The Saster of Milliness Ives Lagain

When I was a senior in high school, I was saddened to learn that one of my favorite writers, Shel Silverstein, had died. So when I saw his name on the list of upcoming new releases at my bookstore, I was excited. I did not expect to see any new Silverstein books, and the prospect intrigued me. I bought a copy yesterday and quickly devoured it.

What I really would have cherished, I think, is a collection of poetry in the vein of Where the Sidewalk Ends, A Light in the Attic and Falling Up. Those books contain dozens of trademark Silverstein poems ranging from wacky to inspiring (often both at once), and because of them Silverstein is one of the first names I think of when asked to name my favorite poets. Runny Babbit is something a little different. It is a collection of poems, but they all focus on a particular character, and most run about eight lines.

Each poem is accompanied by an illustration, allowing it to spread across two pages. The main character is a dumpy bunny, a well-mannered little fellow with a host of oddly-named woodland companions. This is the main conceit of the book, one that will probably appeal to young children who find delight in chattering in Pig Latin and other such “secret” languages long after the adults around them have begun tearing their hair out. The words Runny Babbit (subtitled A Billy Sook) are all topsy-turvy. Usually the first letters of two words are switched, though on occasion Silverstein changing something else around just to throw the readers a curveball (or to make something rhyme). It’s amusing at first, but I’m afraid I tired of it quickly and found myself just switching the letters back to normal as I read.

The illustrations are done in Silverstein’s distinct style, and many of the poems don’t make sense without them. Some of them also include bits of dialogue, also written in the flip-flopped style. Basically the book is a series of vignettes about Runny, calling to mind the delicious minimalism of James Marshall in his chronicles of George and Martha. Most of the poems are pretty mundane to begin with but have a concluding twist that elicits a chuckle. Silverstein takes the ordinary day-to-day life of his young protagonist and draws humor from it.

Some of the poems are more successful than others. I found Silverstein’s reference to George Washington hilarious, but I didn’t really see the point of the ditty that included Yankee Doodle. It’s one of a few poems that is just sort of there, with no grand reason for its existence. The best offerings include a sly wink in the last couple of lines, as in Runny and the Scancin’ Dunk: “ Runny fell in a pud muddle, / and had to clash his wothes, / when along came Skertie Gunk, / tancin’ on her does. / Skertie Gunk, she taved her wail / to say, “Hello, my friend.” / So Runny Babbit had to go / and clash his wothes again.”

I shouldn’t be too surprised that a posthumous offering does not quite hold up alongside the seminal works of a master versifier. Take away the distinctive letter-switching style, and most of these poems simply don’t provide the zaniness level I’m used to with Silverstein. Still, it’s a good offering – a great one, considering the fact that I didn’t expect to read anything new by him again.

I also have to comment on the photograph on the back of the book. It’s an interesting pose, him sitting back on a porch with his knees out, sprawled comfortably. My brother laughed when he saw it and said he didn’t look anything like an author of children’s books. He’s as intimidating as the phony author featured on the cover of Lemony Snicket’s Unauthorized Autobiography; he looks a little like the last man standing on Survivor. So there’s a certain ironic humor in this portrait, as well as a poignancy born of the fact that we know he is deceased. I don’t know when the picture was taken, but to me it says weary defiance. I notice that the photographer is the person to whom the book is dedicated, so I imagine that he was a friend trying to capture the author as he was.

What he was to me is a man with a wicked sense of humor and a natural flair for stringing words together in a most amusing fashion. He also had a real sense of compassion about him, as is evident in such tales as The Giving Tree. I don’t know if Runny Babbit will ever achieve that book’s iconic status, but for any fan of the dearly departed poet, it is a reason to be grateful.