Greek Life (or an over use of parenthese)

Okay fantasy fans - forget Potter and Twilight. The big series now is Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson books. Riordan's landed on that perfect formula, beloved of Disney and Warner Brothers alike. His books feature a cheeky protagonist (able to make puns while running for his life) who is the child of separated parents (for those tear-jerker scenes), plenty of fantastical events (a cornacopia of special effects - perfect for today's movie preferences), a rocket-paced plot, and a thinly veiled moral message about the importance of family. It's no wonder Chris Columbus (did his parents really name him that?) is directing the movie version of the first book, The Lightening Thief (see the trailer here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0814255/ ).

Don't get me wrong - the books are a fun, fast read and the integration of Greek mythology into modern life is entertaining. But I'll take a fantasy with rich, complex characters and difficult questions of right and wrong (think Llyod Alexander, Madeline L'Engle, or J.R.R. Tolkein) over fantasy fluff any day.

A Gaiman Conundrum

Sigh...


It is to no avail.


I can't find a copy of the book I want.


Sigh....


Here's my conundrum:




I've read Neil Gaiman's Newbery winner, The Graveyard Book, and enjoyed it immensely (as did Aitana, age 13, and Paolo, age 9, and if these two both approve, it has to be a winner in my eyes). I won't gush more about this title, since there are plenty of professional critics who do so much more eloquently that I could.




But the version we've all read is the one illustrated by Dave McKean. This is the HarperCollins version with the optical illustion image on the cover. At first glance, one sees a strange, angel-wing tombstone, but on closer examination we see the silloutte of a boy. It's a wonderful cover (which I like more and more each time I look at it).




Dave McKean's work is wonderful too, from his blending of digital and paint, to his surrealistic and warped images, to the dark strain that runs through all his work. He and Gaiman are an impressive team, and I find it hard to think about Gaiman without thinking about McKean's images too. I'm not sure I like McKean's work - his images leave me a little queasy - but I am a fan, nonetheless.




His illustrations in The Graveyard Book. They are smokey, and ethereal, and well-paired with the text, especially the opening image of the man Jack's wicked blade (I get a shiver just writing that).



But the images are less appealing as the book moves on, and the three heads and the pizza at the end are an utter disappointment (sorry for the spoiler).



So what's the conundrum?


There is another.

The U.K. version of the title features illustrations by Chris Riddell, whose light-handed line seems the perfect pairing for this title. Just look at the cover! Silas' arched eyebrow, the muddled-mix of headstones in the background, and the clever look on Bod's face.




Why can't I get a copy of this version? The only place I've been able to find it is on amazon.uk.com.


Oh and those tantalizing pics to be found on the web, like this...



















and this...


Sigh...

Diddled

"Hey Diddle Diddle" is not my favorite nursery rhyme. It doesn't even make my top ten list. It can't hold a candle (even a Jack-jumping-over-the-candlestick candle) to "The Three Little Kittens" or "Hickory Dickory Dock" or the best of the best - "Pop Goes the Weasel".

Really... "Hey Diddle Diddle" just can't compare. It's verse is more confusing than the usual nursery nonsense, and the rhythm doesn't quite work (I find myself trying to make laughed a two syllable word to follow the pattern of the preceding long line), and the ending is a let down. Why, oh why, does the dish run away with the spoon?

That is the question that Mimi Grey answers in The Adventures of Dish and Spoon - but this title falls flat for me in comparison to her Traction Man books (which are too funny to miss).

And even David Wiesner's (my hero!) tribute in The Three Pigs isn't enough to save this rhyme for me.

But Rachel Vail has succeed in redeeming the "Diddle". In Over the Moon which features clean-lined, hep-cat illustrations by Scott Nash, we are seated in a theater, observing a dress rehearsal of a soon-to-open production. Cat (in his too cool yellow glasses and black turtleneck - can you dig it?) and Dog are ready to perform, but Cow is having some problems with the stage directions, to the frustration of the beret-wearing monkey director . The snappy, dialogue - all in squared off speech bubbles - is funny for adult and kid readers alike:

Cow (shaking the director's paw): Mr. Diddle Diddle. I'm a great fan
of your work.

Monkey (surprised): Are you? Well... Call me Hi.

Cow: Call me Cow.

Monkey: Thanks. So anyway, small point, but - the Cow jumped OVER the
moon.

Cow: Uh-huh. And boy am I sore.

Monkey: No! You jumped under! That was the cow jumping UNDER
the moon. See on the instant replay?

I'm sure you can see where this is going - but it is a lot of fun trying to get there with this cast.

Summerland

I've only been in three baseball stadiums in my life.

When I was a teen, I spent an entire night with my mom and sister at Fenway Park, where A Field of Dreams was being filmed, with 100 other extras. The directors moved us from one section of the stands to the next to create a pan shot of a full stadium. I think the sleeve of my bomber jacket can be seen in the corner of one of the closeup shots with Kevin Costner.

Three years ago, I saw my first professional baseball game - the Joliet Jackhammers at Silver Cross Field. I couldn't tell you the name of the opposing team, or who won, or anything about the game itself, really - though I enjoyed the fireworks at the end of the night.

Two years ago, I saw the Seattle Mariners play the Oakland A's. I didn't even know that there really was a team called the A's.

All this goes to show that I know nothing about baseball. I didn't play it when I was a kid, my children don't play it, and I rarely watch it on tv - unless I'm keeping my husband company.

But I love Summerland.

The reviews for Michael Chabon's novel were unanimous - the critics adored it. It was a true-blue American fantasy. This is rarity in children's fiction. There are plenty of fantasies that rewrite fairytales (like Ella Enchanted) or play with myth (like the Percy Jackson books) or rely yet again on The Lord of the Rings cast of characters (et tu Eragon?). But an American fantasy is a rarity.

I was so excited when I read the reviews - until I realized that this, drat, was a baseball book. I didn't think I could bear to read a baseball book, especially such a long baseball book. So I didn't quite get around to reading it.

I was a fool to have waited. Because this isn't a book about Mariner baseball or Jackhammer baseball or even Kevin Costner baseball. This is a book about the joys of a summer day (and the tight knot in the stomach when stepping up to home plate hoping this time, this time, the bat will connect with a thwack that vibrartes through palms and up to the elbows, and that ball will sail silently into the blue expanses) mixed with an age old tale of order versus chaos and creation versus destruction. The plot is packed with the characters of our own American lore, la llaronna, Paul Bunyan, Big Foot, and Coyote - just to name a few and tells a truly American story, of a man who has a bright idea that could change the world, of a girl who pitches as well as any boy, of a Negro League player, and a Cuban refugee.

All that wrapped up into nine innings.

**** Check out the recorded book version of this one - Chabon himself reads the novel, and he has excellent voices! I could listen to his Ring-Finger Brown voice over and over and would grin every time I heard it.

Post script: Mercedes (now 12!) is listening to Summerland on playaway and is complaining that I don't write about her enough in my blog (petulant, isn't she?). Here's what she has to say about this one: "Ummm.... Ummmm... it's good... it has good girl characters like Jennifer T, so it doesn (shudder) focus just on the dumb boys."

The Monster Truck Rally of Picture Books

Warning: You should only read Dinosaur Vs. Bedtime aloud to a child if you are willing to do the following - 1) read the entire book with a voice like the announcer for the Monster Truck Rally commercials - deep and resonating and always ending with a slightly higher intonation; 2) roar like a dinosaur; 3) giggle uncontrollably with the audience you are reading to.

The illustrations are simple lines with rich hues- there's no nuance here - just simple dinosaurness in techn-o-color. The text too is straightforward - marked by a bold, all caps type face that gives us all the information we need ("Dinosaur vs. Spaghetti.... Dinosaur wins!"). Perhaps there's something worrisome about a book that puts everything in terms of combat - but if you've ever seen a four year old plunge ahead with dogged determination, you'll appreciate this one.

The Warmth of Candlewick Press

Do publishers have a smell?

Wow - that sounds entirely ridiculous as I write it, but I do think that if we could associate a certain scent with a certain publisher, then Candlewick Press would smell like homemade cinnamon rolls, just as they come out of the oven (rather than melted wax as the name might suggest).

When I pick up a Candlewick book, I know that I am always in for a treat. Sometimes the scent may be so powerful that it makes me catch my breath*, and other times, that perfume is the equivalent of a snuggly blanket and a kiss on the cheek from your mom.

A Visitor for Bear by Bonnie Becker and illustrated so warmly by Kady MacDonald Denton is just such a treat. Bear's home looks like the English cottage of my dreams (as does Angelina Ballerina's abode, if truth be told), but we know, as Bear will learn, that a cozy house is cozier if there is a friend to visit. Denton's bear, a cross between David McPhail's bumbling creatures and James Stevenson's whimsy, is huge and dainty all at once, but his bulk isn't enough to fill his home. The appearance of Mouse makes all the difference - and suddenly the white framing around Bear decreases, and Bear and his home take up more and more of the page, as though Bear's life is fuller with Mouse in it.

*Have you still not read The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing - published by Candlewick (really these editors are amazing)? What are you waiting for?

Valentin Thinks Ordinary Boy is Awesome

Valentin (age 6) and I have been reading The Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Boy by William Boniface with snappy illustrations by Stephen Gilpin (check out his site). We're on book three now and have enjoined every minute of the series. What's not to love? The story takes place in a town where everyone has a super-power, ranging from Miss Marble - the fourth grade teacher who can immobilize her students by glaring at them, to Lord Pincushion who carries an arsenal of tools and weapons on his person, to FuzzBoy who can grow hair on anyone and anything. A town where everyone is a super hero, everyone except Ordinary Boy (or so we are led to believe). Valentin has been busily working through the plot details, trying to determine Professor Brain-Drain's next evil plot, or how time travel will work in The Return of Meteor Boy (the second title in the series), or if Ordinary Boy isn't so ordinary after all. And in the process, Valentin has started reading... independently.... challenging books.... and a lot of them. What's the connection? What's the real super-story behind Ordinary Boy? I think it's that reading can be fun. We shouldn't undermine the importance of this statement. There is a unique pleasure that only reading can provide.

Mercedes wants me to add that her little brother isn't the only Oboy fan around here.

Besides Manga

Kitamura, Satoshi. Me and My Cat. 1999.

As a professor and the mother of four children (one of whom is a teenager - egad!), I am slightly ashamed to admit that I love reading Japanese manga and watching Japanese anime (in translation... sigh...). From the first time I saw Star Blazers on Channel 38, I was hooked. I loved the slapstick comedy, and the ridiculous drama and the big messy hair. I had the same reaction when I first discovered a manga collection at my library and read through every series I could get my hands on.

But even if I had never watched Gaiking or read Ranma 1/2, I hope I would have found Satoshi Kitamura's picture books. His stories are strange and surreal and silly - think Haruki Murakami for kids - but it is his artwork that defines his style. I am especially fond of Me and My Cat, where the boy narrator wakes one morning to find that he has been transplanted into his cat's body. His adventures as he tries to learn to be a cat are immensely entertaining, but it is the images of the cat, now inhabiting the boy's body, that make me laugh out loud, especially the two page spread broken into multiple panels of the cat-boy's actions, including wrestling with laundry, playing with yarn, and trying to use the litter box.

The Mysterious Benedict Society

Stewart, Trenton Lee. The Mysterious Benedict Society. Illus. Carson Ellis. Boston: Little, Brown, 2007.

When I was seven and my sister was 4, we were forced to play with the Lewman boys (Andy and Timmy, who were the same age as we were) while our parents chatted after dinner. Upstairs in the boys' bedroom, we were appaled to find that the boys mostly had Hot Wheels (bleh) and Legos (double bleh). This meant that there was only one option for play: Pretend.

Pretend went something like this:

Let's pretend...

... that we are orphans... and that we all have special skills (I was a super-genius and can't remeber what everyone else was)... and that we're spies... and that we have to save the world.

That's all one really needs to be entertained for an hour or two.

Stewart's novel is just like that - all the delightful play and puzzles of a 7 year old's make-believe drama, wrapped up in a funny, well crafted, powerfully plotted novel.

The Untimely Demise of the Home Schooled Girl

What is it about the home schooled girl that drives writers to make her a tragic heroine? Is there something about her independence added to her quirky cuteness that dooms her in young adult literature? Do male writers, ashamed of their guilty crushes on these characters, feel compelled to do away with them? Why does the male protagonist betray the home schooled girl? Why is he so terrified by her careless disregard of social teen-age norms?

I've been thinking about this after reading three (well... four) titles that on the surface have nothing in common - Shakespeare's The Tempest, M.T. Anderson's Feed*, and Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl (and Love, Stargirl too).

My English 102 students have been reading Shakespeare's play about the magical events that occur when a boat-load of Italian nobels are shipwrecked on an island inhabitted by the magician (and former Italian nobel) Prospero, his servants Ariel and Caliban, and his daughter Miranda - who has been raised and schooled on the island by no one but her father. My class keeps coming back to their discussion of Miranda who perplexes them. Why is she so docile? How can she seem so well-educated and well-spoken and still be easily directed, first by her father and then her love-interest, the recently-stranded Ferdinand? Is her marriage to Ferdinand a blessing or a type of imprisonment? All of the characters consider her to be the perfect image of a young woman, and yet she seems so unreal.

Violet, the heroine of Feed is likewise "too perfect." Anderson's setting is a futuristic and apocolyptic world where the internet is implanted in the brains of those who can afford it and consumerism runs amok destroying what is left of our fragile ecosystem, The book is masterfully constructed and the teen male narrator, Titus, wins over the readers with his honest voice. Titus falls for the homeschooled Violet, who questions the fate of her world while trying to participate in it. She, like Miranda, is the "perfect" girl - beautiful, smart, funny, in love with Titus, and ultimately killed by the faulty internet implant. Her death was terrible... mostly because Titus has broken up with her because she is too needy and "uncool" - oh, Titus, how could you?

Spinelli's Stargirl doesn't die (and thank goodness has a sequel) but like Violet, she is betrayed by her guy, Leo, who when faced with the choice of dumping Stargirl and becoming unpopular, he chooses his reputation - et tu, Leo? It is only when Stargirl has moved out of state that he realizes what he has lost.

Won't someone save these girls?

* Excuse me, have you read the Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing? If not, you should stop reading this blog this instant and go find yourself a copy and begin reading it right away.

Unfortunate

"Let’s start by saying I have a lot of money. I’ve acquired it by writing children’s books about terrible things happening to orphans, and this seems like such a crazy and possibly monstrous way of acquiring money that I give a lot of it away." - Daniel Handler in a June 10, 2007 New York Times article.

He's right. There is something monstrous about the success of The Series of Unfortunate Events, which Handler writes under his pseudonymn of Lemony Snicket, just like there is something monstrous about The Basic Eight (Handler's first novel, the tale of a psychotic teen who goes on a killing spree with a croquette mallet - which is, not surprisingly and unmistakably, for adults, or more specifically adults with a taste for snarky, funny, and graphically violent prose).

I'll happily admit that I find that snarkiness to be delightfully entertaining, in both his adult and children's book, but I am aware that this is a guilty pleasure. One can't truely delight in these books without having a slightly queasy feeling about the nastiness of his characters' peril.

Ah... how unfortunate...

*** Another quandry... should one read the books for Brett Helquists pictures? Or listen to Tim Curry's recorded book narration?

Owl In Love

Kindl, Patrice. Owl in Love. Houghton, 1993.

My 13 year old daughter, Aitana, would love this book, but she won't read it. She said the cover looks creepy.

Why does it look creepy? Is it the greyed tones of the girl's face on the cover? Is it the overlay of the owl's wing across her brow? Is it the blurb that reads "School girl by day, owl by night..." Aitana won't say (which I suppose is a new standard for my now teenage daughter).

Why would she love it? Here are my top five reasons (with SPOILERS - be warned!):

1. The main character is named Owl Tycho, which is clearly a cool name.


2. Owl is a sulky, ostracized teenage girl, so my daughter should empathize entirely with her.


3. Owl is magic; she is the daughter of witches and a shape changer - again, clearly cool.


4. Owl's love interest is a dark and damaged boy, Aitana's favorite flavor!


5. Kindl has written this beautifully. The first person narration may at first seem stilted, until one realizes that Owl is a girl with a 18th-century soul forced to negotiate her way through a 20th-century world. Owl's struggles as she is befriended by Dawn, a wonderfully complex character in her own right, are the real heart of this novel and develop questions of friendship to which any teen can relate.

A Continental Flavor

I've recently listened to two books on CD, both narrator by Patricia Conolly, that confirmed a sneaking suspicion I've had regarding the difference between Continental European writing for children and US, or even British, writing for the same audience.

Silvana De Mari's The Last Dragon and Eva Ibbotson's The Dragonfly Pool couldn't be two more different types of books. The first is a fantasy which tells the story of Yorsh, the last elf, and the humans with whom he interacts, and the last dragon. It is high fantasy, spanning the lives of two generations, with only lightly veiled commentary on human politics and quite a bit of wry humor.

The second is historical fiction, though Ibbotson is probably better known for her fantasy. It is the story of Tally, a girl who is sent from London to a "progressive school" at the start of World War II, and then travels to the fictionalized "Bergania" which seems to hearken back to Ibottson's own native Austria. The narrative then switches to focus on Karil, the prince of the soon invaded country.

What is the similarity between these two?

I think it is pacing. Like Cornelia Funke, both Di Mari and Ibbotson take their time telling this story. The pleasure in these tales is not the breathtaking action scenes, but the overlays and reflections as we move from one scene to the next, delighting in the clever foreshadowing and backtracking and subtle humor. I wonder if this is a "continental flavor?"

Guardian of the Spirit

I've just finished Cathy Hirano's translation of Nahoki Uehashi's Moribito: Guardian of the Spirit, which just won the 2008 Batchelder (the ALA award for a work in translation). Cathy participates in the Rutger's Children's Literature litserve and had posted about her translation and the challenges she was facing, so I was curious to see the finished product - which is gorgeous! The pages are heavy and expensive feeling; the text is printed in a lovely navy ink while elegant (though not particularly Japanese?) graphics grace the margins of each page in a slate colored ink. Each chapter opens with a quarter page graphic that looks like a stone with a stylized carving. And the three sections of the book are graced with Yuko Shimizu's compelling prints which feature the heroine, Balsa, and Chagum, the young prince she is charged to protect. The whole book is lavishly produced and an aesthetic pleasure to hold and admire.

But what about the book itself?

The story is compelling, even if one has seen the anime version or read the manga. This book is written like folklore, and the writing works! I enjoyed the imagry and the characters and was surprised at what a quick read this was.

The Problem with Pendragon

I've just finished Raven Rise, book nine (nine!) of the D.J. MacHale Pendragon series, and this book confirms what I realized in book one (and then again in books two through eight) - these books are dreadfully written. The stock characters seem to be lifted from popular TV series (the cocky, sporty girl side kick, the nerdy and smart boy, the aging and wise black man, a young Crocodile-Dundee, etc.), the plot is convoluted and confusing, and the dialogue - ugh - the dialogue is simply awful (the powerful call to battle by Bobby Pendragon, the teen protagonist, is "I say... we are so not done yet").

So why am I still reading them?

These books aren't really a pleasure - they are violent and confusing and just poorly written - but I can't figure out what makes the fantasy tick. I'm waiting for a revelation about how the magic works in MacHale's vision, because I can't for the life of me figure it out. Bobby, a Traveller, uses a magic ring to active "flumes" which are tunnels connecting our world (Second Earth) to nine other locations. But out of those nine locations two more are also "earth" - Earth in the 1940's and Earth in 3000-something. But only one other world has two time locations . Why is that? And sometimes the flumes work and sometimes they don't. Why? And the antagonist (who is so painfully cliched that it is hard to take him seriously) seems to be able to control the magic, but Bobby can't. Why?

One of the trademarks of effective fantasy is the consistency of the magical world, and the clear laws that the magic will follow. A fantasy that allows magic to work unchecked usually is confusing and uninteresting, where magic becomes the unconvincing solution to each of the protagonist's problems.

I've kept reading the series, because every fantasy-instinct I possess tells me that all of these confusing plot lines must iron themselves out.

And yet, I fear that I will be terribly disappointed when the final book comes out.

Bringing the Blog Up to Date

I haven't posted in a while, but now that school is back in session, I'm ready to start sharing reviews and thoughts on Children's Literature again.



So what have I been reading? Perhaps the better question is what have I been listening to? Over my semester break I found that I wasn't reading as much as I normally do, but I did listen to several recorded books.



I listened to Daniel Gerroll's performance of The Fire Eaters. This is another of David Almond's lyrical and sorrowful novels. Like Skellig, Almond's best known novel about children who discover a broken angel in their back yard, this novel too exists in the realm of magical realism, but, instead of a contemporary setting, The Fire Eaters is also a work of historical fiction, taking place during the Cuban Missle Crisis. The language, for US readers may be a challenge since Almond draws on the vocabulary and dialect of his own native northern England.




I had difficulty listening to this novel. While I appreciate Almond's poetic voice and Gerroll's evocative reading, the pain, both physical and emotional, that is laced through this book was hard to stomach. The title character, McNulty the Fire Eater, is masochistic and Bobby Burns, the young narrator is drawn to that masochistic nature. He wonders if, by inflicting pain upon himself, he can take pain from others.



As I write this, I wonder if this is a children's novel - though I did not doubt the fact when listening to it. I think this would appeal to those older middle-schoolers and high schoolers as well.