Hoban’s Wild Terrain

In a bracing mash-up of magic realism set in the far North of the author’s fierce imagination, Russell Hoban traverses the wild terrain of life, death, and regeneration and unearths the intrinsic duality of human existence.

With Soonchild, his quick-paced, often startling last novel, Mr. Hoban, who died last year, once more eschews conventional expectations in favor of the precarious role of a shape shifter. The author creates his story by fusing a storm of discordant elements: genres (Is this a young-adult novel? an extended modern fable? a graphic novel for adults?); the physical world and the spiritual; and language, mingling traditional motifs of Inuit folk literature with colloquialisms bred by a modern, consumerist society. The territory Mr. Hoban explores is ultimately internal, as each human contains a world within worlds.

The protagonist of Soonchild is a shaman so full of fear he has 16 faces, not nearly enough to deal with all the dangers out there. Sixteen-Face John has taken to ignoring the unruly spirit world by settling into an ordinary life of a little hunting, fishing, carving, and trapping with a skiddoo instead of a dogsled. When John’s not doing whatever it takes to survive, he plops in front of the TV, drinks a Coke and peruses magazines with centerfolds. The spirits still whisper in his head, but he makes sure there’s “always a lot of other noise on top of it.”

The impending first child, however, manages to pull John from his mundane distractions. His wife, No Problem, warns him the baby they call Soonchild is refusing to leave her womb. Their daughter’s problem, the shaman learns, is that she cannot hear the World Songs, so she refuses to believe in an existence other than the one she already knows.

Thus, the bumbling father sets out on an unlikely quest to stake claim to the Master Song that contains all the songs of the world. His perilous journey demands that he confront demons both external and internal, morph into myriad shapes, enter deep trances, and create his own songs. Fortunately and unfortunately, John is not always alone in his undertaking. He encounters not only terrors but also a motley cast of vital spirit helpers, ranging from his poker-playing, deceased great-grandmother to the ice bear Nanuq.

The most significant assistance, however, comes from Old Man Raven, drawn from the Inuits’ mythical trickster figure credited with creating the world. Raven, who “speaks his word of black,” can blink John into his eye and defy time, fear, and gravity, thereby enabling the shaman to rescue the song that will convince Soonchild to join her parents.

The reader’s experience of this singular novel is enriched by Alexis Deacon’s powerful charcoal and pencil drawings of eerie, significant images: the ice bear’s fierce claws, the owl-woman’s watchful eyes, the snoring ton of walrus, the fangs of ghost wolves. These illustrations, combined with the author’s lyrical language, engage the reader in a magical, thought-provoking expedition.

Like the wolves, Soonchild tracks “the paths of the living, the paths of the dead,” leaving readers a legacy of hard-won wisdom.

Reprinted with permission from New York Journal of Books.

And see these intriguing posts from artist/writer/blogger Anne E. G. Nydam:

“Inuit Stone Block Prints” and “Transformations.”

 

Oh, Pinocchio, Say It Isn’t So

How we crave our stories of magic, those heady tales of endless possibilities. Once upon a time, Carlo Collodi created a character made of wood but with the big heart and unbridled desires of a child. In The Adventures of Pinocchio, the wily Italian author turns our expectations inside out, inviting us to examine the dual nature of fantasy and of freedom — in other words, to grow up.

We Americans, so accustomed to seeing the cute popular images of Pinocchio, are unprepared for Collodi’s opening description of … “a piece of wood. It wasn’t expensive wood, just the ordinary kind that we take from a woodpile in the winter and put in the stove or the fireplace in order to get a fire going … .” Right away, the author is warning us that this will be no traditional fairy story.

Enrico Mazzanti illustration from Wikipedia

Yes, magic feeds the plot. The plain wood, after all, somehow springs to life after old Geppetto carves his puppet. And interestingly enough, the first miraculous growth of that famous nose occurs as the carpenter shapes it: “Poor Geppetto kept struggling to cut it back; but the more he cut and shortened it, the longer that impudent nose became.”

You might wonder, Who is in control here? Ah, that is the question Collodi goes on to explore. Immediately, Geppetto’s creation turns on him, snatching the old man’s wig and mocking him by putting it on his own head. “Scamp of a child, you aren’t even finished and you’re already beginning to lack respect for your father!”

Pinocchio, it turns out, will not consider himself finished until he becomes a real boy, with all the advantages and disadvantages that condition entails. On the other hand, he is lured by the fantasy that he can escape the drudgery, the diligence, and discipline required to be a student and later, a working adult.  The puppet will do exactly as he pleases.

Illustrations from “Le avventure di Pinocchio, storia di un burattino”, Carlo Collodi, Bemporad & figlio, Firenze 1902 (Drawings and engravings by Carlo Chiostri, and A. Bongini) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Or not. A multitude of troubles await the imp, as he scorns the advice of wiser voices, those who try to steer him toward being a “good” boy, one who is industrious, honest, dutiful. When the Talking Cricket tells him he feels sorry for him because he has a wooden head, he smashes the cricket with a mallet. This, my friends, is not what you would call a gentle story. Pinocchio’s journey involves abandoning his doting father and later, the strange blue-haired fairy he loves and considers a mother. He endures hunger, humiliation, loneliness, and near-death. Each episode of suffering brings on an overwhelming sense of regret — until, of course, he strays again.

It’s not just Pinocchio’s impulsive nature that unleashes peril and persecution, but his gullibility, as well. He believes the Fox and the Cat when they describe a Field of Miracles where his gold coins will multiply if he buries them there. He is deceived by his jealous classmates when they persuade him to skip school to join them at the beach. And even when he is about to have his wish come true at last, that he become a real boy, he decides to run away with his pal Lampwick, to a place where there are no schools, no teachers, no books. “The days go by in play and good times from morning till night. Then at night you go to bed, and the next morning you begin all over again,” his friend says.

The Story of a Puppet, or: The Adventures of Pinocchio (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The adventures at Funland usher in some of the darkest passages of the novel. The boys who sought a world of all play and no work, in time find themselves transformed into beasts of burden, abused, underfed, and overworked until they die.

Where did all that freedom go? Collodi displays the intricate connections between freedom and responsibility, between fantasy and reality. The puppet indeed is a blockhead, as he does not really think for himself; again and again, he reacts. Others dictate the path he follows. He is left to suffer the consequences, as do those who really care for him.

The author’s ending is one that satisfies children, who typically (at least, if my daughters’ experiences hold true) have laughed at the puppet’s string of ridiculous mistakes, all the while believing he will, at last, become a good boy, a real boy. Yet, for adults, it is a somewhat sobering conclusion, as the child seems too dandified and self-satisfied. We can only trust the price of being real is worth it, for, as we have seen, the alternative is so much worse.

And when we return to the question, Who’s in control of one’s life? we come face-to-face with a simple and troubling answer: no one. To believe otherwise, Collodi implies, is to indulge in a fantasy bound to bring us sorrow.

Work Cited

Collodi, Carlo. Le Avventure di Pinocchio/The Adventures of Pinocchio: Story of a Puppet. Trans., Nicolas J. Perella. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005.

On the Wing with William Joyce

“Every story has its upsets,” as one man discovers in William Joyce’s radiant new picture book, The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore.

It didn’t take a hurricane for the title character to appreciate reading, but the storm does uncover a world where books show their true colors. Ironically, this lively, expressive book about books began as an animated short, which garnered the Academy Award in that category.

While I love the imaginative little film, I am also in awe of the lovely language in Joyce’s picture book. “Each book was whispering an invitation to adventure,” it says. And what an adventure for us  readers. The man whose books are blown away by a hurricane (echoes of Katrina and The Wizard of Oz) traverses a bleak land until he encounters a woman flying with books in the bright sky. It seems he, too, can wing it with the book he’s picked up.

Joyce has packed this book with literary references (Mother Goose’s Humpty Dumpty and Pop Goes the Weasel), film references (the protagonist strongly resembles Buster Keaton), and fully develops the idea that books enable us, like birds, to travel far and wide. It’s a beautiful, life-affirming message for all ages, a theme that promises to sustain our continued literary feats, as the book reassures us that “everyone’s story matters.”

Either the book, the interactive app, or the 15-minute film (or all) would make for an inspiring classroom experience. After seeing the film, children could discuss the many ways in which books enrich our lives. Whatever the format, this story lovingly explores such significant roles as …

1. Books inspire us.

2. Books comfort and heal us.

3. Books are companions.

4. Books help us develop intellectually, spiritually, emotionally.

5. Books help us discern, clarify, and appreciate our own emotions and beliefs.

6. Books help us perceive our relationship to the world.

7. Books help us see the wider world — including its geography, its ethnic and racial diversity, its colors, climates, and conceptions.

8. Books enrich our experiences — past, current, and future.

9. Books transcend time by connecting us to a range of people, places, thoughts, theories, events, and eras.

10. Books give us a silent space for wild growth. For freedom.

All that in a silent film! But don’t miss the book, either!

Also see these fanciful books by William Joyce:

A Cabinet Carved With Magic

With an alluring setting, a feisty and believable heroine, and resonant language that lingers like dark honey, Anne Nesbet has concocted a potent coming-of-age story with her debut novel, The Cabinet of Earths.

Against her will, 12-year-old Maya Davidson has left her comfortable life in California to accommodate her parents. Of course her dad, a scientist, would accept the one-year offer to work in Paris, even if it comes from the strangely named “Society of Philosophical Chemistry.” After all, her artistic mom has roots in France and longs to spend time there. And who knows how long mom’s cancer will be in remission –  if, in fact, it actually is.

Maya doesn’t know the city of Paris, but it seems to know her. Just across from her little brother’s new school, a bronze door handle shaped like a salamander seems to wink at her, and above the door, a carved face eerily resembles her. Inside that strange stone mansion lives a violet-eyed man named Henri de Fourcroy, who, it turns out, is a distant relation, both older and more dangerous than he appears.

What does this elegant man have to do with her dull Cousin Louise, who seems oddly invisible? What makes her brother James so charming? What is the nature of charm and beauty and inheritance? What does freedom entail? Maya’s questions, so attuned to adolescent soul-searching, will lead her to pursue her Parisian roots and will land her before that Cabinet of Earths, glittering with bottles that contain magic rooted in family greed, jealousy, and betrayal. There, in the dark home of another distant relative, who also claims to be Henri de Fourcroy, she beholds glints of her own destiny:

“. . . All at once the world went very still. She was floating; she was underwater: all the room’s sound was replaced by a throbbing hum, light streaking slowly away from everything it touched. She stretched one hand out (the air was as thick as syrup; her arm moved with the slow grace of an aquatic plant) and tried to say something, but her voice was gone, too.
……Maya…..
The cabinet itself was calling to her . . .”

Or is her new friend Valko right in assuming she is simply giving free rein to her imagination? The cabinet promises to reveal the source of the youthful appearance of the violet-eyed Henri and of other Parisians. It might also be the key to saving her mom’s life. Unlike the cabinet’s current keeper, will Maya be strong enough to preserve her identity and resist the cabinet’s power?

Inside this jewel of a novel, situated at the intersection of science and magic, you’ll find yourself entranced by its hypnotic, memorable images … its engaging young characters …  and by its eloquent exploration of the nature of loss, loveliness, and loyalty.

See also …

Shades of St. Patrick

Already the near-spring is bringing us shades of St. Patrick and the greening of fields and forests. With a hey and a ho, (Can you tell I’ve joined a group of madrigal singers?) I’m ready to open crisp, new books and take fresh peeks at old ones.

Congratulations to Bob Brooks for his new ebook, Tales from the Glades of Ballymore, a sweet fantasy that features an assortment of animals who create their own nurturing community. The gentle novel, set in 1891 in the Irish countryside, follows four seasons of their lives near a pond. From the kite-flying contest in March to the sustained project of building a boat to the hilarious tunnel-digging project for Mrs. Porcupine’s garden, the residents turn to each other for help — or at least for a humorous diversion.

Led by wise old Bartholomew Owl, the animals display a range of personalities and talents, ranging from weather forecasting to delivering messages. In between mishaps and a mystery involving a letter from the past, they learn the value of empathy and of working together for the common good. (You can join them by clicking on the title above to buy a copy for your Kindle or laptop.)

Tales from Old Ireland, one of Barefoot’s lovely compilations, offers a stirring selection of seven folktales for ages 8 to 12. Belfast-born storyteller Malachy Doyle employs a lilting, sprightly style that does justice to these strange and wondrous tales. The collection, available with CDs, includes the sad “Children of Lir,” the colorful Irish version of Cinderella (“Fair, Brown, and Trembling”) and the wise “Lusmore and the Fairies,” which illustrates the value of kindness and respect . The final story, featuring the legendary hero Finn Mac Cool, even includes the appearance of St. Patrick himself. Thanks to the Irish monks of the seventh and eighth centuries, we can still savor such wild, old Celtic tales.

For younger readers (ages 6 to 8), pick up Cynthia DeFelice’s
One Potato, Two Potato. DeFelice, an acclaimed writer and storyteller, has taken a likable Chinese folktale and transported it to Ireland. This charming tale about a poor couple finding a magic wishing pot but not letting it rule (or ruin) their lives is a timely and witty way to teach young ones the importance of simplicity and gratitude. One Potato, Two Potato is a treat to read aloud to young children and will generate interesting discussions of values.

And here’s Celtic Thunder in concert. Enjoy!

A Snowy Quest for a Friend

Once upon a time two friends were inseparable. Fifth-grade cast-offs Hazel and Jack offer each other the trust and security their families do not. Hazel, adopted from India, once thought she knew her real home and family. Her confidence diminishes, though, after her parents divorce, and she’s forced to change schools.

Gone are her old friends, her comforting routines, and even her father, so caught up in his new life he pays little attention to Hazel. Her next-door neighbor Jack is the one person she knows who uses his imagination. Jack, neglected by a mother transformed by depression, relies on Hazel and his creativity to brighten his life. The two make up fantasies about dragons and dinosaurs and superhero baseball, bringing their own kind of magic to their Minnesota town.

The scaffolding for Breadcrumbs’ plot comes from “The Snow Queen,” Hans Christian Andersen’s intense story of a girl and a boy who become estranged when a shard of an enchanted mirror enters Kai’s eye. The looking glass warps his perception of people and the world, leading him both to cruelty and to admiration of perfection, as reflected in snowflakes or arithmetic. Soon he succumbs to the power of a cold, calculating witch and becomes detached from his past and even from the painful cold that envelops him in her kingdom.

Ms. Ursu is not the first to find inspiration here; C. S. Lewis’s White Witch bears a strong resemblance to Andersen’s wintry villain. This author’s lofty challenge, however, seems to be to hold up her own contemporary characters in the reflection of Andersen’s line of outcasts, thereby illuminating the interior world of a lonely child. Who has portrayed young misfits so powerfully as Andersen? The dying child in “The Little Match Girl,” the vain, self-absorbed girl condemned to dance in “The Red Shoes,” and the disowned daughter in “The Wild Swans” all drift into this magical book.

Enhanced with Erin McGuire’s frosty, atmospheric illustrations, Breadcrumbs taps fairy tales and fantasies to capture the conflicts of the two friends. One of the author’s surprising twists heightens the novel’s tension and provides a stunning context for the age-old question: Am I my brother’s keeper?

While Andersen has the pernicious shard somehow entering the boy’s eye as the clock strikes 12, the novelist hones in on her protagonist. It starts with Hazel feeling angry and left out as her best friend ignores her in favor of some boys who have taunted her. She hurls a snowball at Jack, not knowing it contains a piece of mirror that will pierce his eye and heart.

Jack becomes insensitive, uncaring, and reckless, and Hazel feels lost without her friend. Then something worse happens: He vanishes. Hazel bravely asks Jack’s parents where he is, but they provide such a flimsy explanation she refuses to accept it. She does believe Jack’s friend Tyler, though, when he describes how Jack went off with a thin white woman in her sleigh.

Showing herself to be a true friend, Hazel decides to save Jack, whether he wants to be saved or not. As Hazel enters the frozen forest, the novel’s atmosphere grows dark and surreal. Earlier in the novel, she thought of the woods as magical, “the sort of place she and Jack were supposed to go into together. They would bring breadcrumbs, and they would cross through the line of trees to see what awaited them.”

In stark contrast to that wondrous scene, Hazel must set off alone on a bleak, solitary journey for which she seems ill-equipped. She forgets her boots; she packs just a few snacks food; she doesn’t know where to go; and she lies to her mom in an effort to obscure her risky plan. The journey into the woods is thrilling and, at times, bewildering. A flurry of fairy tale characters appears, and Hazel wonders which ones are trustworthy.

The reader, also, might wonder how some of these people fit into the story. While the forest’s motley inhabitants will delight fairy-tale lovers, their roles might seem insignificant, especially as most of them simply disappear from the story after their moment in the spotlight. It’s true that Breadcrumbs drops minor characters and plot lines, but this device actually mirrors the fragmented nature of reality and how each person must somehow come to terms with contradictions, ironies, uncertainties, and the deceptive nature of appearances. Real magic, like real life, is neither simple nor pure.

Because of the cursed sliver of mirror, Jack perceives the witch as flawless. When Hazel encounters her, though, the witch so feared by him and the fairy folk seems freakishly insubstantial: “. . . [T]he snow was not snow anymore, but a woman—tall and lithe like a sketch, in a white fur cape and a white shimmering gown that looked so thin it would melt if you touched it. Hair like spun crystal framed cream-colored skin.” When the dark-eyed, dark-skinned heroine again connects with Jack, she demonstrates a warmth and singleness of heart the witch does not possess.

Of the many joys of reading this rich, symbolic novel, perhaps none surpasses the revelation of inner growth Hazel undergoes. She enters the woods full of doubts but discovers a strength she didn’t know she possessed. At turns either distracted by or urged to action by her experiences with fairy tales, Hazel learns much about the relationships between perceptions and reality. People who appear to be helpers might actually be enemies, and vice versa. Sometimes what seems safe—like falling asleep in the snow—can be deadly. Led by the only reliable compass, a love for others, she will sacrifice all she has for Jack.

Yet for all that, readers who desire a neat, happy-ever-after ending will not find it here. Although the brave girl manages to bring her friend home, she cannot transform his family into a nurturing one. That conclusion would be too perfect to be true.

The Hazel who emerges from the forest has found the courage to cope with change. This confidence will enable her to find a place in her new world—unlike so many of Andersen’s sad characters. Breadcrumbs offers middle-schoolers traces of bright hope in the face of an often treacherous world.

Reprinted with permission from New York Journal of Books 

A Dickens of a Tale

Deedy, Carmen Agra and Randall Wright. The Cheshire Cheese Cat: A Dickens of a Tale. Illustrated by Barry Moser. Peachtree, 2011.

“Fleet of foot, sleek and solitary, Skilley was a cat among cats. Or so he would have been, but for a secret he had carried since his early youth. A secret that caused him to live in hidden shame, avoiding even casual friendship lest anyone discover — “

A whack of the dreaded broom interrupts the authors’ fine opening description of a cat that deserves to find a spot in many a reader’s home. Skilley is a common alley cat with an  uncommon problem: he has a taste for cheese instead of mice. This leads Skilley to embark upon a bold plan: to escape the streets for the comfort of nothing less than … Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. There on Fleet Street, amidst the tantalizing scent of London’s best cheese,  the famous writers flock  — William Makepeace Thackeray, Wilkie Collins, and, especially, Charles Dickens, who takes a fancy to our feline protagonist, a “handsome blue with a most comical tail.”

Life at the tavern, however, brings with it plenty of  complications. Most notably, a clever, word-loving mouse named Pip discovers Skilley’s secret. Can a cat and a mouse learn to trust each other? The two decide to make a deal, that Skilley will guard the mice in return for them giving him bits of the luscious Cheshire cheese for which the inn is known.

The unfolding of the friendship between this improbable pair makes for delicious reading. Any adult who reads this aloud to children will encounter myriad opportunities to discuss the nature of trust and the precious yet precarious role it plays in the quality of one’s life. In the course of the characters’ growing appreciation of each other’s differences, the plot honors the motley nature of our world.

Providing another prism on the complexities of trust is the wounded raven Maldwyn, one of Queen Victoria’s Tower guards. The dour but wise old bird saw his life turn topsy-turvy after he encountered a vicious tomcat. Skilley realizes with horror that the bully who maimed Maldwyn is also his own nemesis: Pinch, a rascal always ready to rumble.

Of course, Pinch is the very cat who arrives at the pub to bring misery to all his potential prey. Skilley’s peaceful new life vanishes, as he not only fears for his own security but also for his dear friend, Pip; as well as the multitude of mice under his protection.

Dire circumstances require audacious planning and action. The broken-winged raven must return to the Tower, and it is up to the literate mouse Pip to mastermind the bird’s escape. In a charming touch, the authors show how a famous writer unwittingly assists in the grand scheme.

Readers will feast not only on the novel’s well-paced plot, the vivid characters, and Moser’s arresting, expressive drawings, but also on the authors’ themes of the power of words and the worth of each creature on earth. Dickens, whose thoughts weave in and out of the animal tale, is having a heck of a time coming up with the opening for his latest novel. We discover how the writer’s most famous line comes from an unlikely and lovable source. We should all be so lucky.

Here, readers, is a tale worth savoring.

You can discover more about how this fantasy came to be in this interview at James Preller’s blog.

More Great Read-Alouds with Cats or Mice:

Fantasies That Refresh the Spirit

Where have all the hopeful fantasies gone? The fascinating folklore authority Maria Tatar, in today’s New York Times op-ed “No More Adventures in Wonderland, ” draws a clear and troubling contrast between the beloved fantasies of J.M. Barrie and Lewis Carroll with more recent ones such as those by Neil Gaiman,  Susannah Collins, and Philip Pullman. “Children today get an unprecedented dose of adult reality in their books, sometimes without the redemptive beauty, cathartic humor and healing magic of an earlier time,” she writes.

Perhaps those of you who have precocious fantasy lovers in your home or in your classroom share my concern that children need not rush over to the dark side that modern writers are exploring so adeptly. Even the Harry Potter books, Rowlings admits, are “largely about death.” Where, then, can we gently nudge young ones to satisfy their cravings for imaginative fiction infused with a sense of wonder and optimism?

Fortunate are the children who find their way to the fabulous world of  Peter Pan, to Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, or to Edith Nesbit’s The Enchanted Castle! 

Another new — and old — possibility: The Flint Heart, which I recently reviewed for the New York Journal of Books  . Rarely do children today encounter fantasies crackling with good-natured humor and even wisdom. The acclaimed author Katherine Paterson and her husband John have rewritten a century-old novel by Eden Phillpotts and wrought a fine fantasy that will make for a spirited family or class read-aloud.

Hope lives on, my friends. These days, it’s just harder to unearth. Which recently published fantasies have you shared with your children?

Great Read-aloud Fantasies:

       

  

Related articles

• Loitering in Neverland: the strangeness of Peter Pan   (guardian.co.uk)

Fairy Tales Reach the Heart

Prolific writer Jane Yolen is a passionate proponent of the role of traditional folk and fairy tales in the lives of children. In Touch Magic: Fantasy, Faerie and Folklore in the Literature of Childhood, she warned, “Our children are growing up without their birthright: the myths, fairy tales, fantasies and folklore that are their proper legacy. It is a serious loss.”

In the process of entertaining us, myths and folk literature perform four crucial functions, Yolen argues. They provide …

1. a landscape of allusion
2. insight into ancestral cultures
3. a safe path for processing experience
4. a framework for an individual’s beliefs and values

“When we … deprive [children] of the insights and poetic visions expressed in words that humans have produced throughout human history, we deny them – in the end – their own humanity.” We bequeath to them a dry and shallow culture.

While I agree all four functions are vital, I’d like to focus on the third and fourth roles, as they pertain to the education of the heart, which is so often neglected in our schools. As Yolen pointed out, “The best of the old stories spoke not just to the ears but to the heart as well.”

How do these old tales speak to the heart? They echo our fears, hopes, and losses. Most children aren’t conscious of their fear of abandonment, but they recognize it when they hear a story such as “Hansel and Gretel.” Folk literature explores and examines forces so fearsome as to seem almost insurmountable. Like Jack, children live in a world with giants. The tales give them tools to interpret their confusing lives. They invite young ones to envision a way to triumph over adversity, to succeed despite all obstacles. Dare to hope, the stories tell us.

There’s more. Children respond to the stark morality, the chiaroscuro of fairy tales. They understand it. They crave it. That’s why the sugary, Disney versions don’t have the same impact. G.K. Chesteron said, “If you really read the fairy tales, you will observe that one idea runs from one end of them to the other – the idea that peace and happiness can only exist on some condition. This idea, which is the core of ethics, is the core of the nursery tale.” In other words, you cannot get unless you give.

These stories reflect the human condition, in that they so often depict a condition of choice. The heroine chooses to venture “east o’ the sun and west o’ the moon” – and rescues her husband. Every choice has consequences. The wolf’s choice to climb down the chimney lands him in the pot of boiling water. Justice is served.  Every memorable story, Yolen wrote, “is about the working through evil in order to come at last to the light.”

Choose to lead young ones to these powerful old tales. They deserve no less.

A Few Recommended Folk and Fairy Tales … (Look for more in future posts.)

For Ages 4-6

Cousins, Lucy. Yummy: Eight Favorite Fairy Tales. Candlewick, 2009. Cousins  retells beloved classic fairy tales with simple, direct language, complemented by her large, expressive, bright gouache spreads. As in the traditional versions, poetic justice rings out loud and clear in this collection, which includes “Little Red Riding Hood,” “The Musicians of Bremen,” “Henny Penny,” “The Three Little Pigs,” “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,”  “The Three Billy Goats Gruff,” and “The Enormous Turnip.”

Aylesworth, Jim. The Gingerbread Man.

———————Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

———————Tale of Tricky Fox.

———————Aunt Pitty Patty’s Piggies.

For Ages 6-8

Andersen,  Hans Christian; Alderson, Brian, retel. Thumbelina. Candlewick, 2009.

Bruchac, Joseph. The First Strawberries.

——————— The Story of the Milky Way.

Bryan, Ashley. Ashley Bryan’s African Tales, Uh-Huh and The Lion, the Ostrich Chicks, and Other African Tales.

Lunge-Larsen, Lise. The Troll With no Heart in his Body. Houghton, 2003.

For Ages 8 and up

Andersen, Hans Christian. The Snow Queen. Retold by Naomi Lewis. Candlewick, 2009. Beautifully retold and illustrated version of Andersen’s lengthy, memorable tale of  a boy whose heart is stolen by the evil Snow Queen and the brave girl who rescues him with the warmth of her love.

Grimm, Brothers.  The Juniper Tree: and other Tales from Grimm. Jarrell, Randall and Lore Segal, ed. Il. by Maurice Sendak. Farrar, 2003.  Now classic collection includes 27 fairy tales, many of which are lesser-known tales, such as the striking title story. (Reissued)

Lewis, Naomi. Stories From the Arabian Nights. Random, 1990. While there are many versions of these stories, most don’t come near the beauty of these masterful retellings by Lewis.

Yolen, Jane. Mightier Than the Sword: World Folktales for Strong Boys. Yolen has retold folktales in which the hero uses his imagination or cleverness to resolve conflicts.

Yolen, Jane. Not One Damsel in Distress: World Folktales for Strong Girls. Houghton, 2000. Yolen deftly retells fairy and folktales featuring heroines who solve problems by being brave, clever, or industrious.

Ellen Handler Spitz Reviews “The Grimm Reader: The Classic Tales Of The Brothers Grimm” | The New Republic.

 

 

What Would Aslan Do?

When you read C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series, you know you’re in the hands of a writer who comprehends the nature of good and evil. So when I read this weekend that Christine O’Donnell, the Republican running for the Senate in Delaware, had compared the Tea Party – and herself, by implication — to Aslan, Lewis’s beloved lion who sacrificed himself to save humanity, I found myself asking: What would Aslan do with this?

O’Donnell took one of literature’s most powerful symbols of Christ and tried to link it to what she calls a ”revolution of reason.” The Tea Party, she said, “isn’t tame, but boy, it sure is good.” As one of the millions of readers who love Lewis’s  wise and wonderful fantasies, I say, Take your hands off that lion. I knew that lion, and you, miss, are no lion.

The seemingly sweet association called forth by the woman from Delaware (well, for the last six years) echoes the scene in the The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, where the four Penvensie children meet the awe-inspiring Aslan. The beast is “not safe but good,” they concur. But as you venture into the ethical territory Lewis explored with his Christlike character,  O’Donnell’s allusion soon reveals its own twisted, arrogant nature.

Aslan, the king of Narnia, is the golden-maned beast that will restore spring to a world drained of warmth and color. Lewis uses two characters, Aslan and the White Witch, to reveal the contrast between good and evil. Goodness, as evoked by Aslan is warm, wise, mysterious, exciting. Evil, symbolized by the White Witch, is cold, cruel, destructive, colorless.

Most tellingly, the two characters use their immense powers differently.  Although Aslan has the ability to destroy, he unleashes his power only in the service of humanity. The Witch, on the other hand, is self-serving and deceitful. She tempts one of the children, Edmund, with enchanted Turkish Delight: “She knew, though Edmund did not, that … anyone who tasted it would want more and more of it.” This fiendish sweet does not satisfy hunger, it increases it. Under this influence, Edmund betrays Aslan and his siblings. Here’s how Aslan deals with the traitor: He forgives him. He talks to Edmund and then brings him back to his siblings, saying “… there is no need to talk to him about what is past.”  If words of kindness or respect have appeared anywhere in the Tea Party, I’ve somehow missed it.

C.S. Lewis created a character that resembled Christ in word and in deed. Aslan was not only merciful. He changed people for the better. He knew the other side was powerful, but he also knew that the Witch’s magic “goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back … she would have read there a different incantation.”  Wisdom, as Lewis so beautifully shows us, requires perspective and patience.

“Wrong will be right when Aslan comes in sight,” wrote Lewis.  Aslan will not be seen at this party. But watch for trays of Turkish Delight.