Time for Dahl

I didn’t forget about my Dahl reading challenge. I just got temporarily sidetracked by other things. On the bright side, the postponement improved the timing. You see, my husband, who picked up a bunch of Dahl books for me just the other day, says that September is Roald Dahl month (at our library, at least). That’s great. I’m glad I’m not the only one to be celebrating Dahl’s many wonderful children’s books at this time.

Last year, I started my reading challenge with The Gremlins: A Royal Air Force Story (The Lost Walt Disney Production). Next I read James and the Giant Peach, but I never sat down to write about it. Let me correct that oversight now. It was quite a while ago that I read it, but here’s what I remember

James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
Grade: A-

Orphan James is miserable living with his abusive aunts. Then a mysterious stranger hands him a bag of magic crystals. When James accidentally spills the crystals on the ground, their magic seeps into the living things in the soil, including an old peach tree. A giant peach grows from the tree. The peach is big enough for James to crawl inside, and so begins his amazing adventure.

I liked James and the Giant Peach a lot. It’s fun and inventive, but like most of the Dahl books I’ve read so far, it’s not the least bit believable. That’s not a problem per se, but given the kind of reader I am, it means Dahl’s books have to work harder to win me over. So far, they’ve all had characters or other features that compensated for their lack of believability. So I’ll keep on reading them. Next up is The Magic Finger.

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Let’s Talk

Dear Children,

Some people hold their parents responsible for any difficulties they have with language. I suppose that is fair, to a point. Life is certainly simpler if you learn to speak correctly from the get-go. It’s best to have parents who speak the language well.

I suppose you could encounter some language challenges here. I like to mispronounce certain words or “riff” on them. I also sometimes make up my own words. I inherited this trait (as well as some mispronunciations and made-up words) from my parents. Add to this the language antics of your Portuguese grandparents, who are always saying things like “lindo, lindo” and “que linda” to you, and things could get a bit confusing. So I just want to apologize in advance, just in case…

  • Marshall thinks his real name is Marsh Man.
  • Livia thinks her real name is Goo-Goo or Linda.
  • You think that “fresh-up” and “boom-ba” are real words.
  • You use the word “chooch” in place of “chew,” or call syrup “surple.”

I make no apologies for my love of wordplay, though. It is what allows me to appreciate  the way you talk now. For example, Marshall calls the vacuum cleaner a “backineener.” Isn’t that great? And if he wants “another” of something, he says “noor.” Meanwhile, Livia says “meh” when she wants more, and one of her favorite words is “ish,” the meaning of which is still a mystery to us.

I think that if you pay attention you’ll probably learn to speak English coherently. With any luck, you’ll also pick up a good dose of Portuguese. And you might learn, as I did from my parents, how to enjoy language to the fullest. I hope you do.

Language is not just a tool, but also a toy. Have fun with it!

Love,

Mom

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I Just Finished Reading…

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton
Grade: A

It started with a letter. A letter that had been lost a long time, waiting out half a century in a forgotten postal bag in the dim attic . . . . I think about it sometimes, that mailbag: of the hundreds of love letters, grocery bills, birthday cards, notes from children to their parents, that lay together, swelling and sighing as their thwarted messages whispered in the dark. Waiting, waiting, for someone to realize they were there. For it is said, you know, that a letter will always seek a reader; that sooner or later, like it or not, words have a way of finding the light, of making their secrets known.

That first paragraph sets the stage nicely for what is to follow in The Distant Hours, a modern Gothic novel. Edie (the main character) is at home when her mother receives one of the long-lost letters. Her mother’s strange reaction to the letter puts Edie on the trail of a mystery that leads her to a decaying castle in Kent and the three old spinsters who live there.

It’s a good thing I bought this book on a whim and did not read the online reviews first. I am quite sure that the negative reviews (of which I later found many) would have turned me off. Usually online reviews work against me by convincing me to buy awful books. It never occurred to me that they could work against me the opposite way! But they certainly did. I postponed reading this book because I thought it was going to be terrible.

It wasn’t even close to terrible. Yes, the book is long (560 pages). Yes, the author does occasionally go into too much detail. Yes, the narrative goes back and forth between times and places and points of view, and some of it is told in the first person and some in the third person. So what? A quick look at the date at the top of each chapter lets you know when the action is taking place, and within a few sentences you know whose point of view you’re reading. It’s not that hard to follow.

In my opinion, Morton handled every element competently. The mystery was interesting, neither so convoluted that you couldn’t guess at the answers nor so obvious that you got bored. The pacing was good. I liked the characters and I was intrigued by their stories. I almost couldn’t put the book down.

In short, The Distant Hours is one of the best new books I’ve read lately.

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Favorite Thing: 1000

This is my 1000th blog post. I haven’t posted much lately, so I’ve been hanging on the edge of this milestone for a long time. It has been particularly irksome to have so much difficulty writing while knowing the 1000th post was that close. But now here it is. Whew!

To have done anything 1000 times is worthy of notice. Every little thing, from sneezing to opening the refrigerator door, could be interesting on the 1000th time, if you knew it were the 1000th time. But we usually don’t keep track of our activities that way. It would take too much effort, for one thing. There are also some activities that shouldn’t be counted. No one should aspire to break 1000 hearts or run 1000 stop signs, for example.

Blogging is special, though, and not just because the blogging software takes all the effort out of keeping count. Blogging is a form of self-expression. It requires time and work and creativity. To have done something of that nature 1000 times is very cool.

And that’s why 1000 is My Favorite Thing today.

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Grrr

You know what I really hate?

I really hate when I look on my computer and find files for unfinished stories, songs, letters, and puzzles. Lots of them.

Why don’t I ever finish these things?

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First Day, First Impressions

Dear Marshall,

Your first day of preschool was August 29 and I am setting this post to that date, because it belongs there. It is December now, exactly four months later, but I still remember that day vividly. I was so nervous about putting you on the bus, especially since your father had to be elsewhere that morning. You had never been out of our care for more than a few hours, and we had only ever left you with family. I worried about letting you go somewhere without me. And I worried how you’d feel about getting on the bus by yourself.

The bus was late, as buses usually are on the first day of school. I forgot about being nervous as I struggled to keep you busy. We talked, we paced, we popped seed cases on the jewelweed that grows next to the driveway. Then the bus finally showed up . . . and drove right by!

While I watched the bus turn around, you squatted down and rubbed your hands in the dirt (recycled asphalt, really) of the driveway. When I saw what you had done, I was horrified. I pulled you up, but it was too late. Both palms were black. I tried to brush them off, but all that that accomplished was to dirty my own hands.

I had no time to think about what to do, because the bus pulled into the driveway, the door opened, and you bounded up the steps without even looking back at me. I watched numbly as you raised a hand to wipe it on your clean, new shirt and then disappeared into the bus. I could only hope that the teachers would wash your hands off when you got to school. Some first impression you (and by extension, your parents) must have made that day!

But you once again impressed me with your willingness to meet life head-on. Preschool was just the first step of what I hope will be a long and rewarding life’s adventure, but it was a definite success. Well done, little adventurer!

Love,

Mom

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Pre-Preschool

Dear Marshall,

There were some things we needed to do before we could send you to preschool. Potty training was one of those things. Maybe potty training took a little longer than expected, but once you made up your mind to do it, you did. I hope you will always remember that, Sweets—sometimes your mind is the only thing you have to change to move forward in life. I am very proud of you.

Yesterday, after your preschool orientation, we went to the store to buy a backpack. You chose the bright colors of an Elmo backpack over blinking lights and cool Batman black. It was the perfect backpack for you, and even your father applauded your choice. I let you wear it in the store and you didn’t want to take it off at all, not to pay for it, not for the ride home. You wore it around the house all afternoon.

Tonight I will fill the backpack with all the things you’ll need for your first day tomorrow. I wish I could fold myself up and crawl in there so I could keep you company tomorrow. But I know I have to let you grow, and that means letting you have experiences all by yourself. I have to share you with the world. It’s hard for me to do that, but I think both you and the world will be better for it.

Happy First Day of School!

Love,

Mom

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More Books Read

The Tiger’s Wife by Téa Obreht
Grade: A-

In a war-torn Balkan country, a woman searches for the stories of her grandfather’s past and his recent death.

This is a brilliant first novel that doesn’t quite live up to its potential. What it becomes is a collection of character sketches, all beautifully drawn, but at the end you are left with the feeling that there’s no real story or character development. If you read the online reviews, quite a few people speak of an emotional distance or coldness that they felt while reading. I felt it, too. However, The Tiger’s Wife is IMHO quite well written and worth reading for that reason.

The Dark Is Rising by Susan Cooper
Grade: B+

A seventh son of a seventh son learns that he is one of the Old Ones, gifted with the magical powers of the Light. His mission is to find the six Signs with which to fight the powers of the Dark.

The setting is a small English village at Christmastime and during a severe winter storm. The author spends a lot of energy on this setting, giving us an old-fashioned Christmas with a loving family, traditional decorations, caroling, gift-giving, and the the exciting-yet-scary feeling of being cut off from the rest of the world by snow. That much is good. But the main character, Will, really doesn’t do anything. He just blunders from place to place (home, a farm, a neighbor’s house, church, etc.) and everything he needs is given to him, even the understanding of how to use his powers.

The lack of action and character development ruined The Dark is Rising for me. This book is on the list of top 100 children’s books, and I guess that’s not so surprising given the general quality of the writing, but I personally have no desire to read the rest of the series.

The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo
Grade: A

An orphan boy asks a gypsy the question that has been burning inside him, and the gypsy’s answer is that he will find what he seeks by following the elephant. But where can he find the elephant?

The Magician’s Elephant is a lovely children’s book, but for adults. The main character is a boy and the events of the story put it solidly in the children’s-book category. But the way it is written—the melancholy atmosphere, the themes of hope and forgiveness, the poetic quality of the language—all make it more of a book for adults. Here is an example I found by opening up the book to a random page.

The manservant looked into the boy’s eyes and saw himself, young again and still capable of believing in miracles, standing on the bank of the river with his brothers, the white dog suspended in midair.

“Please,” said the boy.

And suddenly it came to [the manservant], the name of the little white dog. Rose. She was called Rose. And remembering it was like fitting a piece of a puzzle into place. He felt a wonderful certainty. The impossible, he thought, the impossible is about to happen again.

I could be wrong, but I think you need to be older to really understand the epiphany that the manservant is having here, and The Magician’s Elephant is full of these kinds of moments. So, while I really liked it, I doubt that most children would number it among their favorites. Still, I’m going to put it in the children’s section of my library, because where else could it go?

The Little Bookroom by Eleanor Farjeon
Grade: A

The Little Bookroom is a wonderful, old-fashioned collection of fairy tales and other stories by Eleanor Farjeon. Farjeon’s best-known work in America, the book says, is the hymn “Morning Has Broken” (the lyrics of which you can read here, on Wikipedia). I had not known that she wrote that hymn, actually, though I love the Cat Stevens recording of it. It’s a shame that so much of Farjeon’s work is now out of print. I hope I get to read more of it someday.

Most of the stories in The Little Bookroom are excellent, but my favorite part of the book was the author’s note at the beginning. In it, she describes the little bookroom of her youth, the place where she learned “to read anything that can be called a book.” I also enjoyed “Tea With Eleanor Farjeon” (by Rumer Godden), which is included at the end of this edition (The New York Review Children’s Collection).

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Favorite Thing: Playing With the Kids

The saddest part of being a parent is that in the hectic, daily struggle to meet the family’s basic needs, it is easy to forget how much fun children can be. I often have to remind myself to set aside time to play with them. I am always thankful when I do. Recently in play…

  • We built a garage for a toy car out of blocks. It had a sliding door operated by a pretend remote control, also made of blocks.
  • We pretended that Marshall’s and Livia’s beds were boats and that the carpet was a shark-infested sea.
  • We collected acorns in pails.
  • We hid in blanket forts, and rolled around in piles of pillows, and had horsy-back rides, and played kickball, and laughed together.
  • And Marshall declared, “I’m not a person. I’m a frog!” To prove it, he hopped and he ribbited and he gulped down imaginary flies.

I have so much fun playing with the kids, and that’s why it’s one of My Favorite Things.

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What I’ve Been Reading

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain
Grade: F

In A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, a 19th-century engineer from Connecticut gets clobbered on the noggin and wakes up in 6th-century England. I’m not sure exactly what happens, because I could not make myself finish reading it, but I gather he tries to take over the place using his superior technology and lands afoul of the Catholic Church.

I once said that Twain’s worst writing is better than most authors’ best. A Connecticut Yankee makes me doubt the truth of that statement. At the end of the book was an afterword by T.E.D. Klein. I skimmed through it, and it convinced me that I had made the right decision in abandoning the book. He wrote, “[A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court] bears the stamp of [Twain’s] troubled genius on every page; and that is perhaps the greatest strength of this complex, flawed, fascinating book.” If I were studying Twain’s life, then I could see how the book might prove fascinating, but I was just looking for a good read, and this wasn’t it.

The Last Summer (of You & Me) by Ann Brashares
Grade: F

I wasn’t expecting Shakespeare, but I was hoping for something like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. All I can say is ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
Grade: B+

In Northanger Abbey, Catherine Morland goes to Bath to enjoy the social scene. Then one of Catherine’s new acquaintances invites her to Northanger Abbey (the acquaintance’s home). It sounds to Catherine like such a romantic place, and with romance in mind she happily goes, yet her welcome there may not last.

Northanger Abbey felt a little contrived and uneven, but it wasn’t bad. Little enough is known of Austen’s life that it must surely be worth the effort to read all of her books and try to understand her as best as that allows. I have now read all of her novels except Mansfield Park. I think I will have to borrow it from the library soon.

A Room With a View by E.M. Forster
Grade: A-

In A Room With a View, girl meets boy. Boy falls in love with girl. Girl falls in love with someone else. And then…well, it’s the usual thing. I thought it was extremely well written but somehow just not that satisfying.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke
Grade: A

Two magicians try to resuscitate the practice of magic in an alternative-history England during the Napoleonic Wars. The two men, one old and one young, have different ideas of how to do that, and consequently they clash. The practice of magic is not without perils, and soon they, their family and friends, and others in their proximity find themselves in danger from the powers that have been unleashed.

Somewhat overlong and unsure what kind of book it means to be, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is nonetheless a great read. You can compare Clarke’s writing favorably to other famous authors (Austen being the one the jumps to mind), but the story itself is the least derivative that I’ve seen in a long time. It is unlike anything I’ve read before, and kudos to Clarke for making fairies scary again.

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