sweeney’s twisted nursery rhymes to Phelim’s run-in with the Washer at the Ford, washing the shirts of the dead and the soon-to-die, Phelim’s own among them. Knowing what it means makes Phelim’s journey that much harder:

Alexia was pinning her hopes on him. If Jack o’ Green died, seemingly nothing could save humankind from the Stoor Worm’s brood of Hatchlings. And the more he thought about that, the more he despaired. After all, he already knew their journey was futile. He was going to get killed. He was traveling toward his own death. And yet he kept on going. Why? It must have been like that for the soldiers in the trenches, he thought. Plain common sense and logic told them they would die if they went one more time into no-man’s-land. And yet they knew they would go. The only taboo was to speak of it, to admit to the fear.

https://c2.staticflickr.com/4/3575/3493445311_ae005a0bb5_b.jpg — Phelim is accompanied by the Obby Oss, seen here in the traditional Obby Oss Festival in Padstow, Cornwall.

The darkness of The Stones are Hatching is very consistent and (eventually) rings hollow. Having an eleven year old British boy drawn into a hidden fantasy realm makes a Harry Potter comparison inevitable, although this book was clearly meant for an older audience from the start. Magic is unpleasant here and there is no logic, charm or comfort to be had in learning about it. Nor is Phelim’s role in saving the world explained to him beyond a bare outline. The stakes are high from the start, Phelim doesn’t know what to do and his bound companions are strange and off-putting – the Maiden thinks he’s an idiot, the Fool is a madman, and the Horse is what you see above. He can’t just shake off the years of psychological abuse from his only relative either, and he is unsurprisingly sullen and scared, with a continuously bad attitude – yet he does the work regardless. In spite of the treatment he’s received from his sister Prudence, the poor boy retains good instincts and is protective of Alexia (and indeed all the women of Britain when the time comes). When the big moments arrive, he steps up and does the right thing and is on a steady road to improvement, to true heroism – beginning when he recognises what a hero does:

“[Hatchlings] could be bought off, they could,” said the Oss in its soft Cornish burr. “Folks could hold they off with bribes; a child, spilled blood, a drowning. … But folks have forgot. Forgot the price. Forgot how to pay it…”
“They shouldn’t pay! … Not with blood and children and suchlike! It’s vile! It’s blackmail!” retorted Phelim hotly. “It’s giving in to blackmail. Like sending twelve men and maidens to feed the Minotaur. Theseus didn’t. Theseus refused. Theseus went and fought the Minotaur and killed it rather than go on paying the tribute.”

All of this positive character growth is then chucked off a cliff nine pages from the end. It doesn’t come entirely out of nowhere though – I simply discounted the warning signs from a desire to trust McCaughrean. The biggest clue of what’s coming is how she continuously falls back on the tired horror trope of “anyone can turn on you.” Phelim and his companions are off to save the world, yet the people within that world are constantly shown as not worth saving, even if they’re blood kin. The flashbacks even hold this view, with Alexia’s parents shipping her off to a school for the dark arts (in the most traditional “deal with the devil” fashion) while Mad Sweeney fought in the Napoleonic Wars and almost got executed by his own side for cowardice. In the present, ordinary humans are as much of a danger as the Hatchlings are – worse, because Phelim constantly misplaces his trust in them. Even in the early scene with soon-to-perish reapers (nice working-class blokes, mostly schoolboys and old men) who are as close to good folk as McCaughrean gets, she still inserts a line of schoolmarmish scolding to cheapen their innate worth – when Phelim explains he’s been locked out of his own house by strangers, “that’ll be Gypsies,” said the driver bigotedly. Nice use of the adjective for a man who’s about to die horribly. The poetic detriment done by this treatment of humanity is considerable.

https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/images/h5/h5_50.130.14.jpg — Reapers Resting in a Wheat Field, 1885 oil-on-canvas by American artist John Singer Sargent (1856-1925).

A related problem involves the way McCaughrean bypasses Christianity, or indeed any spiritual element at all – in a book where Old Scratch has a cameo and hot cross buns can ward off hidden enemies. The question just sits unanswered, all the while Phelim’s name means “Ever-good” and legends are told of the ancient hero Assipattle who first vanquished the Worm. There are no positive influences or allies to be found as Phelim and his companions travel toward the end game – which is not the case in any old folktales, whether of the Pagan or Christian era. For instance, McCaughrean includes the horrifying nuckelavee but ignores the Orcadian legend it is a part of, in which the monster is confined in the summer months by the good Sea Mither, a feminine spirit locked in constant struggle with her masculine counterpart Teran, who represents the storms of winter. I did not even know about this legend until I’d read The Stones are Hatching and was doing my research, but I did feel that the novel had a slightly hollow ring to it even before reaching the finish line.

Now I have to discuss the ending. If you think the book sounds like something you really want to read for yourself, you should stop here and come back later.

Massive spoilers ahead!

Phelim saves Britain. To do so he has to kill the Stoor Worm in its sleep, which effectively genocides its Hatchlings. That they would have done the same to humanity doesn’t matter to Phelim – he feels soiled. Throughout the book, Phelim’s mysterious magic has been tied to his “goodness” and he tries in the aftermath to explain to Alexia that he is no longer “ever-good” and that his name is now false. However, his magic has not faded, so by the rules of the Old Ways he is clearly in the right for what he did.

He then returns home to his sister, who reveals that when Phelim was little she had his father (the real Jack o’ Green) committed to an asylum for seeing things, for being a drunkard and a pacifist. Phelim responds by using his magic to summon up an ushtey (a water-horse), which he helps his sister to mount. She is then swept off to be drowned and he is relieved to be no longer burdened by goodness, magic or heroism. Ever-good Green had committed his first act of wickedness, and his magic was guttering out like a spent candle.

Punchline is, the boy tracks down his father and it turns out Jack o’ Green didn’t even mind being in the asylum all this time because he really is a lazy good-for-nothing, twirling his green thumbs while his pint-sized son had to save the world in his place. The hero’s journey is upended in a world never shown worth saving, all for some cheap attempt at moral equivalency. Phelim’s hatred and anger went with [the water-horse], sucked out of him like the nests out of the hedgerow. He was left with the same kind of emptiness as after killing the Worm. Oh right, no difference there.

So that’s what McCaughrean spent her considerable talents on in 1999. I neither see the point of The Stones are Hatching as a meaningful story nor do I have any idea who its intended audience is. Kids who actually like straight-up nihilistic horror fiction can doubtless find far bloodier books for their entertainment. Kids who enjoy fantasy – even dark fantasy – are unlikely to be entertained by this, because fantasy is an ancient and idealistic genre at heart, where big concepts like good and evil still manage to matter. There is of course an appreciable purpose to writing characters that deconstruct heroism, such as Special Agent Dale Cooper and Ned Stark, but the stories of these fallible men are A: intended for adults and B: do not peddle moral relativism like it’s some kind of revelation about humanity.

https://i0.wp.com/images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/17200000/Ashitaka-princess-mononoke-17253113-853-480.jpg — Ashitaka, from Princess Mononoke (1997), directed by Hayao Miyazaki.

It’s a real shame. My advice is to skip The Stones are Hatching and go watch Princess Mononoke instead – that has beauty alongside the ugliness and its hero Ashitaka (who also desires to find a peaceful solution to conflict between an ancient natural order and modernizing humans) doesn’t just throw in the towel and embrace evil when things don’t go his way.

Spoilers continue into the Parental Guide.

Violence: A constant. Gruesome imagery abounds, from skinless demons to Alexia’s bones being used to make a witch’s ladder after she’s been killed. Monsters are described in a visceral manner, as when Phelim discovers the corn wives in the wheat field:

Then the curve of the blade clanged against something hollow and metallic and black.
A woman’s rib cage.
No white-clothed beauty, this. At close quarters he could see the rust-red eyes, the adze-shaped chin, the nose as curved as a billhook. Her long, black skirt was pale with dust, but not the shiny black of her iron upper body. Her long, flue-black, iron breasts had blunted countless sickle blades as she stood amid the wheat, waiting for her victims to blunder into her. She held a long-handled scythe, but she and her sisters had not come to harvest wheat.
Only the reapers.

Many of the old myths gave monsters sexual characteristics and this is not bowdlerized. It’s even a plot point when the faeries choose to invade Britain with the sole intent of stealing its women now that most of the men are dead. Phelim doesn’t seem to feel bad about wiping out their invading fleet, either; possibly because they are sentient, whereas most of the Hatchlings are beasts.

Values: Obviously not heroism, which is deconstructed in a most neurotic fashion. In fighting [the Worm], he could only become what she was: malevolent, destructive. … Phelim thought of Assipattle slicing and slashing with his sword, and it was not so much the preposterousness of the myth that struck him (one man fighting this subcontinent of a beast) as the violence, the kill-or-be-killed pettishness of it all. So the boy rejects heroism because being one means killing the enemies of those you are a hero to defend.

Family isn’t worth anything at all in this book either – family members are simply in a more advantageous position to betray both Phelim and Alexia. I think the end appearance of Phelim’s absent father is meant to be a positive moment, but it feels decidedly hollow given how cheerfully inactive the old man has been this whole time.

While modernity, as represented by Prudence and the Great War, is certainly not shown in a positive light, the Old Ways are nothing to miss, given that the people who hearken back to them turn into frenzied mobs looking for human sacrifices. Christian ministers don’t come to the aid of the people, but the one guy who takes up the pagan ways ends up causing Alexia’s death for no reason. Even the hokiest modern values like “just believe in yourself” come to nothing. By subverting the heroism of Phelim, this entire book is washed of all meaning, other than a possible anti-war sentiment if you squint.

Role Models: As if. “I couldn’t bring myself to die on the moral high ground, sparing thousands of monsters bent on eviscerating mankind, so I’m going to murder my sister. That’ll show em’.”

Educational Properties: A parent-child fantasy bookclub discussing the rich soup of symbolism, folklore, metaphor and poisonous philosophy within the novel is really your only hope in this regard. It could even be time well spent depending on how much research you want to do, but there really are much better choices for British fantasy out there.

End of Guide.

At least I can console myself that this weird artistic misfire wasn’t a trilogy. It turns out that The Stones are Hatching is the real reason I started this blogging project, because almost none of the reviews I’ve found discuss the ending or the themes, so I hope I’ve helped someone by this holistic method. Sadly, my early enthusiasm for McCaughrean’s oeuvre is now significantly tarnished, although that won’t stop me from her giving her another try down the road.

Up Next: Let’s just go back to Tom Sawyer and Mark Twain’s continued bids to make money off him. As long as Tom doesn’t murder Aunt Polly, I’m up for anything.

Anthropomorphic Fantasy: The Trumpet of the Swan

On September 21, 2019March 16, 2020 By nymithIn 1000 Good Books List, American writers, Anthropomorphic Fantasy, Bizarre Children's Books, Humour, Set in Montana, U.S. StatesLeave a comment

Well, that was odd.

Title: The Trumpet of the Swan
Author: E.B. White (1899-1985)
Illustrator: Edward Frascino (????-)
Original Publication Date: 1970
Edition: Harper and Row (1973), 210 pages.
Genre: Anthropomorphic fantasy.
Ages: 5-8
First Sentence: Walking back to camp through the swamp, Sam wondered whether to tell his father what he had seen.

https://thewesterncornerofthecastle.home.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/4db91-17b.trumpeter-swan_2199.jpg — The gorgeous trumpeter swan (Cygnus buccinator).

The scene opens on a pond in the vast Canadian wilderness. Two swans have settled there to build a nest and raise their young. Sam Beaver, a boy from Montana, quietly observes them before returning to his father’s camp. The cygnets hatch and a peaceful, thoughtful nature documentary on the life cycle of a trumpeter swan seems about to unfold – except that one of the new cygnets is mute. So Louis, as the unfortunate is called (and that should be given the French pronunciation like Armstrong, or a later joke will fall flat), goes looking for Sam Beaver in Montana, finds him surprisingly quickly, and requests his assistance. Sam takes him to school, where he learns to write, but since swans can’t read, a full-grown Louis must learn to play trumpet to win the beautiful swan of his dreams. His father, the old cob, has to steal a trumpet to secure his son’s future (swans having no purchasing power), and Louis must then go forth across America and seek employment as everything from camp bugler to nightclub musician, all in quest of enough money to pay damages to the music shop in Billings and restore his father’s honour.

E.B. White took a break of nearly two decades between Charlotte’s Web and this, his longest novel, in which he lets loose all restraint and delivers a tale so wholly absurd that it makes Stuart Little look positively staid in comparison – in fact, had there been a cameo from Stuart, all the way to Montana and still looking for his bird, it would have fit the general tone rather perfectly. Many people say this is White’s funniest book and I suppose it is, although I found the constant unremarked absurdity and crazyquilt plotting to be a trifle wearying after a while.

https://i0.wp.com/www.mrslittle.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/Trumpet_steal.jpeg — The old cob’s daring heist.

The Trumpet of the Swan is best described as a peculiar mix of ingredients. First there is the riotous comedy of a swan playing trumpet, overnighting at the Ritz and attacking zookeepers. This is tempered by an obsession with “realistic” detail, such as swans being unable to read because they don’t go to school (of course that would be the case) and Louis needing an operation on his webbed foot to be able to use the valves on his new trumpet. Then there is the nature program aspect, detailing nesting habits, natural predators and man-made hazards in the life of the trumpeter swan. Meanwhile, the serious subtext of the novel is that of disability overcome and the final effect is (somehow) of a sweeping fairy tale romance – this in spite of the fact that Louis’s true love, Serena, is barely a character at all. Your individual enjoyment of the book will depend a lot on how successfully you think these elements are handled and how willing you are to see them meshed together in the first place.

What I actually found most refreshing about this novel had to do with the change in illustrator: Edward Frascino won the commission to illustrate because he could allegedly work faster than Garth Williams, and White insisted upon a spring publication date for financial reasons. Williams’ illustrations would undoubtedly have been warm and endearing as always, but I actually found Frascino’s style a far better match to the novel: As White muses on the subjects of freedom, romance and nature conservation, Frascino supplies regal swans and landscapes that are sweeping and full of wonder. There’s a grace implicit to even the silliest images that shows the New Yorker cartoonist had hidden depths. Unlike with Williams, Frascino has never been enshrined as integral to White’s work, and the special 2000 edition of The Trumpet of the Swan replaced his illustrations with those of Fred Marcellino. I have not had a chance to compare them yet other than to note that Marcellino’s swans are far more anthropomorphized than Frascino’s.

https://thewesterncornerofthecastle.home.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/ce877-trumpet-swan-marcellino.jpg — Marcellino’s sad Louis, rejected by an illiterate Serena…

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/81/98/e4/8198e462e65db17bf899d590f6e75059.jpg — …and Frascino’s triumphant Louis, serenading Serena.

As for the actual text, the biggest disappointment to be found this time around is actually in White’s writing style, which has become a good deal plainer than it was before – perhaps because he was hurrying himself as well as his illustrator. The sentences are shorter on average and less suited to reading aloud, as in this scene where Louis rescues a drowning boy at summer camp: Cheers came from the people on the shore and in the boats. Applegate clung to Louis’s neck. He had been saved in the nick of time. Another minute and he would have gone to the bottom. Water would have filled his lungs. He would have been a goner.

https://www.abandonedspaces.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/564px-sheldon_church_2.jpg — The South Carolina town of Yemassee is famous for the Old Sheldon Church Ruins, dating from the 1700s. Lots of cool pictures and history in the link to the right.

While this loss of underlying melody is certainly sad, such stiff passages are broken up by measured lines of classic White, with delicate sensibility and a love for the North American landscape (including a shout out to Yemassee, SC, which led me to this cool page). They flew south across Maryland and Virginia. They flew south across the Carolinas. They spent a night in Yemassee and saw huge oak trees with moss hanging from their branches. They visited the great swamps of Georgia and saw the alligator and listened to the mockingbird. They flew across Florida and spent a few days in a bayou where doves moaned in the cedars and little lizards crawled in the sun. They turned west into Louisiana. Then they turned north toward their home in Upper Red Rock Lake.

Louis has wings, allowing him to be a far greater traveller than tiny Stuart in his automobile or sedentary Wilbur, and thus White has him traverse the country, from Canada to Montana to Boston and Philadelphia. This freedom is tremendously important to Louis – it’s truly the classic American saga of the young man going out into the world to make a name for himself, bring prestige to the family, earn a living and win his true love… the archetypal young man is just a swan in this case. With no overhead. So it lacks real drama, making it quite perfect for little kids. Worth noting that Louis is on his own a lot of the time, meaning that one of White’s greatest skills – that of the ensemble cast which made Charlotte’s Web and the first half of Stuart Little so engaging – is almost completely absent last time around.

https://i.pinimg.com/236x/de/7c/66/de7c66672d7559eed92cf1ab3ab4e95c.jpg — From the title page.

The most memorable character here is not even Louis; it’s his father, the old cob, who is prone to long speeches on his own gracefulness and his duty to uphold the swan image of elegance at all times. Yet he is willing to sacrifice that honour so that his mute son will have a future. He is at once both comic and noble, a figure of fun for being overly dignified, rather than a bumbling dad. In these moments The Trumpet of the Swan becomes a true companion for Charlotte’s Web – a story of a father’s love that is quite moving for a parent and comforting to a small child:

“I have robbed a store”, he said to himself. “I have become a thief. What a miserable fate for a bird of my excellent character and high ideals! Why did I do this? What led me to commit this awful crime? My past life has been blameless–a model of good behavior and correct conduct. I am by nature law-abiding. Why, oh, why did I do this?”
Then the answer came to him, as he flew steadily on through the evening sky. “I did it to help my son. I did it for love of my son Louis.”

In spite of my own preference for a less whimsical White, The Trumpet of the Swan is extremely easy to quote from and ends on a truly graceful note. While I never quite warmed to it, it does share the unique charms of Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web and has its own moments of beauty alongside its wilder eccentricities.

See Also: The other two E.B. White books, Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web.

Parental Guide up next, with spoilers.

Violence: Male swans have powerful wings and are accustomed to beating up those who cross them, with Louis attacking two zookeepers attempting to corner Serena, and cuffing a little duck who stole his trumpet. The old cob is shot trying to repay the music store he’d previously burgled, but any sense of danger is soon negated as the old cob continues his elegant monologue regardless of the pain, saying “I must die gracefully, as only a swan can” before fainting. He’s soon patched up and on his way again.

Values: In addition to a love for the American landscape and an encouragement for nature preservation, White also writes an ode to freedom, with Louis and Serena choosing to take their chances in the wild rather than remain in the zoo forever. However, in a twist that weirds a lot of people out, they barter for their freedom by promising the zoo an occasional cygnet of theirs in exchange. Louis keeps this promise, as Sam Beaver points out that there’s always a runt in any brood that could benefit from mankind’s protection.

Louis is a swan navigating human society and White does bring up the problem of prejudice, primarily to spoof it. While Louis works as camp bugler, he meets a boy called Applegate who insists he doesn’t like birds. The camp leader says he is “entitled to his likes and dislikes and to his prejudices” but must still treat Louis with the respect accorded a camp bugler. After Louis saves the boy from a watery grave, the camp leader then puts Applegate on the spot, coaxing him toward a “and what have we learned today?” life lesson. Applegate thought hard for a moment. “Well,” he said, “I’m grateful to Louis for saving my life. But I still don’t like birds.” The camp leader is nonplussed and has to leave it at that.

Role Models: Everyone in this book is quite nice and fairly high-minded. Louis works hard, pays his father’s debt and always tips the waiter. His original sense of self-pity is overcome alongside his disability. The old cob does as he promised, and risks life and limb first to steal and then to pay back for the crime. Sam Beaver is kind to animals and is willing to cross the country to help his friend out of a jam. Only Serena lacks positive attributes, seeming to fall for Louis just because he carries so many material goods around and serenades her on the water.

Educational Properties: Easy tie-in to a music appreciation lesson if you have similar taste as White, who supplies a mixture of American standards (‘Summertime,’ ‘There’s a Small Hotel’ and ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ among those featured) and classical pieces (Brahms’ ‘Cradle Song’ mentioned by name, also Bach, Beethoven and Mozart) for Louis’s set list. A playlist drawn from and inspired by the book could very easily be created. The Trumpet of the Swan was also adapted for symphony in 2011 by Marsha Norman and received very positive reviews – if I ever expand into adaptations, that is certainly one I would like to try.

End of Guide.

With The Trumpet of the Swan I conclude the youth bibliography of Elwyn Brooks White. There is nowhere to go from here and that’s a very satisfying feeling all by itself, the more so given how effortless and enjoyable I found these three short, strange children’s classics to be. My advice for parents would be to gather up all three, start with Charlotte’s Web and see what order your own family would rank them in. I consider The Trumpet of the Swan as the weakest of the three but I also understand why so many other readers are completely charmed by it.

Up Next: Please note that I am changing the posting schedule from Saturday to Monday, owing to recent changes in my life. So next Monday expect a fantasy novel from two-time Carnegie winner Geraldine McCaughrean – finally a British author!

Adventure Novels: Around the World in Eighty Days

On September 14, 2019September 15, 2019 By nymithIn Adventure, Classics, French Writers, Young Adult1 Comment

A glorious Victorian travel extravaganza, more exciting than it has any right to be.

Title: Around the World in Eighty Days (Extraordinary Voyages #11)
Author: Jules Verne (1828-1905)
Translator: George Makepeace Towle (1819-1900)
Original Publication Date: 1872
Edition: Dover Publications, Inc. (2015), 170 pages
Genre: Adventure. Humour.
Ages: 11-15
First Sentence: Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814.

Inveterate whist-player Phileas Fogg takes up a wager that he can make it around the world in eighty days, a calculation considered technically accurate but impossible to carry out, given that even a single delay of the sort frequent in travel (breakdowns, weather) would render the entire journey a failure. Fogg is honour-bound and OCD enough to attempt it though, and off he goes with his freshly-hired French manservant Passpartout on a wild spending spree that takes them from the Suez Canal, across India, along the coast of China and on a madcap journey across the barbarous land that is…the United States of America. Fogg never loses his cool but unluckily for him, dogged Detective Fix is on his trail, determined to bring him to justice for a bank robbery that took place right before Fogg left on his globetrotting quest – a very suspicious coincidence given the large suitcase full of cash he carries with him. Will Fogg win his bet? Will Fix get his man? Will Passepartout have a nervous breakdown before the finish line?

It turns out that Around the World in Eighty Days is an absurdly charming novel, centered on a voyage so far-fetched that it’s truly impressive how Jules Verne is able to make it seem so incredibly urgent that Phileas Fogg win his bet. It feels certain that Fogg will triumph in the end, yet the odds remain so impossible that pages are turned with increasing speed to see how he will outmaneuver each problem on what becomes the world’s biggest obstacle course. Helping the reader in this are the short chapter lengths, always between three and six pages in the Dover edition, which take full advantage of the original newspaper serial format that Verne wrote it for.

https://thewesterncornerofthecastle.home.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/21ad6-pagodaatmalabarhillnearbombay252cindia.jpg — The pagoda towers on Malabar Hill.

The sight-seeing is depicted with full relish, regardless of Fogg’s complete disinterest in all matters unrelated to his time table. Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, direct his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay–its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill with its two polygonal towers–he cared not a straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette. As you can tell, this novel has absolute confidence in its references and encourages armchair traveling – this would have been an enormous part of its original appeal to readers of all ages and there’s less reason than ever to be intimidated by Verne’s exotic travelogue in this day and age.

What’s especially amusing if you’re part of the American audience is his depiction of the U.S. as a vast and violent land where political elections are violent brawls in the street and the Sioux are accustomed to attacking trains, yet commerce eventually transforms even the wildest frontier towns into bustling hives of trade. A first glimpse of San Francisco: From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity the wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon Gothic churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses, the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the sidewalks, not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians. Passepartout was surprised at all he saw. San Francisco was no longer the legendary city of 1849,–a city of banditti, assassins, and incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds in pursuit of plunder; a paradise of outlaw, where they gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other: it was now a great commercial emporium.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a7/San_francisco_1860.jpg — Vista of San Francisco, 1860, by French painter and lithographer Isidore Laurent Deroy.

All of this colorful material would be little more than an opinionated encyclopedia were it not for the comic trio that traverse the pages. Phileas Fogg is something of a prototype for the cool-headed British man of action, jet-setting (as it were) with watch in hand, impeccable manners and rock-solid stoicism. He is the man who conquers time through sheer logic and indominability:

“Mr. Fogg this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage.”
“No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen.”
“What! You knew that the way-“
“Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner or later arise on my route. Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have two days which I have already gained to sacrifice. A steamer leaves Calcutta for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th. This is the 22nd, and we shall reach Calcutta in time.”
There was nothing to say to so confident a response.

Serving as foil, there is the comical manservant Passepartout, who begins a baffled underling but comes to see his employer as a great man. However, he never does share Fogg’s confidence that all obstacles can be overcome. A retired acrobat, his athleticism comes in handy on the road, while his folly creates many of the obstacles that Fogg must conquer. To keep the reader from seeing Passepartout as a millstone that Fogg should abandon on route, Verne takes care to give each mishap a fresh extenuating circumstance.

https://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist255-s01/students/Kelly-E-Buttermore/images/javert.jpg — Portrait of Javert, from the first edition of Les Miserables, by French artist Gustave Brion.

Lastly, there is Detective Fix, who is the most complicated and interesting of the three as he is the most changeable in his pursuit of what he believes to be the world’s most eccentric bank robber. He is a droll variation on the great Javert archetype as he morphs from friend to foe and back again, set on his purpose but increasingly perplexed by Fogg’s behaviour and therefore always having to question the nature of the supposed rascal he’s pursuing. Fix is a very dynamic character, such that Around the World doesn’t really get good until his appearance in Suez.

Rounding out the cast is the late addition of Aouda, a beautiful Indian of the highest caste whom Fogg and Passepartout rescue from a passing “suttee.” She’s as fair as a European, has received a full European education in Bombay, is a match for Fogg in stoicism and knows how to use a pistol. Fogg and Passepartout end up carting her all the way round the world and she holds her own in the endeavor – girl even knows how to play whist. With this honorary European along for the ride, everything is in place – romance, adventure, comedy, thrilling suspense, twists of fortune and ever-shifting scenery from elephant rides to opium dens…

Around the World in Eighty Days is a lightweight volume, all the more surprising considering the troubled times it was written in. Verne kept a stiff upper lip as well as any Englishman by crafting this wild caper in the midst of the Franco-Prussian War. It doesn’t feel like a children’s classic as we would think of it, but this would be a boon to homeschooling families as Verne touches on everything from Victorian world history to scientific innovation to mathematical calculations. The casual historicity extending from the first sentence of this volume, along with its elegant sentence structure, generous vocabulary and competent adult heroes are not things you’ll find represented in most modern YA. This in itself demonstrates why the old books are irreplaceable and well worth adding to your children’s library. Around the World in Eighty Days is also worth reading for any adult fans of old-school adventures, as it is a delight through and through.

See Also: The Scarlet Pimpernel, another example of rich language matched with a plot that is accessible to younger readers, thus bridging the gap between children’s classics and grown-up ones.

Parental Guide, with some spoilers.

Violence: The concept of sati is introduced, as is that of dueling – though neither event takes place, it’s clear what would happen if they did. There’s a brawl in San Francisco, but it isn’t until the Sioux attack the train that we get some really descriptive bloodshed: Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Later, after the battle: All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stained with blood. From the ties and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible.

Values: Pure Victorian Age goodness here. Logic and strength defeat every obstacle, engineering is a continuous marvel and honor is held in such high regard that to back out of a wager is impossible.

The Victorians believed in hierarchies of civilization and much of that confidence and willingness to judge other cultures is displayed here, which may not be to every taste. Verne refers to those who willingly participate in sati as stupid fanatics, while Aouda, who had to be drugged to ensure her cooperation in the matter, is a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the phrase. Far from being too harsh a judge of the foreign climes his heroes traverse, Verne is remarkably tolerant – at one point even embarrassingly naive, giving a passing mention to the savage Papuans, who are in the lowest scale of humanity, but are not, as has been asserted, cannibals. Sorry, Monsieur Verne, they really, really are.

https://www.globalgiving.org/pfil/21710/pict_grid7.jpg?tms=1523280442000 — Indian elephant (elephas maximus indicus).

One very pleasant surprise herein is the treatment afforded animals. Older books have a tendency to be callous on this subject, but Verne’s ideal gentlemen treat animals (and women, and servants) with every courtesy. The elephant Kiouri is purchased to make a crossing of the forests of India and is in the end made a gift (alongside the agreed payment) to the loyal Parsee who drove and tended the gentle creature.

Oh, and this is now the second children’s classic I have found about the great power of the bribe to overcome obstacles, and Verne acknowledges the importance of Fogg’s tremendous wealth. Up to this time money had smoothed away every obstacle. Now money failed.

Role Models: Fogg is eccentric but an impeccable gentleman through every trial. Passepartout is loyal and brave, and always looks for ways to be of help, especially after making mistakes. Aouda is equal to the task of winning the wager, can handle a firearm under duress and offers to marry Fogg rather than the other way around, but she’s never less than gracious and feminine – modern YA could learn something here. Even Fix has admirable qualities despite being essentially the villain. Verne also allows each of these characters a chace to salvage the expedition in successive eleventh hours, so no one is ever dead weight to the tale.

Educational Properties: The Extraordinary Voyages were conceived as a way to present the most up-to-date information available on all subjects of scientific knowledge in an entertaining framework. The books do not actually lose anything by being out of date, as they can act as both a spur and a grounding for researching modern theories and revelations. Around the World offers material on the history of transportation, scientific innovations for logistical quandaries. Logistics ties in to mathematics, calculations of speed, distance and the circumference of the earth. There is a wide range of geography covered and then global history and culture in the 1860s and 70s. A wealth of material for what is quite a short book, that is only one of fifty-four standalone books in this series. Though English language translations are renowned mainly for not doing justice to Verne’s vision, I should still think these Voyages an excellent resource. Bonus: If your family is bi-lingual French or committed to mastering the language, that regrettable problem can be bypassed.

End of Guide.

Given that I can only review 52 books per year and since the Extraordinary Voyages all function as stand-alones, this is one series I will have to proceed with at my own slow pace. In case you’re wondering why I have not mentioned or pictured a hot air balloon in this review, that’s because the balloon was a later Hollywood addition (ignoring the obvious fact that a balloon is by no means a reliable way to get from point A to point B instead of drifting to point J). Verne’s first contribution to the Voyages was actually Five Weeks in a Balloon, which is where the association of Verne and balloons began. Adding to the confusion, Around the World in Eighty Days is sometimes published in omnibus form with Five Weeks in a Balloon, though the stories are entirely unrelated.

Up Next: My final post on E.B. White with his final children’s novel.

Coming-of-Age Stories: Anne of the Island

On September 7, 2019September 10, 2019 By nymithIn Canadian Writers, Coming-of-Age Stories, Romance, Set in Prince Edward Island, Young Adult1 Comment

A college novel without a single scene set in a classroom! That’s like a romance novel where the leading man never actually appears. There is plenty of romance, at any rate, but I felt the whole time like something was missing…

Title: Anne of the Island (Anne Novels #3)
Author: L.M. Montgomery (1874-1942)
Original Publication Date: 1915
Edition: Bantam Books (1998), 243 pages
Genre: Coming-of-Age. Romance.
Ages: 12-16
First Line: “Harvest is ended and summer is gone,” quoted Anne Shirley, gazing across the shorn fields dreamily.

L.M. Montgomery moved on after Anne of Avonlea, inventing new characters and revisiting Avonlea only in short story form. However, Anne remained her most popular heroine and so she returned to her story in 1915, six years later, and dedicated Anne of the Island to “all the girls all over the world who have ‘wanted more’ about ANNE.” The good news: everyone remains perfectly in character despite the author’s break, and many charming episodes occur that any fans of the first two novels will not want to miss. The bad news: Montgomery feels less inspired on this outing, given that her interests were clearly elsewhere by this time. As such, Anne of the Island has a slightly uneven feel, sometimes delightful and sometimes perfunctory.

So Anne goes to Redmond College to gain her B.A. What does such a four-year course consist of? Who knows! She’s said to study hard but all we get to experience of college is Anne’s busy social life, including several different marriage proposals and a batch of frivolous friends who also claim to study hard but never evince any academic interests. Anne also takes regular visits to Avonlea and other places, usually to visit friends, though on one occasion for a summer teaching job. Throughout, Anne refuses to engage in any self-reflection on the subject of Gilbert Blythe and she careens through her college years willfully blind to her own feelings for him until a last-minute attack of remorse finally makes her see sense. It’s a mildly irritating read because of this, but in some ways the story of Anne Shirley finally feels “real,” going beyond escapism into the realm of consequences, with a future of long-term depression or fulfillment for our heroine, based on the crossroads she comes to at the end of the novel.

https://thewesterncornerofthecastle.home.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/9caea-prideandprejudice.jpg — Pride and Prejudice, a perfect introduction to the classics.

The novel duly delivers on the romance so thoroughly quashed until the final page of Anne of Avonlea, and the whole thing bears similarity to Jane Austen, complete with the best suitor’s hopes dashed early on, comically awful proposals and a dashing but unsuitable fellow distracting the heroine from her true love – although Montgomery couldn’t seem to bring herself to give Royal Gardner (yes, really) a worse defect than lack of humour, so it lacks the gravity and sharpness of Austen. I would say that if your daughter has read and loved Anne of the Island, she’s ready for Pride and Prejudice.

Romance forms the best and worst portions of the book, as it turns out that love triangles were indeed just as infuriating 100 years ago as they are today, and just as liable to make the heroine look bad for stringing two decent fellows along. On the other hand, Gilbert remains a stellar romantic lead, especially because he’s so refreshingly normal in this day and age – he’s working toward a steady job as a doctor, keeps a sense of humour about him and is ordinarily attractive rather than devastatingly Byronic. Hence, it’s all the more shocking and worrisome to hear of him growing ever more “pale and thin” over the course of the story, a small, slow burn detail that pays off richly in the end.

Since Anne and Gilbert is reason enough for any fan of the first volumes to go ahead and tackle number three, the rest of this review is just going to be some random observations which popped out at me while reading, for better or worse, rather than a cohesive portrait of the novel.

https://www.literaryladiesguide.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/L.M.-Montgomery1.jpg — L.M. Montgomery.

A common complaint I see regarding modern YA is the often negative portrayal of female friendships. It turns out that when the heroine acts like one of the guys she (surprise, surprise) tends to be a loner who disparages more conventional women. “Not like other girls,” indeed. In more realistic tales, friendships are often portrayed as catty and wholly secondary to the heroine’s romantic concerns. The Anne novels are a very good alternative to such depictions, as Anne and her friends (of which there are many) stick together even when they disagree. Anne is there even for her estranged friend Ruby in what is the darkest chapter of the book. Meanwhile, during the humorous sage of Anne’s first published story she forgives Diana for her humiliating but truly well-meant artistic interference. “I think you are the sweetest and truest friend in the world, Diana,” she said, with a little tremble in her voice, “and I assure you I appreciate the motive of what you’ve done.” None of the girls ever fight over the same guy and they share a strong sense of unity as they are all struggling with the same approaching choices in life: marriage or spinsterhood? A happy marriage or a terrible mistake?

While friendships are strong, Montgomery finally calls upon her kindred spirit principle once too often with the unlikely saga of Patty’s Place. Patty decides to rent her home to Anne and her roommates on the strength of one meeting with Anne and her friend Priscilla. Anne immediately breaks the agreed-upon terms of the lease (three girls and an aunt for housekeeper-chaperone) with the addition of a fourth girl and three cats. It’s quite the entourage, though perhaps in that time and place renting to young ladies all “of a class” was unlikely to backfire. I simply found the whole plotline much too convenient, especially as it removed any need for scenes on campus with the girls all living in the same cottage. Why write a college novel and waste the fresh opportunities of the setting?

https://sarahemsley.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/img_4740.jpg — Dalhousie University, Halifax, the basis for fictional Redmond College. Built 1887.

Also, while I normally agree with Montgomery’s taste in these matters, Patty’s Place never stopped making me think of a sports bar and jolting me out of the lovely Edwardian ambiance. Granted, that’s not her fault. I think it’s supposed to sound quaint and personable, not “try the fish and chips.”

Lastly, while Anne’s lack of self-reflection vis-à-vis Gilbert and Royal makes the novel a bit frustrating at points, I also found it by far the funniest of the Anne books thus far, with the creation of Anne’s short story “Averil’s Atonement” eclipsing all of Montgomery’s previous comic set pieces. Anne sets out to write a grand romance, complete with heroine Averil, heroic Perceval Dalrymple and villainous Maurice Lennox. When she turns it loose on her chosen preview audience, Diana proves that absolutely nothing has changed in 100 years when it comes to the tastes of female readership:

“Why did you kill Maurice Lennox?” she asked reproachfully.
“He was the villain,” protested Anne. “He had to be punished.”
“I like him best of them all,” said unreasonable Diana.
“Well, he’s dead, and he’ll have to stay dead,” said Anne, rather resentfully. “If I had let him live he’d have gone on persecuting Averil and Perceval.”
“Yes–unless you had reformed him.”

https://i0.wp.com/images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/32800000/dramione-3-draco-malfoy-and-hermione-granger-32884016-373-500.jpg — I couldn’t trace the creator of this photo-manip, but it was obviously a modern Diana Barry – something J.K. Rowling is decidedly not.

Anne then gets further feedback from Mr. Harrison – cementing him as my favorite character in the series and one who is tragically underutilized.

Says Mr. Harrison: …”your folks ain’t like real folks anywhere. They talk too much and use too high-flown language. There’s one place where that Dalrymple chap talks even on for two pages, and never lets the girl get a word in edgewise. If he’d done that in real life she’d have pitched him.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Anne flatly. In her secret soul she thought that the beautiful, poetic things said to Averil would win any girl’s heart completely. Besides, it was gruesome to hear of Averil, the stately, queen-like Averil, “pitching” any one. Averil “declined her suitors.”
“Anyhow,” resumed the merciless Mr. Harrison, “I don’t see why Maurice Lennox didn’t get her. He was twice the man the other is. He did bad things, but he did them. Perceval hadn’t time for anything but mooning.”
“Mooning.” That was even worse than “pitching!”
“Maurice Lennox was the villain,” said Anne indignantly. “I don’t see why every one likes him better than Perceval.”
“Perceval is too good. He’s aggravating. Next time you write about a hero put a little spice of human nature in him.”
“Averil couldn’t have married Maurice. He was bad.”
“She’d have reformed him. You can reform a man; you can’t reform a jelly-fish, of course. Your story isn’t bad–it’s kind of interesting, I’ll admit. But you’re too young to write a story that would be worthwhile. Wait ten years.”

Then the unexpected reprise of “Averil’s Atonement” is icing on the cake, a perfect comic punchline that I have no wish to spoil. Delightfully ridiculous. The Anne books are so episodic that it is really the little things like this that make them so very enjoyable, and Anne of the Island is packed out with such rewards: Anne visits her childhood home on Nova Scotia, she comforts poor Ruby in her hour of dread and her frivolous new friend Philippa Gordon (who mostly annoyed me) calls her out with brilliant insight on the Gilbert and Royal affair. Throughout, there are Montgomery’s painterly descriptions and, all in all, it’s only a small letdown after the brilliance of the earlier novels. An easy recommendation for Anne fans.

See Also: The first two volumes of the series, Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea, both of which walk the line between young adult and middle-grade fiction that as of this volume the series has officially crossed over.

Parental Guide with spoilers.

Violence: I’ve raised the recommended age for this book due mostly to the heavy focus on romance rather than misadventures, but also because it contains the darkest scene in any of the books so far – fun-loving Ruby Gillis gets “galloping consumption” and, with only a few hours left to live, confesses her fear of dying to a distraught and helpless Anne.

https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0344/6469/files/Screen_Shot_2017-10-03_at_4.29.10_PM_grande.png?v=1507062584 — A black cat similar to Anne’s Rusty.

Some animal cruelty is also on display. Philippa explains how to go about chloroforming unwanted cats and attempts the procedure on a stray. The attempt fails and Anne takes pity and adopts the cat. Mr. Harrison is mentioned to have had to hang a dog twice before it died. Several GoodReads reviewers were appalled at these incidents, but you have to remember that there was no other way to keep the domestic animal population down in those days, explaining Montgomery’s tone here.

Values: Higher education is paid some lip service but really it’s just a place to go if you want to step into society and net yourself a good husband.

Friendship is more the focus than love. The passage of time weighs keenly on Anne and there’s much emphasis on trying to appreciate the here and now rather than pine for times gone by.

True romance goes far beyond mere romantic daydreams, which are nothing but a distraction and hindrance, not a blueprint for future happiness. Anne’s silly fancies about proposals contrast harshly with reality – and self-awareness is a great asset she desperately needs to cultivate.

Anne learns about love through several observed romances, including the grotesque courtship of extreme-doormat Janet, who has just turned forty, and her true love John Douglas, who can’t marry her until his mother dies – hence, twenty years of their lives are washed away in emptiness when they should have taken a stand long ago. It’s a bitter pill in Montgomery’s rosy universe and feels out-of-place, though perhaps it is meant to plant the seed that she needs to make a decision about Gilbert before she becomes an old maid.

Role Models: Anne is older, so her mistakes begin to have graver consequences for her future, and she ends up in a subtle but continual tailspin during the second half of the novel. As she fritters away her four years in college she becomes more and more disillusioned by life: The bloom had been brushed from one little maiden dream. Would the painful process go on until everything became prosaic and hum-drum? This process does continue in merciless and alarming fashion, as she starts to claim she feels like a stranger in Avonlea, becoming rootless and depressed. She had dreamed some brilliant dreams during the past winter and now they lay in the dust around her. In her present mood of self-disgust, she could not immediately begin dreaming again. And she discovered that, while solitude with dreams is glorious, solitude without them has few charms. … Life was stripped of several more illusions, and Anne began to think drearily that it seemed rather bare. This is a grim vocabulary for the Anne-girl we know and love. Here she is, free and modern, yet she doesn’t quite feel like Anne Shirley anymore, just a world-weary and ever more jaded shadow of her former vibrant self. And then Gilbert returns and with him all the meaning and fulfillment of love and a shared future, while the audience breathes a sigh of relief as Anne’s poetry and optimism return.

Educational Properties: Nothing whatsoever to report. Honestly, it’s not much of a college novel.

End of Guide.

Look for Anne of Windy Poplars in November – I’m spacing them out as much as I can with an eventual April deadline, just to keep them fresh. From here out the publishing sequence gets a little choppy, as Montgomery had finished a six-volume Anne series when she went back to tell the story of what Anne did while waiting for Gilbert to finish medical school. Hence, Windy Poplars dates from 1936.

Up Next: Branching out from my North American authors with the French father of science fiction. The promised Jules Verne, Around the World in Eighty Days, up next.

Fantasy: Seven Tears Into the Sea

On August 31, 2019September 6, 2019 By nymithIn American writers, Fantasy Fiction, Mermaids, Selkies and Others, Romance, Set in California, U.S. States, Young Adult1 Comment

I was not originally planning to review very much young adult fantasy (or modern young adult in general) on the Castle, given how massively popular the speculative genres are right now, and given that a little over half of the readers of young adult books are adults themselves, who probably aren’t looking for a Parental Guide to Throne of Glass and the like. However, I have started to notice that almost all of the fantasy books being recommended to teens and getting discussed on YouTube are extremely modern, always post-Twilight, with the entirety of the post-Potter boom somehow forgotten about. This is strange, and a little disconcerting to be honest – I really thought writers of Patricia McKillip’s and Terry Pratchett’s caliber were sure to live on in YA memory. Guess not.

Meanwhile, the very conceit of this blog is that it’s for parents or planning-to-be-parents who want to construct a youth library at home, rather than trust modern libraries to do the job for them. As such, there’s no reason not to care about what’s in the books your eventual teenagers will be reading. So I will be reviewing books for teens in the same fashion as books for younger kids.

Thank you and on to the review…

Title: Seven Tears Into the Sea
Author: Terri Farley (1950-)
Original Publication Date: 2005
Edition: Simon Pulse (2005), 279 pages
Genre: Fantasy. Romance.
Ages: 15-17
First Sentence: This is what it’s like to be crazy.

Everyone knows which novel swept the young adult world in 2005 (Twilight) and every young adult fantasy fan who cares about good writing, creative plots and believable characters knows that this book essentially ruined the genre, both by turning romance into a prerequisite (and people act like it’s a surprise boys don’t read) and incidentally creating the “Bella Swan backlash” that led to YA being flooded with sexually active assassin chick role models to compensate. Sadly, a far worthier alternative with a better take on paranormal romance was published that same year, a short standalone novel whose supernatural love interest was not a literal predator, whose heroine did not treat her humanity like last year’s shoes and whose author actually knew the meaning of the term “star-crossed.” While not a masterpiece, Seven Tears Into the Sea quietly offers some surprisingly good themes and a very pleasant atmosphere.

At ten years old, Gwen Cooke sleepwalked into the ocean and was rescued by a strange boy who vanished after whispering a mysterious poem in her ear:

Beckon the sea,
I’ll come to thee…
Shed seven tears,
Perchance seven years…

The incident became the focal point of small town gossip and her parents soon decided to move away and start fresh. Now, seven years later, Gwen returns to Mirage Beach to see her grandmother and find out the truth of her supposed hallucination. The truth turns up soon enough in the form of a cute guy named Jesse and Gwen has to fight rationality when all the evidence indicates that Jesse is a selkie.

https://ak7.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/3846677/thumb/1.jpg — The stormy coastline of northern California.

It’s a little bit unusual to find the selkie legend transplanted to the Pacific but what could have been a disaster was rather cleverly utilized. Sea lions replace seals and the coast of northern California is suitably rocky and fog-bound, but what really makes it work is the clash of the old world and the new, ancient and modern ways of living. Gwen has the old country in her blood and in her red hair but like most modern people she’s been taught not to care. I wasn’t playing dress-up for the tourists, she thinks. Fantasy stories often have an initiation aspect, where the experience the main character has is impossible to share with the friends left behind and the same is true of this story, with tensions between Gwen and her city friends reaching a boil when the latter show up unexpectedly at the Summer Solstice celebrations.

Seven Tears is rather short on plot, compensating with leisurely charm. The second half of the book opens each chapter with an entry from a sea garden guide Gwen is creating, to wit:

Wild Western Thimbleberry
(Rubus parviflorus)
Velvety pink berries, dark green leaves, and cautioning spines mark this woodsy berry. Cousin to the blackberry, it may live at the shore, in red-wood forests, and on the High Sierra, but deprived of moisture it will sicken and die. Thimbleberry wine is nectar to fairies, and herbal lore praises the thimbleberry for shielding the virtuous. Running through a thimbleberry thicket is rumored to dispel illness, while a sip of thimbleberry tea returns evil to those who wish it on others.

The Sea Horse Inn, run by Gwen’s grandmother Nana, hosts a proper tea. “Be certain you have your caddy spoons, mote spoons, serving plates, sugar tongs, cream pitcher…” Nana keeps a scrying glass in her pocket and tells folk tales to the guests. One of the locals plays the bagpipe. Gwen brings her cat to the cottage and protects the swallows’ nest above her porch door. The book is full of nice things, culminating again with Midsummer Eve, and because of this the pacing is unexpectedly languid. It’s as close as paranormal romance can get to regular slice-of-life, almost a seamless merger of genres. I expect this would frustrate a lot of fantasy fans, as there is no real magic to be found until the very end of the book. However, for readers more willing to put aside expectations, they’ll find the lifestyle Gwen is introduced to on Mirage Beach as lovely as a Pinterest board. I think that still counts as escapism.

Then everyone hushed at the bagpipes’ skirl.
Red wore a tartan kilt and a plaid fastened at his left shoulder. It was easy to overlook his knobby old-man knees and everyday orneriness while he played. He cradled the leather bag as if it were a child, and though I doubt anyone knew the song, they watched, faces turned amber by firelight, falling under a spell.

https://i0.wp.com/elelur.com/data_images/mammals/california-sea-lion/california-sea-lion-04.jpg — A California sea lion (Zalophus californianus).

Jesse should really be at the center of this narrative but I find little to say about him because he’s rather thinly sketched. To begin with his attention is played for menace: His eyes darted past me, as if he’d block my escape. … He stood slowly, staying entirely too close. … He tossed out the words like a lure. He’s secretive about his life and he’s been seen with the wrong crowd but it’s all a red herring because this image of a dark, menacing lover from the ancient folktales turns out to be merely Gwen’s preconception. Being a selkie, Jesse is actually just a simple soul who likes to eat raw seafood and is bothered by enclosed spaces. And because Farley clearly loves animals he’s also a peaceful child of nature who wouldn’t hurt a living thing (although he’s a dab hand in a fistfight and, incidentally, a carnivore). This all makes for a neat subversion of the standard brooding hero with a dark past that crops up almost automatically in stories of this type but it ends up being less than satisfying because he doesn’t really have a past at all. It doesn’t help that the timeframe for this epic love story is one week. That was a hard sell even for Shakespeare.

Since Jesse is not dangerous and Gwen’s fear of inciting old gossip is revealed to be an empty worry, a villain is provided in the form of Zack McCracken, who looked like a young Brad Pitt who’d been living behind one of those dumpsters for a week and decided to crawl out for a joint. There is no love triangle here, nor hint of one. Zack belongs on a fishing boat but the fish are gone and as such he’s deteriorated into a full-time thug. As nice as the beachside appears, the scene isn’t fully set until Nana finally takes a reluctant Gwen to the local town of Siena Bay:

“Siena Bay has changed a lot, hasn’t it?” Nana asked, as if she’d noticed my head swinging around, taking it all in. “The Chamber of Commerce tries to keep the atmosphere of an old fishing village but-“
I followed Nana’s gesture and focused beyond the booths.
I remembered coming down to the docks at dawn with Mom. She’d buy me hot chocolate from Sal’s Fish and Chips, which was the only thing open that early. We’d watch sun-browned men shout and sling around nets before putting off into the turquoise water.
Now, though the nautical decorations remained, they draped a dozen places I could find in the Valencia mall.
“Someone must still fish,” I insisted.
“They try,” Nana allowed. “In fact, most of them still put out to sea every morning, but they have to supplement.”
Supplement? Was that a nice word for welfare? Or something shady? Nana had said the gang in town was made up of fishermen’s sons with nothing to do.
“They say it’s fished out and blame the sea lions and tourists,” Nana went on. “I blame it on pollution and the industrial fisheries, but not many listen to an old woman. I’m glad we’re up the coast a ways.”

With the setting so strongly emphasised throughout, the above passage must be seen as of key importance. The coastal way of life is dying, replaced by global tourism (guests at the inn are portrayed as a rather pointless bunch, with Tolkien enthusiasts and unhappily married couples) and this culture clash plays right into the Midsummer Eve celebration and the choices Gwen makes that directly impact the tragic ending, as Gwen sees the look on Jesse’s face. Anger wouldn’t have surprised me, or even sadness, but he looked as if I’d given up our very last night together.

https://www.bookpeople.com/sites/bookpeople.com/files/TerriFarleycrop%284%29.jpg — Terri Farley.

Seven Tears Into the Sea is a good example of young adult fantasy, written right before the Twilight boom solidified all the cliches it’s now hard to avoid in paranormal romance. The novel also feels very personal. Terri Farley has otherwise kept to the topic of horses in all of her works, specializing in romantic “girl and her horse” series for pre-teen girls, both in the Phantom Stallion series (I read 15 of those books back in the day) and its spin-off Wild Horse Island. Seven Tears Into the Sea stands out as a unique entry in her catalogue and, given that it came out right alongside Twilight, it can’t claim to be influenced by that runaway success. In other words, Farley must have felt a strong compulsion to break form and write this story.

The writing is simple but fairly solid, with a well-rendered atmosphere and an effective example of present tense usage in the opening flashback, with the rest of the novel conveyed in the traditional past tense. This lends immediacy to Gwen’s memory of nearly drowning and keeps the rest of the novel from feeling like a wannabe movie script. The biggest flaws are the rushed ending and lack of developed subplots, but it’s a good choice for those readers who enjoy a cozy seaside atmosphere alongside their doomed romance. If you’re planning to read it yourself, you should stop here. Otherwise, spoilers below.

https://media.mnn.com/assets/images/2016/06/midsummer-bonfire.jpg.990x0_q80_crop-smart.jpg — A Midsummer bonfire.

On the night of Midsummer’s Eve, there are bonfires to jump over, music and dancing, and games meant to single out the King and Queen of Summer. The locals takes pride in Gwen and Jesse’s accomplishment and there’s the sense of a growing bond not just between the two of them but also between them and the whole town. This is exactly what the ancient festivals were built to do: strengthen the bonds of family, friends, community and the new young couples that carry the future.

Then a voice sliced through the magic.

Gwen’s two city friends crash the festival, Mandi drunk and slutting around, Jill detached and critical of her surroundings, both demanding Gwen leave her Midsummer’s Eve coronation and return to the “real world” with them. Depressingly, her sense of obligation makes her do what they want – and Terri Farley portrays this as a horrible choice. At three thirty in the morning I was sprawled on my couch, eating pizza I didn’t want, with guests I didn’t welcome. Gwen washes the seawater from her hair and changes from her Midsummer dress into fresh jeans and a sweatshirt. Hungover Mandi tries to give her a bleach makeover and sarcastic Jill starts psychoanalyzing her new relationship. Her cat is victimized because the girls foolishly let Zack into the cottage in Gwen’s absence. Jesse then steps in to confront Zack – which leads to a mortal wound, sharks in the water, storms, magic and farewells. All this instead of watching the fires burn low and seeing the sun come up on Midsummer morn. For want of a nail… Gulls banked and cried, scolding me for not observing at least one Midsummer morn tradition. I was Queen, after all.

The resolution to the threat of Zack feels rushed and I believe Farley made a mistake by keeping Gwen away from the action, instead leaving readers with a fragmentary, secondhand account of violence on a boat and a shark attack. Without seeing any of it, this portion of the story lacks dramatic heft. Gwen heals Jesse via some mystical bond they have that was only briefly hinted at, finally acquiring proof that selkies are real just in time for the truth to hit her: Jesse can only return to the shore every seven years. Here we get what the story has been building to, and it’s a worthy payoff because Terri Farley won’t cheat her way to a happy ending. Gwen is stricken. “That would mean, after this summer, I’d be twenty-four before I saw you again. Then, thirty-one-” I kept counting on my fingers -“thirty-eight, forty-five, fifty-two! Jesse! Fifty-two. If we had kids, they’d be grown. I would have wrinkles around my eyes from staring out to sea, watching for you. I could die, and you wouldn’t hear of it for years.” This is the tragedy of Celtic legend updated for a modern setting. Gwen did give up her last night with him. There will be no Midsummer dancing next year, no crowning, no belonging – not with Jesse. This was a once in a lifetime experience that Gwen let herself be talked out of. That’s worth more than seven tears.

Parental Guide up next.

This is quite modest as modern teen romances go. There’s some passionate kissing and some underwater manhandling that would probably look sexy on film but isn’t graphic in print. It’s not aiming for the Printz longlist, in other words.

Violence: Zack gets eaten by a shark offscreen in what may be termed disproportionate retribution. Jesse’s fatal stabbing is described in the mildest possible terms – “blood” and “wound” are as graphic as the language gets. One fistfight which Gwen leaves in the middle of.

Values: Nature conservation is right up there among Terri Farley’s cardinal virtues. The loss of small-town economies, traditions and cohesion is also an obvious theme.

https://www.ancient-origins.net/sites/default/files/field/image/Manannan-mac-Lir-sculpture.jpg — An Irish statue of Manannan Mac Lir, the Celtic sea god.

The book takes on a significant pagan holiday with great affection. Was this some Celtic deity’s way of convincing me he still ruled? Gwen wonders, which is as close as Farley gets to the religious aspect of all this.

Gwen’s parents vacate early on, leaving her to free-range for the summer in a cabin with no phone that’s just down the beach from her grandmother’s house. Convenient. Nana is the only parental figure around but she’s a very positive one.

Female friendship is not portrayed in a remotely positive light, as Gwen’s friends guilt-trip her hard for preferring Jesse to their drunken company. “You almost went off with him instead of us.” Jill retells Gwen’s childhood sleepwalking experience to Mandi (after Gwen told her in confidence) and the two of them also invite Zack into Gwen’s cabin, where he steals her cat – luckily he does return the cat alive. While in Gwen’s last scene with Mandi and Jill she thinks they’ll patch things up and continue on, that’s before she loses Jesse. It can only be hoped she finds some better friends after that.

Role Models: Gwen is a typical YA heroine – not too smart, not too quirky, somewhat insecure, easy to project on to – but she’s responsible, hard working and unselfish (to a fault, in fact), making for a decent heroine. Gwen later gives up her own happiness for Jesse’s when she refuses to steal his skin, knowing he would grow to hate her in time. This could be seen as a feminist commentary on the men in the old selkie legends who put any such scruples aside to keep their wives. On the other hand, it might also be seen as a girl putting her boyfriend’s needs before her own. No matter, as it’s quite poetic.

Jesse is masculine but non-threatening and socially rather awkward. He’s not an interesting character unless you’re a teenage girl, but (aside from the selkie problem) he’s not a walking warning label, which is a nice change.

Zack is clearly meant to be disliked (he’s both lewd and cruel to animals), while Mandi is incredibly annoying and infantile – not people to emulate or make excuses for.

Educational Properties: Unlikely, unless it inspires a teen to research the selkie legends.

End of Guide.

https://i.pinimg.com/564x/41/4d/6b/414d6b7c82caed6b57203e6efeb48d4a.jpg — Someone else’s complete set. They are marvelously pretty books.

Terri Farley has not revisited the fantasy genre, and I’m left slightly non-plussed by the remainder of her bibliography. With twenty-four books in the Phantom Stallion series, it’s unlikely I’ll ever acquire the complete set, and my first thought was to simply discontinue her bibliography from time constraints. However, since I am planning to do the twenty Black Stallion books for this project (eventually), and since I remember Phantom Stallion as being higher than average quality compared with some of the other horse series I was reading as a child, I would like to do an overview of the series some day. Certainly all “easy read” franchises are not created equal, and the best ones deserve acknowledgement.

Up Next: Returning to Prince Edward Island for the continuing story of Anne Shirley…