Wednesday, February 28, 2007

With Episodes Like This, Star Trek Should Have Lasted Forever

Our local Fox station has recently begun playing re-runs of Star Trek. Years ago, we got them once a day, at which time we managed to tape half of the series' episodes, though I often botched the job, and we ended up pitching the tapes, which were already suffering tracking problems after only a couple of viewings. Bummer. But now I can watch them again, and it was my good luck that one of the first ones I caught was the iconic The City on the Edge of Forever.

It's a bad day on the U. S. S. Enterprise. The ship, sent to explore some wacky time-space anomalies emanating from nearby, finds itself right in the middle of these tears in time, which shakes the ship, which causes Dr. McCoy (DeForrest Kelley) to accidentally inject himself with a large amount of a dangerous drug, which makes him go stark raving mad. Convinced everyone around him is out to get him, he beams down to the surface of the troublesome planet and finds the Guardian of Forever, an intelligence that keeps track of history and allows visitors to leap into the past, which McCoy does, with disastrous consequences.

Captain Kirk (William Shatner), Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy) and the rest of the landing party, unable to halt his flight, are in for a shock when the Guardian informs them that he has changed something that has negated the existence of the Enterprise and the Earth as they know it. Their only hope lies in time travel, which means approximating the time of McCoy's jump, pin-pointing his calamitous interference and putting a stop to it.

So it is that Kirk and Spock find themselves in New York City during the Great Depression, hopelessly out of place, scarcely able to explain away Spock's ears ("They got caught in a mechanical rice picker"), little knowing how to go about their essential task in such a strange land with nothing in the way of tools but what Spock disdainfully calls "stone knives and bear skins." Yes, they're in a tricky spot, and the inevitable culture clash is rich with comedic possibilities, while a romantic angle develops when Kirk turns on the charm with visionary humanitarian Edith Keeler (Joan Collins in an atypically virtuous role).

But the trouble really begins when Spock discovers what it is that McCoy has changed, creating a painful moral and ethical crisis. We get more emotion from Shatner than usual in this episode, while Nimoy has some hilarious scenes. Though Kirk is the one experiencing the anguish in this episode, Spock has to deliver the bad news to his captain, which he does with characteristic detachment, though in the aftermath, he exhibits something that looks an awful lot like sympathy.

The City on the Edge of Forever is a sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, always thought-provoking tale from Star Trek's first year. Watching episodes like this, it's hard to believe the original series only lasted three seasons.

Unruly Children Get a Lesson in Disobeying

I'm a rule follower. I tend to do what I am supposed to do because I don't want to get in trouble for flying in the face of authority. But I wasn't always so cautious. Throughout most of my single digits, I was downright rebellious. Let's Talk About... Disobeying, written by Joy Berry and illustrated by John Costanza, was published especially for kids like me.

Disobeying is part of a virtue-promoting series whose other installments include Being Selfish and Teasing. This was probably my favorite of the three when I was the age of the main character, a short, brown-haired girl with a knack for trouble. She's probably around six or so, old enough to do several things independently, young enough that her parents have laid ground rules for each of those activities.

Some instructions, such as the warnings against playing in the street or touching the oven, are for her own safety. Some, such as the restrictions on pre-dinner snacks, are for her more general well-being, while others, like being told to pick up her toys and play nicely with other children, are instrumental in shaping her into a responsible and considerate young woman.

I always found this book funny and easy to relate to. The girl gets into many messes, most of her own making. She flubs up again and again. But eventually she learns from her mistakes. That's not to say that she will always be obedient in the future, but she has a much better grasp on the consequences of disregarding her parents' rules, and so do the kids reading. Berry also allows for disagreement but encourages children to engage in a reasonable discussion rather than throwing a temper tantrum.

Costanza makes his anti-heroine engaging and lively, both aggravating and sympathetic. Often witnessing her indiscretions is her agreeable orange cat, while her doting but firm mother, who bears a remarkable resemblance to Wilma Flintstone, and her authoritarian but forgiving father, who spends most of his time looking cross and squinty-eyed behind his oversized glasses, are often heard rather than seen but appear on several pages.

Let's Talk About... Disobeying is a good book for driving home the importance of honoring one's mother and father. "Your parents have good reasons for telling you what to do," Berry writes. Listen to them.

This Poky Little Kitten Isn't So Shy After All

One of my favorite books as a young'un was The Poky Little Puppy, a Little Golden Book about a pup who always lags behind, getting into all sorts of adventures as a result. Cathleen Schurr's The Shy Little Kitten, another Little Golden book, reads much the same way.

We are told that the protagonist of this tale is shy, but he doesn't particularly act it. If anything, he, too, is poky. I guess the difference is that the kitten hangs back out of hesitation, while the puppy does so just because there is always something else to investigate. Still, this story strikes me as very similar.

The shy little kitten gets separated from his family and meets up with several creatures: a friendly mole, a funny frog, a cheeky squirrel and a helpful dog. Eventually she gets back, just in time for a very uncattish picnic featuring such delicacies as water bugs and cabbages. Several of the animals in this book wear clothes, but the cats don't, nor do the animals the kitten encounters on her walk.

The illustrations are of the typical Little Golden Book type, with a very distinct and old-fashioned look about them. The cats are black and white, and from a distance this kitten looks the same as her siblings, but up close we can see her stripes, not to mention her bright yellowish-green eyes.

The bright green frog with his leopard spots, striking yellow eye and wide open mouth is an entertaining sight, and I love the page in which the kitten and puppy look out over the farmyard, which lies placidly below them, almost reminding me of the map of the Hundred Acre Wood. My least favorite picture is the next page because it doesn't gel with the text; we're told the cats reunite in the middle of the farmyard, but the illustration clearly shows them in the hayloft.

The Shy Little Kitten is a cute little book, but I think the characterization is a bit off. Aside from the narrator mentioning repeatedly that the kitten is shy, there's not much to indicate that she is. It's too much telling, not enough showing, so it's not as engaging as it could be. But especially young children should be able to get decent mileage out of this book; if nothing else, they'll love the colorful pictures, and most likely they won't be too shy to say so.

Never Tease a Sister, Cuz Teasing Isn't Nice...

I have two brothers, so I know all about teasing. It's annoying, sometimes downright aggravating. I've been on the receiving end many times; I'm afraid I've dished it out myself on numerous occasions. In Let's Talk About... Teasing, Joy Berry and illustrator John Costanza tackle this ticklish topic with practicality and humor.

Berry's text is straightforward and simple, and it reads more smoothly than in Let's Talk About... Being Selfish, another book in the series, which featured bullets on some of the pages, breaking up the flow of the writing. Teasing feels much more fluid because of this and the fact that there are two prominent characters throughout the book.

There's a little girl with a head of thick burgundy curls, which are often augmented by yellow bows. In the first half of the book, she's badgered relentlessly by a mirthful Weasley-haired boy who, as we find out at the end of the book, is her brother, though whether he's older or younger is hard to say. I would guess maybe a year older. He makes fun of her clothes, her food, her emotional reactions to movies, her inability to tie her shoes and ride a bike without training wheels. He is obnoxious.

The book reaches its turning point with the following illuminating notion: "If you want someone to stop teasing you, you must not become frustrated. You must not get embarrassed or become upset. To make sure that you do not do these things, you must ignore the people who are teasing you. Do not pay attention to what they are saying." Easier said than done, says the brother-badgered Erin. But at least it's worth a try...

In the rest of the book, the girl quietly observes her brother as he interacts with his friends, and in thought bubbles we see her contemplating whether she should tease him over one thing or another. But because she remembers how badly she felt when he gave her a hard time, she curtails her impulses, and in the end her restraint pays off with an improved relationship with her brother. At least for the afternoon.

I like the fact that this book has a definite story arc. It could be pulled off a little better, I think; we get the girl's thought process, but her brother doesn't seem to even know she's around throughout the second half of the book, so his gratitude to her in the end seems a bit out of the blue. Still, though he doesn't know how she struggled with her decision to withhold sarcastic or embarrassing comments, he's evidently noticed that his sister has not said anything mean to him even though he belittled her all morning. So it's nice to see that realization lead to a change in behavior.

Implementing the suggestions in this book is not always easy, but a little empathy can go a long way. Teasing is a step in the right direction.

If You're Fishing For a Good Read, Give This Seuss Classic a Try

When it comes to making up critters, few authors can match Dr. Seuss. Rather, I should say few illustrators, since the genius of Seuss' sheer creativity comes out more in his unrestricted art than in his writing, which is often limited mostly to simple rhymes. There are, of course, complex plot-driven rhyming narratives that bear the Good Doctor's name - How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Lorax, Horton Hatches the Egg - but much of his work is designed for especially young readers with small vocabularies and relies more on sparking the imagination than telling a cohesive story.

One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish is that sort of book. Read it straight through, and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it doesn't have to. It's a series of snatches, a sampling of all the "funny things" he claims are "everywhere." The things in this book are vastly stranger than anything I have ever seen. But that's what makes this book so appealing. It's pure, silly imagination, complete with Seuss's trademark strings of rhyme, such as "What good to a Nook is a hook cook book?" and "If you wish to wish a wish, you may swish for fish with my Ish wish dish."

I was surprised, upon reading this book today for the first time in many years, how little it has to do with fish. We get a nice little listing in the first seven pages, rather like Bubba's shrimp litany in Forrest Gump, and after that I guess we're supposed to figure Seuss has said about all he wants to say about fish. There's only so much to be done with scales and fins.

As the book continues we are introduced to all sorts of bizarre beasts: the multi-humped Wump, which is a handy transportation provider; the ornery yellow fellow named Ned who is too tall to get a decent night's sleep; the enormous goat-like Zans, whose horn functions like a can opener; the Poodle-esque Yink that drinks pink ink all day; the tiny hopping Yop; the reindeer-like Gack whose antlers are grand for ring toss; the ominous-looking horned water creature that mysteriously shows up in the park. And this is only the tip of the iceberg.

I wasn't such a fan of Happy Birthday to You!, a similar Seuss book that is short on plot but long on creativity. But I get a kick out of this book, with all its excessive rhyming and zany creations. One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish may not spend most of its time underwater, but it certainly makes a splash!

Happiness is Snuggling Up With a Book by Charles Schulz

Everyone wants to be happy, but we all get there by different roads. Charles Schulz presents many possible paths in the classic Happiness Is a Warm Puppy.

Each two-page spread in this small, square gift book includes a statement on the left beginning with "Happiness is," with an ornate, calligraphic "H," and an illustration on the right featuring one or more of the Peanuts characters. Linus, Lucy and Charlie Brown get the most mileage here, but several other characters put in an appearance, and Snoopy gets special mention for being the titular "warm puppy," even if he is a bit beyond puppyhood.

Actually, I find the title illustration rather surprising, since it shows Snoopy getting an affectionate hug from Lucy, who usually runs around complaining about dog germs and such. But I'll take it as a rare tender moment showing that she's not quite as crabby as she would like everyone to think.

Other statements seem more obviously in character. "Happiness is getting together with your friends." Here we get Snoopy atop his doghouse surrounded by four birds, one of whom is probably Woodstock, though this is still the early stage in which Woodstock bears practically no resemblance to the bright yellow bird of later strips and specials. "Happiness is a thumb and a security blanket." Hmmmm, I wonder who that could be? And two pages involving finding happiness in one's intellect depict a rather smug-looking Linus in glasses, though in another instance Linus' happiness derives from being able to tie his own shoes. A bit of a conundrum, that boy...

Some I especially relate to. "Happiness is a fuzzy sweater." How true! In fact, I'm wearing one right now. "Happiness is the hiccups... after they've gone away!" The aggravated look on Linus' face with this one matches my frustration when I find myself under this affliction. "Happiness is climbing a tree" has a strange illustration, as the tree in which Lucy, Linus and Charlie Brown are sitting seems to cradle the three of them like a giant baseball glove. Boy, do I wish I had a tree like that to curl up in... I'm with Lucy on her fondness for walking in the rain, though as likely as not I'll skip the umbrella and raincoat.

The sentiment that strikes me as funniest accompanies a drawing of Charlie Brown pushing a couple of coins under a ticket window. "Happiness is thirty-five cents for the movie, fifteen cents for popcorn and a nickel for a candy bar." Ha! That would indeed be happiness (says the girl who went to see two movies at five bucks a pop in the past couple weeks, to say nothing of the cost of popcorn). Yes, this book is a little dated, but 45 years haven't changed most of the general joys mentioned here. A puppy hug is still free, and an indulgence I'll partake in most liberally. Whatever brings you happiness, you're likely to find a kindred spirit in Schulz's charming book.

Costanza Shows the Pitfalls of Being Selfish

Most of us are a little selfish from time to time. But it's not a quality we want to cultivate. In Joy Berry's Let's Talk About... Being Selfish, she provides a very simple primer for young children on the basics of unselfish behavior.

One of several books in this series, Being Selfish is unapologetically didactic. It's not so much a story as a series of examples. While the text presents the basic ideas, it's the illustrations by John Costanza that make the book interesting.

Costanza gives us three main characters here. There's a black-haired, burly, glowering girl who reminds me of Lucy Van Pelt; she is the model of selfish behavior and only gets six pages in this book, hoarding a pile of toys, chomping greedily on a candy bar, hollering at the hapless, scrawny blond boy who dares to request that she share the wealth.

This boy remains throughout the rest of the book to model unselfish behavior and show how much happier everyone is when there's conscientiousness and sharing involved. The recipient of his consideration is another girl, this one dark-skinned, over-all clad and easy-going. Also appearing periodically is the boy's tagalong dachshund.

The writing isn't particularly interesting; it reads like a Power Point presentation for the kindergarten set. The tone is rather condescending and preachy: "People who do not share their things with others are SELFISH. SELFISH people care only about themselves. They do not care about the thoughts and feelings of other people."

However, Berry provides some practical advice for sticky situations. She suggests putting away food if there is no way to divide it; if there is, one person should split the food in half and the other should choose which piece to take. She also allows for withholding items from those who might damage them, as long as they are kept out of sight.

The pictures are what will keep kids engaged with Being Selfish. With practical but whimsical illustrations complete with dialogue bubbles, Costanza drives home Berry's rather dry points. Children might not recall the definition the text provides, but chances are, they'll want to avoid turning out like that bully in the beginning. One way or another, then, they're likely to absorb the lesson and think twice the next time they are in a position to act selfish.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Sniff Out The Fox and the Hound 2, a Sequel a Cut Above the Rest

The Fox and the Hound is a good movie, unusual among Disney animated features for its dark tone and the ethical questions it raises. It's a high-quality film, but I find it rather depressing. Not so its sequel, last year's oddly subtitle-less The Fox and the Hound 2.

There are many Disney features in which the main characters start off as children (or pups, or kittens, or whatever) and wind up adults halfway through the film or so. This leaves the door open for lots of cheapquels involving cute cuddly young characters, generally facing far less monumental problems than they will once they're grown up. Here, hound Copper (Harrison Fahn) is still a pup who trips over his own ears. He's not much of a hunter, and because Tod (Jonah Bobo), the fox kit who is his best friend, is still under the care of kindly Widow Tweed, Copper's cantankerous owner Amos is less likely to take a shot at him, and his crusty old dog Chief (Rob Paulsen) doesn't pose much of a threat.

Though his life may not be in great immediate danger, Tod is still on Amos' radar, so his friendship with Copper is problematic and leads to a chaotic scene culminating in Copper's banishment to a barrel that serves as a doghouse. Poor Copper feels like he can't do anything right. And then the fair comes to town, and suddenly the world seems much brighter...

That's when Copper meets with a group of singing dogs and discovers that he too has a voice of gold. After prima donna Dixie (Reba McEntire) goes off in a huff following an argument with star vocalist Cash (Patrick Swayze), he invites Copper to be her replacement. None too pleased, Dixie begins plotting to regain her starring role, enlisting the aid of Tod, who just wants his friend back.

The songs are enjoyable and very country-flavored, and the dynamics of the group, with its Johnny Cash-like leader, his diva-ish ladylove, a duo of dim-witted crooners and a sassy old granny, are entertaining. The story is thoroughly engaging with plenty of comedic moments that don't seem out of keeping with the original, especially those involving the reluctantly romantic Widow Tweed and Amos Slade. Also hilarious: the hapless talent scout from the Grand Ole Opry, led by an ambitious but oblivious young girl scout. The animation is top-notch, with expressive characters and nuanced landscapes. As offerings from the Disney Sequel Factory go, this one's pretty darn good, and at only an hour long it's no great sacrifice of your time if you happen to disagree.

Kronk's New Groove Reaches No New Heights of Awfulness

Back in 2005, a friend of my brother's presented him with a Christmas gift wrapped up with an apology. "This movie is terrible," he informed him. But he gave it to him anyway. Living in dread, I suppose, of such a wretched movie, Nathan never bothered to watch it. But now that I dipped my toe in first, I may just have to force him to take he plunge next time he's around. Because Kronk's New Groove really wasn't such a bad movie...

I'm probably more forgiving than I should be. But I was expecting a lot worse than what I got in this Disney cheapquel whose title character is my favorite aspect of the animated feature The Emperor's New Groove. Voiced by Patrick Warburton, Kronk is a burly dolt with a gentle soul who winds up the henchman of evil Yzma (Eartha Kitt) but is most content to spend his days cooking and passing on his knowledge of squirrel speech.

In Kronk's New Groove, he's living out his dream, but he's convinced that's not good enough for his father (John Mahoney), who has written to inform him of his impending visit. Kronk pulls out a wallet full of photos demonstrating his father's lack of empathy; we're treated to shots of "The Cold Shoulder, the Frenzied Eyebrow, the Grimace of Doom, the Sneer of Despair, the Crippling Wince of Guilt, the Scowl of Impending Wrath, and worst of all, the Nostril Flare of Total Rejection."

Wailing about his unresolved daddy issues and revealing the unfortunate events that followed his separation from Yzma - most significantly, losing his girlfriend as a result of a misunderstanding and letting Yzma trick him into swindling his beloved old folks' home residents out of their remaining money - Kronk hatches a desperate plot to fool his father into thinking he has the beautiful family and the house on the hill that would make him see Kronk as a success.

One of Kronk's elderly friends is a fellow by the name of Rudy. The feisty fellow makes for a fun character, but the role is notable mainly because it is the final film of John Fiedler, the voice of Piglet for decades, along with many other characters. Tracey Ullman puts in an appearance as Kronk's love interest, fellow camp counselor Ms Birdwell, but I didn't find the role too memorable; in fact, I couldn't connect with that whole sub-plot at all.

There's a lot of slapstick, a lot of rapid-fire comedy that will set well with Saturday morning cartoon fans. It's certainly not brilliant movie-making; the plot is generally silly and sometimes convoluted. Though it was only about 70 minutes long, I nodded off a couple times. Still, I liked most of what I saw. Kronk is such a lovable lug, and my fondness for John Mahoney elevated my enjoyment as well.

There's nothing award-winning about Kronk's New Groove. But that includes the Razzies.

I Can't Help But Adore Bear Wants More

I recently finished reading Pooh's Workout Book, a humorous tome in which a Visitor to the Hundred Acre Wood attempts to persuade its residents to take up an exercise regimen. Oh, Pooh makes a valiant effort to come up with a legitimate workout. But somehow, when it comes down to it, all his exercises seem to revolve around eating...

In Bear Wants More, eating is the first thing on Bear's mind. This burly beast has just woken up from a long winter's nap. With the combination of his bulk and the amount of time that must have passed since his last meal, it's no wonder Bear is ravenous. Right away, he eats his front yard - that is, all the grass growing in front of his cave. But that's not nearly enough to satisfy such a hungry hibernator. No, indeed... The bear wants more!

This refrain is repeated throughout the book as Bear's friends happen by and tempt him with promises of food in other parts of the forest. Strawberries! Clover! Fish! Bear gobbles up the goodies gratefully, enjoying the company of jubilant Mouse, gregarious Hare and sage Badger. But even after all this feasting, poor Bear's tummy is still all a-grumble. Isn't there anything that will quench his appetite?

Karma Wilson's sweet and funny story ripples along on the rhythm of her engaging verse. For instance: "Bear sniffs and he snuffles / as a sweet breeze blows. / He romps to his home. / He follows his nose." Generally, there are four lines to a page, and the writing is fairly large, growing bigger or smaller periodically for emphasis.

Complementing Wilson's text are Jane Chapman's endearing pictures, which show us the bright, verdant woods, the blue, splashy pond and the dim, homey cave. The characters are adorable: multi-colored Badger with his fishing pole; off-white, bouncy Hare; tiny tan Mouse, whose whiskers are as long as his tail; drowsy, daisy-laden Mole; handy Gopher; flying buddies Raven and Wren...

But the cuddliest of all is enormous Bear, whose plaintive pleas will earn the empathy of many a child who has desired a snack at an odd time. He often looks perplexed, wondering why his belly just won't fill up. Other times, he grins toothily, drinking in the beauty of the day. In the very beginning, he yawns widely, a gesture that could almost look intimidating if we weren't already so sure of Bear's gentle nature.

I'm used to seeing Bear and his friends in winter, having read Bear Snores On and Bear Stays Up For Christmas. It's nice to see him in his element here, not struggling to stay awake, free to wander the woods with no weather worries. Bear Wants More is a charming story for anyone who has ever wanted to say, "Please, sir, I want some more!"

A Young Artist Learns to Paint With All the Colors of the Wind

My brother is an artist, so I think he would appreciate Painting the Wind. Written by Patricia and Emily MacLachlan and illustrated by Katy Schneider, it is narrated by a boy, an eager young painter who watches several masters at work during the summer and tries to glean enough inspiration from them in order to achieve his goal of painting the wind.

Each painter is different, with their own preferred materials, methods and models. He shadows the man who rises early to paint flowers, the woman who paints faces at mid-day, the woman who stays up all night painting still lifes and the man who paints landscapes by the choppy waves of the ocean.

I find it interesting that none of the people are named but the dogs are. This makes sense to me. The boy doesn't care about the names of the men and women he watches. What's important to him is what they paint and how. He doesn't strike me as a chatty companion; he might not even want to impose on the painters enough to beg their names. But the painters can't help but reveal the names of their dogs, and not only are the monikers a key way of distinguishing among the pets, they allow the boy a closer connection with the dogs. I imagine he calls to each of the dogs at least once before he parts way with their owners.

The writing style is fairly straightforward, with a vague pattern to it as the boy describes his day with four different artists, carefully noting small details. The dogs seem to reflect the personality of the painters. Sunny Tess belongs to the flower painter, lackadaisical Charlie and eager Emmett belong to the painter of many different face, reticent Owen to the reclusive still life painter and quiet Meatball to the still life painter, who absorbs the wonder of the natural world while escaping the chaos of his family. It's a story about painting, but also about companionship.

The paintings are moody and expressive, sometimes more realistic than others. Usually there's sort of a smudgy look about them, though that is often reduced if the picture is far away enough. The painting style is slightly different depending on the painter the narrator is focusing on.

Painting the Wind is an unusual book that should appeal to artistically inclined children and probably to dog lovers as well. I'd recommend it for a slightly older crowd, 8 to 11 maybe. It might be just the book to provide that essential spark of inspiration.

Arthur Knows That a Nose Needn't Pose Many Woes

I am fond of Arthur the aardvark. He's a charming lad, and creator Marc Brown's connection with Erie is such that I almost feel compelled by civic duty to support him in any way I can. And it doesn't hurt that he twice shared his show with Art Garfunkel. Anyway, the Arthur books and TV series are imaginative yet incredibly relatable. Most kids can find, amongst Arthur's group of friends, someone who strikes a chord with them.

In the 25th anniversary edition of Arthur's Nose, we get some insight into how Arthur has evolved into a character of such enduring popularity. There's a note of appreciation from Brown, a page of trivia about the characters, pictures of Arthur at six points in his progression - always eight years old, but looking significantly different as the years go by. There are also photographs of Brown and his family and comparative pictures of Arthur and his gang. We have an original manuscript of this book and sketches that are held up in comparison with finished pages. Finally, there's a letter to the reader from the coordinator of children's services at the New York Public Library featuring her observations of how kids interact with the books.

The book itself is very simple, with few sentences on most pages. The illustration style is very different than what is found in modern Arthur books, in which it is very easy to forget that these characters aren't human. Here, Arthur does not look human at all. He looks like a strange creature with a very long nose. That is the subject of this book, of course. I don't blame Arthur for feeling frustrated with his nose, but after all, that's just the way aardvarks are. Still, what if it doesn't have to be that way?

Arthur decides to go to a rhinologist and get a new nose. Never mind that a first-grader would never be able to just walk into a doctor's office and ask for a nose job. Arthur is determined, and he tries on all sorts of noses for size. It makes for an entertaining couple of pages, though I would imagine affixing an alligator or toucan nose to an aardvark would be very tricky business. What nose does Arthur eventually choose? Well, anyone familiar with the later books might guess he just chose to have the thing lobbed off with no replacement. Over the course of twenty-five years, his prominent nose is reduced to a couple of pin prick nostrils. But here, at least, Arthur learns to take pride in his facial features, strange as they may be.

It’s strange to see Arthur’s class, as he is only in first grade, so Mr. Ratburn, who teaches third grade and is the teacher I’m used to, is nowhere to be found. Instead we have Ms Yollanda, who looks like an older version of Francine, who is the only one of Arthur’s friends I recognize. The others are a bear, a stork, an owl, a giraffe and a pair of cats. All of the pictures look rather crude compared to the smooth Arthur illustrations of today. Nonetheless, there is a simple, nostalgic charm about this book that make it endearing.

It was a long journey from Arthur’s Nose to the Arthur stories of today. If nothing else, I sure am glad Marc Brown took that first step.

A Chimp Writes a Letter and Learns a Lesson in Arthur's Pen Pal

I always wanted a pen pal when I was little. Now, thanks to the Internet, I have quite a few of them. There's just something very exciting about getting to know someone solely through correspondence, often not even knowing what that person looks like.

In Lillian Hoban's Arthur's Pen Pal, an I CAN READ book, Arthur is a chimpanzee with a pen pal. He doesn't know what his pen pal, whose name is Sandy, looks like, but he must be cooler than his little sister Violet. He plays the drums. He takes karate. He has a big brother. Oh, if only he were Sandy's big brother!

I've been reading so many easy readers by Arnold Lobel and James Marshall that consist of several stories that this book, which is about 60 pages long, seems quite lengthy indeed. Hoban is certainly wordier than either of those authors. But the story is entertaining and rings very true. Arthur's argues incessantly with his sister, while his sage babysitter tries to get him to appreciate her. Jump-roping aficianado Violet is pesky, as little siblings often are, but she's nowhere near as bad as D. W., sister to another famous Arthur of children's literature.

The illustrations are colorful and expressive. The chimps look nearly human, with their feet, hands and hairy heads. I love the baby-sitter, with her circular spectacles and her apron, and I get a kick out of the description and accompanying illustration of Arthur emptying his pockets and notebook of all sorts of junk while searching for Sandy's address.

Arthur's Pen Pal is an engaging story with a thought-provoking twist at the end. It may require a slightly longer attention span than Frog and Toad or George and Martha, but young children who can sit through 60 pages of one story should find it worth their time. Just don't be surprised if they it prompts them to take up a correspondence of their own...

A Boy Builds a Barn and a Life

I've been reading several of Avi's books lately, sprightly tales about lively forest creatures with cute faces and distinct dialects. On my last trip to the library, I picked up one of his books that was very different.

The Barn is narrated by Ben, who, as we learn at the end of the book, is 79 years old at the time of the telling. But the action of the story occurs in 1855, when Ben is nine and the most promising student at the school where his father has sent him, making good on a promise he made to Ben's mother just before her death. But Ben is forced to take leave of his education in order to go home to his Oregon farm and help 15-year-old Nettie and 13-year-old Harrison care for their father, who collapsed in a field one day and has been catatonic ever since.

This is a harshly realistic novel about a boy forced to grow up too fast, to switch roles with the parent who nurtured him so attentively all his life. We get to know Ben's father through Ben's memories; the man we are introduced to seems little more than an empty shell. Even when Ben devises a way to communicate with him via eye movements, he can do nothing but indicate "yes" or "no". There seems little hope that his condition will improve.

But then Ben recalls that Nettie said his father wanted to build a barn, and looking over the old lean-to where their animals sleep, it's no wonder why. They need a sturdy, permanent structure where their beasts can be comfortable. Their father needs it, and if Ben can convince Nettie and Harrison to help him build it, he's sure that the father he used to know will return.

The Barn purports to be a story of hope and survival, but it's a pretty grim and gritty account. At only 106 pages, broken into 29 chapters, it doesn't take too long to read, but there's an oppressive feel to it that weighs down the reading, so despite the age of the protagonist, I think most nine-year-olds would find the book a bit much to take, too little light in too dreary a tale.

The book's primary value is educational rather than inspirational. It shows in detail the sorts of problems that frontier children faced, thereby encouraging modern children not to take simple comforts for granted. And not to shirk hard work, which does not always reap the intended rewards but may positively affect the laborer in unexpected ways.

79th Oscars Post-Mortem: It's an Inconvenient Truth That I Don't See Enough Oscar Nominees

I'm becoming quite the movie buff, so when the Academy Awards roll around, I'm eager to watch, even though I've usually (being a movie buff of modest means) seen only a few of the films in the running an award, usually in technical categories. I fared little better with this year's nominees, having watched Little Miss Sunshine, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, Superman Returns, Cars... Gee, is that all? I need to get out more.

Anyway, I never got around to seeing The Queen, Dreamgirls or, top of my list despite the inevitably required face-shielding, The Last King of Scotland. I almost saw Pan's Labyrinth just in time to have some basis for enthusiastically predicting it would win in all its nominated categories except Best Screenplay. I have a feeling it may be the first of the bunch I see.

I don't know why I was so looking forward to the Oscars this year. It certainly wasn't like 2004, when I got to bask in the glory of Return of the King, up for - and eventually winning - half the awards of the night. I wasn't particularly passionate about any of the potential winners, though Forrest Whittaker has always impressed me and the idea of a recent American Idol alum getting an Oscar was pretty intriguing.

Ellen Degeneres had something to do with it; back in nineties, I'd never watched her show and had only the vaguest notion of who she was. A wildly incorrect notion that was amended the first time I saw her do a stand-up routine on The Late Show and realized how incredibly funny she is, and how refreshingly devoid of crudeness her humor is. I've enjoyed her a great deal ever since, so I was interested in seeing her as the host.

Certainly she wasn't as over-the-top as some, and her whole approach was very low-key, with the exception of that Gospel choir, whose jubilant singing just gave her an excuse to do some of her trademark dancing. The up-close-and-personal moments with the various stars were nice - passing off a screenplay to Martin Scorcese, posing for a picture with Clint Eastwood. And bidding the audience goodnight half an hour before the show was over. Classic.

I got a big kick out of the trio performance of big-haired Will Ferrell, scathing Jack Black and inspirational John C. Reilly. Melissa Etheridge's performance of what ended up being the Best Song winner was powerful, and the Dreamgirls "reunion" was flashy and fun. My favorite of the Best Song performances, however, was Randy Newman, looking mighty classy behind that piano, and James Taylor, his voice rippling with warmth as he crooned the gorgeous Our Town, his face alight with a gentle joy that put the focus on the beauty of the memory rather than the sting of loss. Poor Cars, thwarted at both turns by global warming. Because if there was one man in the crowd Sunday night who was a bigger deal than Martin Scorcese, it was Al Gore. Hollywood says Al's going to save the world, and to help him do it, they're going to vote for whatever complements their green theme.

Not to say that Etheridge didn't deserve the win, and for all I know the slyly political Happy Feet was fantastic. But I sure love Cars, and that song was phenomenal. Still, it's nice to see America getting serious about the environmental issues that have been creeping up on us, largely thanks to a combination of industrialism and apathy. Though heavy-handed An Inconvenient Truth was high on my list of movies not to see, because global warming gives me enough sleepless nights without Al Gore drumming it into my head for two hours, I'm glad he was recognized for his valiant efforts to increase awareness.

On a lighter note, aren't Oscar commercials fun? JC Penney's, Diet Coke and Mastercard were really falling all over themselves to produce epic, inspiring commercials, which was grand, except it made me afraid to leave the room for fear I'd miss something. There were many wonderful ads with movie tie-ins, but my favorite commercial was the one for Mastercard with the elephant going to the store to buy a care package for his under-the-weather zookeeper. Soooo sweet...

I didn't make out a list ahead of time of who I thought would win. I made my predictions as the nominees were announced for each award, and I was right exactly half of the time. Pan's Labyrinth certainly did well, and if I was intrigued before, now they've really got me hooked. The short films got my attention; it's a shame those are always so hard to come by. I was surprised by Alan Arkin, but good for him. I like him, and his character in Little Miss Sunshine was a lot of fun.

Jennifer Hudson seemed truly overwhelmed, and really, what an amazing thing for her, to get on American Idol, make it halfway through the top 12, and then get cast in a movie and end up with an Oscar. Awesome. Helen Mirren seemed surprised too, though from all the buzz surrounding them I figured both of them for shoo-ins. I thought her speech was nice, especially the bits about the queen. And Forrest Whittaker was much more collected here than at the Golden Globes and gave one of the most powerful speeches of the evening.

The response for Martin Scorcese was thunderous. Poor Peter O'Toole... But I'm glad Scorcese got his due. Obviously a lot of people felt it was past time. They must have given him a little extra time to talk because it seemed like his speech was longer than most, and just the standing ovation should have taken up about half his time. I hate it when they play them off the stage. I like the gentle So Long, Farewell outro they played this year, though - much less abrasive than that loud band music they usually have, and still struck up a couple times, which was strange. Why doesn't everybody get the lullaby?

The special awards and the video tributes were nice, especially the composing award with the speech that seemed so much more moving because it was not given in English. Clint Eastwood didn't seem like he was in top form as he presented the award and translated the speech, but maybe he was just emotionally overcome. He seemed to have very great respect for this man.

We sure saw a lot of Jack Nicholson. When did he shave his head? And must he always wear those sunglasses? Leo DiCaprio was another face that showed up a lot. They must have had a hunch that The Departed would take home top honors...

Anyway, those dancers who came together to form symbols of different movies... way cool. The Snakes on a Plane thing was hilarious, and all of them were just really clever. Just as amazing: the sound effects choir. I never heard of such a thing, but it sure was fun to watch them work. It's a hundred Fred Newmans - or maybe Fred Newman split into a hundred pieces... At any rate, I was most impressed.

Were the 79th Oscars too long? Of course. But I didn't really care. I snuggled up under my blanket on the couch and absorbed the warmth of movie magic for four hours. And vowed that somehow, come this time next year, I will have seen more of the nominees...

Monday, February 26, 2007

Heigh-Ho Sliver, Away! It's Moe and the Big Exit!

The Broadway production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat was in town last week. I didn't get to see it. But I have the DVD to console myself with, and I also have Big Idea's The Ballad of Little Joe and its just-out sequel, Moe and the Big Exit.

Now, Moe - a VeggieTales spectacular based, if you haven't guessed, on the Biblical story of Moses - isn't about Joe at all, but it takes place in that same old town of Dodgeball City where the boy with the Technicolor dream vest so distinguished himself. The stage is set when Larry begs Bob to do another western. Soon we find ourselves around a campfire with a group of crusty cowboy carrots (and one sombrero-clad gourd) singing in close harmony. Led by a rumbly-timbred, mustache-clad wrangler voiced by cowboy singer Babe Humphries, they take us back to days long ago, first to Little Joe's time, then to years later, just before the dramatic entry of "the lone stranger."

Joe's people (peas, mostly) have overtaken the city, to the consternation of the corrupt mayor (Mr. Nezzer). In an effort to curtail these outsiders' rising population, he orders that all the babies be sent "up the river." This metaphorical phrase is used to great literal effect in this episode on several more occasions, most notably the culminating plague scene, which manages to be elegiac but not gruesome. I wondered how that crucial part of the story would be handled, and I think it was managed very well, with delicate solemnity. At any rate, when the babies go up the river (in baskets, which was rather considerate), Moe winds up in the reeds, where he is found by the mayor's daughter (Akmetha) who, following a joyful tune about her new acquisition, rushes home to raise him under the name Moe (which is "Indian for 'lookin' for gold and findin' a baby'").

As a fan of the western genre myself, I loved how every aspect of the story was given a western twist. The work that the mayor forces Joe's descendants to perform is the construction and painting of the Grand Canyon. They are said to have multiplied "like prairie dogs"; the mayor advises his second-in-command (Mr. Lunt) to "thin the herd". The stick that Moe (Larry) uses to drive away a bear becomes his most prized possession; later, he uses it as a practical demonstration of God's power by turning it into a snake and initiating plagues, an action preceded by his cry of, "Heigh ho, Sliver, away!"

When he flees Dodgeball City after sending his bullying brother up the river with a well-aimed dodgeball, Moe winds up in the Rocky Mountains. Maybe it's just my partiality to Colorado, but this section of the episode is absolutely gorgeous, filled with lush grass, tall trees, taller mountains and adorable forest creatures. Moe meets up with Sally (Petunia), who lives in a nearby teepee with her father (Pa Grape) and mother, and soon, to the tune of a rather loopy love song provided, as all but one of the songs within the story are, by the cowboy chorus, he settles in for a nice comfortable life in the Rockies with a wife and young son. But God has bigger plans for him; while Moe is out for a walk with Sally's pet buffalo Zippy, God reveals Himself in a burning tumbleweed, and Moe reluctantly returns to face the man he used to call Grandpa.

He gets a little help from Aaron (Archibald), his buckskin-clad biological brother who has been assigned to a remote post selling cheesy souvenirs to travelers who never seem to come. Aaron is a gifted speaker, unlike Moe, and the two rely on their respective skills and God's strength to get their people out of Dodgeball City. There are just seven plagues this time, among them grasshoppers, prairie dogs and twisters, and throughout the ordeal, Moe remains incognito thanks to his mask. When the mayor finally relents, God puts one more great task before Moe and his people: crossing through Death Valley, hotly pursued by the mayor, who has changed his mind, and his posse. Instead of dry land, Moe's people walk on a freshly fallen pathway of snow. It's all marvelously executed.

The only aspect that I don't like is the silly song, which is usually one of my favorite parts. The Boyz in the Sink, the 'NSync knock-off made up of Junior Asparagus, Mr. Lunt, Larry and Jimmy Gourd, decide to tell the story of Moe in their own hip style, but for me, it's grating rather than entertaining. I would have rather had a silly song in a western style about something totally pointless, like the one Archibald pulled the plug on way back when he cancelled Silly Songs. I wish we could've seen that one; it looked very promising...

But aside from the disappointing intermission, Moe and the Big Exit is a very clever re-telling of the story of Moses that still keeps the focus on God and the importance of obeying Him. Yee-haw!

Friday, February 23, 2007

Fox on Wheels Will Have You Rolling With Laughter

In Fox on Wheels, written by Edward Marshall and illustrated by James Marshall, the frisky young protagonist of several Dial Easy-to-Read books appear in conjunction with several types of wheels. Some - a bike and skateboard - are of the sort you would expect for a spunky lad, but others are less conventional and consequently more amusing. Over the course of three stories of about 15 pages in length, we get half a dozen different types of wheels and many laughs to go around.

Doctor Fox once again finds Fox looking after his troublesome little sister Louise. I'm guessing this book came shortly after Fox and His Friends; his expectant mom of that book is now a proud parents of four: Fox, Louise and a pair of newborn twins. She is equally preoccupied in this book, and as a result Fox must forgo fun with his friends in favor of Louise. Except he's not a very attentive baby-sitter, and Louise takes a tumble when he's not looking. Fox's attitude is irritating throughout the first half of this story, but following the mishap, he is genuinely remorseful, and it's nice to see him - in a series of touching half-page illustrations - take such great care of his sister. Even if she doesn't need quite as much care as she lets on...

In Fox and the Grapes, while bike-riding in the park, Fox is tempted by the bunch of grapes his friend Millie dangles from a branch high above his head. I feel sorry for Fox in this story because he's so frightfully afraid of heights. For all his bravado, he's actually a wimp in many situations. But he's also very stubborn, so he is determined to find a way to conquer his fear.

Mom's out to ruin Fox's fun again in Fox on Wheels. This time, she offers him options: watch Louise or go to the store. Fox goes for the latter and soon is glad, since his friends have been sent on similar missions. Maybe the grocery store can be fun after all! The calamitous pictures accompanying the store scenes are hilarious, but youngsters will probably be deterred from following suit by the marvelous end of this story. For when the fun he and his friends devise disrupts several shoppers, Fox soon falls victim to his mother's acerbic wit as she concocts the perfect punishment.

I really love Fox's mom, and she has a starring role in two of the three stories. That's certainly a reason Fox on Wheels is one of my favorite Fox books thus far. It isn't easy to keep such a rambunctious youngster in line, but she manages it with cleverness and humor. With her keeping an eye on him, Fox is sure to come out all right in the end. In the meantime, it sure it fun to laugh at his mis-steps...

Four on the Shore Is Never a Bore!

Having recently read several James Marshall books in which the main characters are foxes, frogs and pigs, it was a bit jolting to read Four on the Shore, which actually features human characters. There's Lolly, a tough girl with a green skirt, purple shirt and red headband who reminds me of Lucy from Peanuts. There's Sam, who sports a red-and-white striped shirt rather like the one Bert wears in Mary Poppins and a green fishing hat with his name on it. They are friends with Spider, an easy-going lad in a yellow turtleneck as sunny as his disposition, and are annoyed because his boisterous little brother Willie, whose red shirt and cap perhaps signify his devilish streak, won't let them do their homework in peace.

Their solution? Meet later, at the lake, so they won't have to put up with Willie. Though Spider defends his brother, he agrees to their plan, which I can't say is a good one, because I don't know how they're supposed to do their homework in the dark, even by the light of a campfire. It's no great surprise when Willie tags along with Spider anyway. At this point Sam and Lolly figure their only hope of productivity lies in scaring Willie into going back home, though Spider warns that his brother does not spook easily.

Each of the characters has an opportunity to tell a scary story, and the tales build upon one another. Lolly, for instance, weaves a morbid tale about a wolf, and Sam starts his story by backtracking and changing her ending so that its protagonist, who looks suspiciously like Willie, can have further adventures. Sam's story is my favorite of the four because its climax is so unexpected. I laughed aloud when I read what befell the Willie clone here; the basic plot is pretty much what you would expect, but the details are wonderfully random.

Spider claims to know just what will scare his brother, but I think he's holding out on his friends because he really doesn't want to traumatize Willie. So his tale is not particularly spine-tingling, and three stories later, the annoying little brother is still around. So encouraged by Spider, he tells a story. And what do you know? It's the scariest one of all...

I really like Spider because of the way he stands up for his brother, even though he's being a bit of a pain. I find his friends' intolerance aggravating, so it's nice to have the joke be on them in the end. Four on the Shore is a Dial Easy-to-Read, which means lots of short sentences that build up to short stories.

The illustrations are marvelous, more detailed and evocative than I expected. In one, Willie swings through a brown-leaved tree like Tarzan while Spider and his friends converse below. In another, a cross Lolly and Sam wait for Spider by a serene river, on the other side of which are lush pines and a glorious sunset behind a mountain. I also love the design of the witch's tower-like hut, and the climactic picture in that story is hilarious.

Four on the Shore is a nice break from Marshall's frequent anthropomorphism. In his hands, people are every bit as funny as foxes and hippos!

Seven Days of Fox is Seven Days of Fun

It's strange how quickly a week passes, and often at the end of it, recalling the events of each day is a difficult task. In Fox All Week, written by Edward Marshall and illustrated by James Marshall, something of significance happens to Fox every day. It may be a small event, but it's enough to make it worth noting, and reading of this young protagonist's daily exploits might make young readers more eager to point out the especially bright or dreary moments in their own days.

The book is one of a series of Dial Easy-to-Read books about an everyfox with an obvious name, his pesky little sister Louise, his sly mother and his friends, most notably a pig named Dexter and a frog named Carmen. While most of these entertaining books contain three stories of 15 to 20 pages in length, Fox All Week has seven, none of which exceeds 10 pages. Though they are very brief, however, that does not make the tales any less engaging.

In Monday Morning, Fox's week seems to be off to a bad start when rain dampens his hopes of a promised field trip. To add insult to injury, he feels a sore throat coming on. What a pain! At least it gets him out of school, and with this rotten weather, there can't be anything fun happening... Can there? I love the picture of a pajama-clad Fox glaring out at the rain with beady eyes and an irritation-induced unibrow. I've been there, my furry friend...

Tuesday's Lunch serves as an affirmation that picky eating is not an affliction known only to me. Fox, Dexter and Carmen reject their lunches of tuna fish sandwiches, a meal I lost my taste for years ago, probably once we got a cat and tuna fish began reminding me of canned cat food. But they must learn the hard way the consequences of going lunchless all through the day...

Wednesday Evening at the Library is an extra-short story with an extra-long title. Fox has a case of the giggles, which is a bad thing to have in a library. Miss Pencil, the librarian, does not approve, and she kicks Fox and his friends out. But what will she do with herself once she's all alone in such a solemn place?

In Thursday After School, Fox and his friends find a box of cigars, and Fox claims he smokes them all the time. But is his word to be trusted? I find this story rather gross, but the green-hued Dexter puffing away gives me the giggles.

The Friday Dinner provides the revelation that Mom - whose tongue sticks out in all but one illustration in this story - is not a good cook. Fox steps up to save the day. But what culinary concoction could merit such a racket in the kitchen?

The Saturday Visit amusingly illustrates Fox's reluctance to wear fancy clothes and his ability to be smitten by a pretty vixen. Both complicate a trip to see Grannie - apparently a different one than the silver-haired daredevil of Fox on Stage - on her birthday.

Sunday Evening introduces us to another friend, a fox named Raisin wearing a bag over her head to hide her new braces. Will her friends ridicule her ruthlessly, as she expects?

All of these situations have applicability to many children of an age to read this book on their own, and the writing is just as witty as it is brief, with colorfully silly illustrations to match. Fox is a laugh and a half all week long!

Fox Won't Be Named Employee of the Month Any Time Soon...

I've been getting a kick lately out of a grand new discovery: the series of Dial Easy-to-Read books about Fox, a mischievous youth who can't seem to avoid trouble even when he isn't looking for it. All the books are illustrated by James Marshall of George and Martha fame; some are written by him as well, while others bear the name of his cousin, Edward Marshall.

James gets the credit all to himself for Fox on the Job, an amusing collection of stories that, like Fox and His Friends, depict Fox in a position of reluctant responsibility. In this book, he shuffles between several jobs, looking for one that will stick long enough for him to pay for a new bike to replace the one he wrecked while showing off for the girls (in one of the book's most entertaining illustrations). In this small bit of set-up, those new to the series get a taste of his mother's no-nonsense parenting style and his somewhat strained relationship with his little sister Louise; the former forces Fox into action, while the latter is responsible for his most riotous occupational mishap.

In New Shoes, Fox tries his luck working as a shoe salesman. He assures the chicken who owns the shop that he is honest, but in this line of work, perhaps there is such a thing as being too honest. I'm fond of the picture showing Fox making a pyramid of shoes while his boss is on break; it's an artful and colorful project, but it's certainly not very utilitarian!

In The Haunted House, Fox doesn't even have to ask for his job as a ticket taker for a haunted house at an amusement park. He readily accepts the offer, but when it looks like Clark, little brother to his friend Carmen, has gotten lost inside, Fox isn't so eager to face those dark corridors, which his mustachioed boss promised were "very scary."

In Pizza Time, Fox takes over a pizza delivery job for his friend Dexter, who was fired for eating his deliveries before they reached their destination. Fox is especially diligent with this new task, but a run-in with Louise and her pet mice creates hilarious complications.

The Bright Idea concludes the book, as Fox, not quite ready to give up on his new bike yet, passes by a furniture store and is inspired to devise a clever plan that just might end his luckless streak. But can it really work?

Fox on the Job is funny, but it also teaches a good lesson about working for the things you want rather than just expecting a hand-out. Fox does seem rather young to be taking on such jobs; he can't be any older than eighth grade, yet he's walking into shops and getting hired immediately. But so much suspension of disbelief is required for a James Marshall book that this detail isn't much of a stretch. Entertaining and character-building, Fox on the Job gets a glowing evaluation from me.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Smelly Skunks! May Not Be Educational, But It Sure Is Fun!

A short while ago, I saw a ludicrous video on Saturday Night Live entitled Sloths! Made, in the context of the skit, by several students who, to quote the matter-of-fact farmer on the cranberry juice commercial, have obviously been "hittin' the DVDs pretty hard," it features sloths engaged in a variety of high-octane activities, prompting the bewildered zookeeper viewing the film to note that it was not quite accurate.

I had this Digital Short in my mind when I picked up Skunks!. I expected that it would probably turn out to be a mostly sedate educational book about these much-maligned creatures. As it turns out, there is nothing educational about this over-the-top picture book. It is every bit as inaccurate as Sloths! But that's okay.

Author David T. Greenberg fills the book with wacky verse that stretches rhymes in silly ways ("family" and "pajamily," "undies" and "sundies"). He also uses the end-rhyme "unk" as much as possible, particularly in the beginning of the book: "The stankiest stink to stunk / Far worse than a moldy garbage can / When you reach down and scoop out the gunk / A million times worse than octopus armpits / Or sniffing an elephant trunk / Is the galling, appalling, truly enthralling / Glorious stink of a skunk!" Ewwwwwwwwwww...

Greenberg gives us a young rascal who thinks up ingeniously devious ways to put his pet skunk to use, from replacing the salad dressing with his spray or using him as a super soaker. The scenarios get more bizarre as the book goes on, culminating in an attack by Skunkzilla and Skunk Kong, who are just as huge and vicious as they sound.

These absurd situations are hilariously illustrated by Lynn Munsinger in a delightful and often disgusting colorfully cartoonish style. We see the smiling red-head sporting a skunk hat, sleeping blissfully on a bed of skunks and imagining a Christmas Eve ride with eight antlered skunks. Those with delicate sensibilities will probably want to avoid this book, which seems to be aimed primarily at boys in the 7 to 10 range. It's wildly imaginative and odiferous; thank goodness these aren't scratch and sniff pages!

Goodnight Moon-Weary Parents May Ask of This Book: "Where Have You Been?"

Among the many books for very young children, few have achieved the canonical status of Margaret Wise Brown's Goodnight Moon. The simple, comforting series of goodnights to familiar objects makes it a popular choice for toddlers, though parents may grow tired of the repetition. This repetition is out in full force in Brown's Where Have You Been?, written the year that she died.

A series of six-line verses, they all follow a very basic format that varies little from page to page. For instance: "Little Old Mole / Little Old Mole / Where have you been? / Down a long dark hole / Said the Little Old Mole. / That's where I've been." On most pages, the only real variation comes in the fourth line, though later in the book Brown changes it up a bit by asking questions other than "Where have you been?"

Each page features a different animal, for 14 in all, though several of Barbara Cooney's illustrations contain more than just the subject of the verse at hand. A picture of a whale, for example, includes a jellyfish, and a picture of a bunny includes a cricket. The drawings are rendered with only black and red ink, and as they were done in 1952, they have a very old-fashioned look to them. I would say they are charming, but they might be a bit bland for children used to vibrant, full-color illustrations.

Still, there is enough detail in Cooney's work to merit a second look. If you glance closely, you can see a boy waving at the conductor of the train over which the brown bird flies, and you might be amused, as I was, by the frog's sheet music, whose lyrics read, "Hallelujah! I'm a bum."

This is a book for the very young; anyone older than four will probably tire of it quickly. But for sleepy toddlers, especially those who love animals, Where Have You Been? may serve as an ideal ticket to dreamland. At least it will give their parents a break from Goodnight Moon.

All Dogs - and Lambs and Doves and Llamas - Go to Heaven

Losing a pet is a very difficult thing, especially for small children who may be experiencing death for the first time. Amy Nolfo-Wheeler seeks to ease this grieving process with All God's Creatures Go to Heaven, a picture book magnificently illustrated by N. A. Noel.

The story is preceded by the lyrics to Fly, a song, written by Jean-Jacques Goldman and Phil Gladston and recorded by Celine Dion, about a bereaved person releasing the spirit of a loved one until they meet again. The story is about a six-year-old angel named Jacob who learns shortly after his arrival in Heaven that the special purpose of children angels is to care for pets who have passed on.

As is typical for many books and movies about Heaven, including the moving The Littlest Angel, we are presented with the scripturally unsound idea that upon their deaths, people become angels with fluffy wings. There are probably many scripturally unsound aspects to this short book, but the central idea is that Heaven is not reserved for just people. Is that so? I certainly hope so.

The story isn't particularly well written, especially when Jacob begins exchanging dialogue with the youthful sage Angelica. Her manner of speaking is very unnatural and heavy-handed. What's more, the author seems to have an issue with commas; there are many places throughout the book where the glaring omission of a comma interrupts the rhythm of the sentence.

Whatever my issues with the writing, however, the paintings are absolutely gorgeous, awe-inspiring enough that the story becomes somewhat inconsequential. His angels, which appear to be unclothed but never are shown from the waist down, are amazingly realistic and infused with soft tones. A wispy-haired little girl clutches flowers in her hand; a wide-eyed boy gazes out from under a mop of spongy curls. And the animals we see - llamas, doves, rabbits and dogs - all with fuzzy white fur or feathers are so adorable you want to scoop them right out of the book and cradle them in your arms.

I presume Noel also is responsible for the large calligraphic letters that appear on some of the pages, usually at the beginning of someone's name. Accented by much simpler, stylized angels, they are ornate and add another nice touch to the book. It is Noel who really makes this remarkable; for a peek at what this artist can do, check out www.nanoel.com.

On the back of the book, Noel writes, "We cannot judge the animals by human measure... We have witnessed their kindness and courage, their joy and their sorrow, their loyalty and love. Do their lives deserve to be honored among the stars? I believe they do..." Me too.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Poignant Uncle Elephant Shows How a Bond May Form Despite Creaks and Wrinkles

I fear I am nearing the end of as-yet-unread Arnold Lobel books. He died when he was only 54, and it pains me to think of how many more brilliant stories he could have written given the time. Happily, the stories he did write and illustrate stand up to multiple readings, just as fresh, funny and poignant as the first time around.

Leaning more heavily toward the poignant side than usual is Uncle Elephant, a collection of nine stories ranging from five to eight pages. Atypically, these stories closely follow one another chronologically, to an extent that the partitions hardly seem necessary. In another unusual move for Lobel, the book is written in the first person, from the perspective of a young elephant who believes he has been orphaned after his parents are lost at sea.

Enter Uncle Elephant, a distinguished and elderly (he remarks in a couple of stories about his wrinkles and creaks) relative who invites the narrator to stay with him following the unhappy event. Because of the youth of the speaker, the sentences are even simpler than usual for an I Can Read book, though Uncle Elephant's speech has definite traces of sly sophistication.

Each story title starts with the words Uncle Elephant and is followed by three words describing a key action that will occur in the next few pages. I especially like how the book comes full circle, beginning with Uncle Elephant Opens the Door and ending with Uncle Elephant Closes the Door.

Uncle Elephant is an eccentric stranger to our narrator when they meet, but he becomes a trusted friend through his gentle knack for knowing just how to win his nephew's favor and keep his mind off his sadness. He may have "more wrinkles than a tree has leaves ...than a beach has sand ...than the sky has stars," but Uncle Elephant knows how to have a good time, from making extravagant wishes on a "magic lamp" and trumpeting the rosy dawn from his vibrant garden to wearing all of his clothes at once and writing a song just for him and his nephew.

The book has an old-fashioned feel to it, with the rusty red and green tones and the lack of modern implements. Though the book was written in 1981, it feels like half a century earlier, with trains, telegrams, oil lamps and elegant clothing. The setting just adds to the charm of a tender tale about friendship and family in which two characters at either end of the age spectrum find both.

My Little Town Makes a Guest Appearance in Arthur's Teacher Moves In

In Erie, Pennsylvania, my hometown, Arthur the aardvark is a big deal. We haven't a host of celebrities to boast about, so we pay extra attention to the color-coded security system Tom Ridge designed, we sing along loudly every time Train comes on the radio and we cluster around our televisions to watch Arthur on PBS. Or maybe that's just me. But Marc Brown has been good to our town. There was the exhibit at the Erie Art Museum featuring his work, the Youtheatre production for whose writing he gave special permission, the giant Arthur wandering around CelebrateErie! in search of kids to pose with for pictures.

There is even the occasional odd reference to little ol' Erie in his books and series. I caught one a couple months ago when, in the Christmas special, Arthur and his friends go to the movies at the Millcreek Mall, where I have worked on and off for several years. I caught another when I snagged Arthur's Teacher Moves In, based on an episode of the show, from the library last week.

Poor Arthur is distressed to discover that his teacher, Mr. Ratburn, is houseless after an excess of snow caused his roof to collapse (a likely scenario here in blizzardy Erie!). It's not empathy for his teacher that causes Arthur such pain, however; it's the fact that his mother has invited him to stay with them for a few days. Tormented by visions of walking in on Mr. Ratburn in the tub, he borrows intellectual books and posters from the Brain and anticipates one of the most miserable weekends of his life.

What a surprise, then, when Mr. Ratburn - whom pesky D.W. calls everything from "Mr. Ratbite" to "Mr. Ropeburns" - actually turns out to be cool, fond of cartoons and magic tricks and disposed to wear t-shirts around the house. Unfortunately, just when Arthur is thinking this invitation wasn't such a bad thing after all, Monday rolls around, and he scores an A on a difficult math test. Suddenly everyone - even faithful Buster - is accusing him of receiving preferential treatment. Is there any way out of this new mess?

This book reminds me of an episode of Jakers! in which Piggley's strict teacher, Mr. Hornsby, calls at his students' houses for dinner, starting with Piggley. Oh, 'tis a fate too horrible to be imagined... or is it? Ironically enough, I got my picture taken with both Arthur and Piggley downtown over the summer... At any rate, it teaches the worthwhile lesson that teachers have lives just like the rest of us.

The Erie reference is slight, just a sticker on Mr. Ratburn's suitcase, but it made the book, with its detailed, funny illustrations and cute story, all the more enjoyable to me. Marc Brown has been good to our town. And our town has been good to Arthur's many fans, even if they don't know it.

Detectives Are Fun! Especially When They're Bad Bears...

When I was at the library recently, looking for my latest load of children's books to help me get my writer's juices flowing, my friend pointed out the book Bad Bear Detectives. "Detectives are fun," she said. "My brothers and I used to pretend we were detectives all the time." So detectives it was.

Written by Daniel Pinkwater and illustrated by Jill Pinkwater, Bad Bear Detectives is described on the jacket as a "picture book noir." It begins with a news blurb about a missing shipment of muffins and the ominous statement from Police Captain Hare that "This could be the work of bears." He points immediately to Irving and Muktuk, a known pair of polar troublemakers with a weakness for muffins residing at the Bayonne Zoo.

Once they find themselves so accused and faced with the dreadful prospect of being locked in their rooms at night and being forced to pick up trash around the zoo for a year, the polar bears are determined to clear their names and so embark upon a quest to solve the mystery of who really took the muffins. Their first task is to acquire hats, since that is what detectives wear, and the following exchange is indicative of the silliness that will ensue.

"Isn't it a bad idea, when we are going to prove we did not steal something, to start out by stealing hats?" Irving asks.
"We have no choice," Muktuk says. "Without hats, we would be spotted as polar bears in a minute."


The story is written in the present tense, which I tend to find annoying, but it seems to work pretty well here, giving the book a gritty sense of immediacy. Muktuk is the more pro-active of the two; Irving tends to go along with his friend's plans, not always understanding them. Their investigation is thorough and eventually leads them to the solution, though it may not be precisely the one they were searching for...

The illustrations are fun, consisting mostly of the great white expanses of the bears, who are surprisingly lanky when standing upright. One wears a red hat with a yellow stripe, the other a yellow hat with a red stripe, but I can't tell which is which. It adds a nice splash of color, though. Most of the backgrounds are a combination of dark and murky browns and blues, adding to the "noir" feel.

The writing seems to be geared at slightly older children who would be more likely to understand that this book is meant as a parody of established detective stories. But no matter what age they are, lovers of muffins, bears or mysteries should get a kick out of the off-beat Bad Bear Detectives.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Spot Helps Youngsters Adjust to School

In the world of books for very young children, Spot, the little yellow dog with the big brown spot, looms large. Eric Hill has written and illustrated many lift-the-flap books detailing this lovable scalawag's adventures. My brother loved them in his toddler years, and a boy I sometimes babysit can't get enough of them. The simple sentences in large print, the bright illustrations and, most of all, the surprises under the flaps make for a winning combination every time. Spot Goes to School is one of his favorites.

The books are geared toward the very young, probably ages two to four; based on that and the activities in which Spot is involved during school, I'm guessing it's his first day of preschool. The fact that there's no mention of lunch strengthens that impression. Like many youngsters in that situation, he is a bit nervous, but mostly he's excited to spend the day in the company of friends (a monkey, a hippo, a turtle and an alligator) embracing new experiences.

These include singing around the piano, playing dress-up in a playhouse, spelling words with blocks, participating in show and tell, playing on the playground, listening to a story with his classmates and painting a colorful picture on an easel. It's a pretty packed day for a little pooch, but he's not complaining, and tots who are anxious about venturing off to school for the first time might take comfort in the ease of his adjustment.

As is typical for a Spot book, the story depends upon the pictures. Most of the accompanying sentences are dialogue, though no tags are attached to tell us who is speaking. That inference must be made from the picture. Underneath most flaps, there is usually a speech bubble containing a brief comment from one of the characters, most often Spot. Between the main sentence and this addendum, most pages still feature ten words or fewer.

The only issue with the book is one of hardiness. The copy belonging to the aforementioned boy is tattered, and several flaps bear evidence of multiple applications of Scotch tape. It's still readable, but it's advisable not to leave the book unattended with especially young children who might be inclined to go a little crazy with the flaps. Otherwise, Spot Goes to School is a great addition to the bookshelf of a soon-to-be-preschooler.

Pride and Prejudice: What's There to Say But "Practically Perfect in Every Way"?

Back in the fall of 2001, I had the fortune of becoming intimately acquainted with Jane Austen thanks to a most edifying literature class. The book that served as my introduction was Sense and Sensibility, a delightful novel to which I was riveted once I adjusted to the language, which was considerably more sophisticated than I am used to encountering in daily life. I adored the book.

Yet it wasn't until this month that I delved into the rich world of Austen's novels again, this time with Pride and Prejudice, which is probably the most celebrated of her books. It is certainly celebrated by several Austen-loving friends of mine, chiefly fellow Epinionator befus, whose effusions regarding the tale, and especially the misunderstood Mr. Darcy, compelled me to prepare for a full-scale Austen immersion. Step one: Read the book. Step two: Review the book. Step three: Watch the mini-series. You get the idea, though I might add such intermediate steps as re-watching Sense and Sensibility and writing an excessively frilly e-mail to the professor who introduced me to Austen in the style of one of the books' many correspondences.

At any rate, I finished the book on my birthday and have been waiting for a stretch of quiet time in which to collect my thoughts about this literary masterpiece. My first impression upon beginning to read it was how very funny it was. I found myself laughing aloud multiple times just over the course of the first few chapters, which caught me by surprise, as by my recollection I found Sense and Sensibility rather hard to get into. Pride and Prejudice has a different tone to it right off the bat because this is a boisterous family of seven, and unlike in Sense and Sensibility, every member is intact, so there is no tragedy to cast a pall over the proceedings.

There is the unfortunate fact that upon the death of Mr. Bennet, father of Our Heroine Elizabeth, the house will fall into the hands of one Mr. Collins, a comically pretentious cousin who we meet several chapters in, leaving the remaining family homeless. But that unhappy event is in all likelihood years away, and Mrs. Bennet is determined that by that time, each of her daughters will be happily married and thus spared from the cruelties of such entailments. The interplay between husband and wife is the source of much hilarity; she is a chatterbox and a busybody, while he is taciturn and prefers to involve himself in the affairs of others as little as possible, though he does observe the goings-on around him with a wry amusement in which the favored Elizabeth (or Lizzy, as he likes to call her) is his confidante.

Mr. Bennet's mirth at the expense of his wife and three youngest daughters does seem rather uncharitable, especially when there are steps he might take to improve their situation rather than chuckling over their misfortunes. Still, it's hard not to laugh at the melodrama in which Mrs. Bennet indulges, along with young Lydia and Kitty, who appear to be quite the silliest pair of girls for miles around. Kitty trails after Lydia, echoing her personality and passions though she is a year older. But as the baby of the family, Lydia commands the devotion of her mother, who sees no harm in her obsession with stylish garments and officers. Stuck in the middle is Mary, a solemn, scolding bookworm who eschews social interaction and succeeds in disappearing into her self-imposed solitude, to the extent that we almost forget she exists.

But while Lydia does play a key role in events that transpire toward the end of the novel, Pride and Prejudice is really about Elizabeth, the spunky Daddy's girl who refuses to lose her independent spirit to the standards of society, and to a lesser extent her older sister Jane, whose exterior beauty is matched only by the radiance of the soul it houses. I confess that while the primary focus of the book is on Elizabeth's complicated relationship with the mysterious Fitzwilliam Darcy, the self-effacing, empathetic eldest Bennet with an irrepressible desire to see the best in everyone is probably my favorite character, and I was equally charmed by her modest, attentive, eager-to-please beau, the endearing Charles Bingley.

In terms of story, though, Elizabeth and Darcy's courtship is easily the more compelling one, as their eventual deep mutual affection is the result of a long process by which both of them undergo significant alteration to their characters and their perceptions of one another. The book warns against letting first impressions determine the course of a relationship. Elizabeth is slower to alter her initial assessment than Darcy, and she experiences a gradual progression of emotions from indifference and disdain to all-out loathing before the pendulum begins to swing the other way. He, meanwhile, is impressed enough by her spunk that he soon sets his sight on her, never dreaming how deeply his apparent arrogance offends her, particularly when coupled with some salacious slander spread about by the dashing George Wickham, who briefly arouses her romantic interests.

Pride and Prejudice starts out as a comedy but blooms into a romance with just a dash of intrigue thrown in. It is a joy to read despite Austen's habit of using very long paragraphs, which is balanced out by very short chapters. The dialogue sparkles with wit, and Elizabeth's conversations with Darcy often have the capacity to make one's heart fluttery. The rich characterizations extend to many secondary characters, including Bingley's snooty and falsely friendly sister Caroline, Darcy's gentle and talented sister Georgiana, Mr. Collins' insufferable patroness Lady Catherine, Elizabeth's practical friend Charlotte and several good-natured aunts, uncles and neighbors. Also engrossing are the descriptions of the English countryside, which makes me very much want to pop over for a visit. I'm especially envious of Darcy's manor with its luxurious, untamed grounds.

I can now say with satisfaction that I have read Pride and Prejudice, and I must assuredly find myself the better for it. Jane Austen blazed brightly, dying far too young, but leaving a legacy to inspire generations of readers. Hats off to the incomparable Miss Austen!

Fox is a Fine Sort of Friend to Have

I've been enjoying the books of James Marshall for years, and I just happened upon his series of tales about a likable young fox and his friends and relations. Fox and His Friends is part of this series, though it was actually written by his cousin Edward, who collaborated with him on several projects. The light tone is consistent with other books in the series, which are included in the line of Dial Easy-to-Read books, and James' amusing illustrations perfectly complement the simple sentences.

In this book are three stories concerning Fox's interaction with his friends Dexter, Carmen, Junior and Betty, a pig, a frog, a dog and a crocodile. Poor Fox, having such an unimaginative name; even his little sister fares better with the name Louise. But at least there's no chance of us forgetting which one he is...

The first and longest story (20 pages as opposed to 15) is Fox in Trouble, in which Fox is irritated when his mother, who, judging by her expansive middle, is about ready to add another member to the Fox family clan, insists that he entertain Louise for the day. What's worse, none of his friends are available, so there's nothing for him to do but spend the day with his little sister as a tag-along, which is no easy task since she has a way of getting into mischief. Can Fox avoid the blame for the messes she gets herself into?

In Fox All Wet, poor Fox must look after Louise again, this time during his afternoon at the swimming pool. At least this time he has his friends to cheer him up, but they aren't much consolation when Louise climbs up to the tippy-top of a very tall ladder and threatens to jump from the diving board at the top. What's an older brother to do?

In Fox on Duty, Fox's responsibilities are of a rather different nature. This time, he doesn't have Louise to worry about. Instead, it's his job as a crossing guard, which he takes very seriously. When his friends come along and invite him to join them at the beach, Fox is tempted enough to go with them. But how will he silence that nagging conscience of his?

Fox and His Friends is an enjoyable book for early readers that entertains while also imparting valuable lessons about the conflict between recreation and responsibility. Three cheers for Fox!

Famous Groundhogs Are Ill-Advised...

I live in Pennsylvania, where we have been plagued recently with one more famous groundhog than any state needs. I refer, for the blissfully unaware, to Gus, the spokeshog for the Pennsylvania Lottery, as obnoxious an animatronic creation as has ever been devised. After having to put up with him for too many months now, I don't know whether to appreciate Punxsutawney Phil more after realizing how ridiculous a groundhog can be or to be irritated with him for inspiring this plague upon our televisions. In the spirit of charity, I'll go with the former - though few who have seen the grand ceremony that occurs on February 2 will deny that Phil is quite ludicrous himself.

Gail Gibbons evidently is one of those folks who finds Phil endearing. Her educational picture book about the holiday is entitled Groundhog Day!; the exclamation point screams unfounded enthusiasm. Still, as absurd a celebration as it is, this is a recognized occasion embroiled in tradition, and as such it has educational value. Gibbons is the author-illustrator of dozens of informative picture books, so she's hardly an amateur, and she does pull out some interesting facts.

Readers learn that the holiday stems from ancient Pagan festivals and that the animal that saw its shadow was often of a different species. It wasn't until Europeans began living in Pennsylvania that the groundhog was settled upon as the ideal predictor of weather. The tradition as we know it started in 1886, and the eccentric events surrounding the ceremony at Gobbler's Knob developed since then. After the information about the day, we learn about groundhogs - their size, physical oddities, diet, homes, breeding and other unique features. My favorite page of the book is probably the map of North America featuring several other famous groundhogs scattered across America (and a bit of Canada).

The writing is, unfortunately, very bland and noncommittal, with such sentences as "Lots of people think Groundhog Day is fun," "Many people think a groundhog is cute when it waddles around" and "Sometimes children draw pictures of groundhogs, have snacks, and play games, such as Shadow Tag." I don't find these sentences to be illuminating at all. Moreover, while the groundhogs throughout the book generally come across as fairly cute, the children are corny-looking, and the illustrations in general suffer from a surfeit of squiggly lines.

I think Groundhog Day! would be a good book to include in a classroom library and perhaps read to children of a certain age around the beginning of February. Most children reading it for their own enjoyment, however, will probably put it down again, because for all its educational value, this book is as boring as Gus is an affront to the respectability of Pennsylvanian citizens.

Bridge to Terabithia is About Much More Than Special Effects

When I first learned that Walden Media, the Disney-owned production company behind The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Charlotte's Web and several other big-screen adaptations of classic children's books, was taking on Bridge to Terabithia, one of my all-time favorite novels, I was excited. And then I was nervous, especially when I saw the trailers. They were fantastical, full of highly imaginative CGI creatures and the promise of an epic battle. They were pulse-poundingly exciting. And they seemed to be an indication that the movie was not going to be very much like the book.

That's not to say, of course, that the book isn't exciting. But it's not another Chronicles of Narnia - much as author Katherine Paterson may have been influenced by C. S. Lewis in her writing. Leslie Burke, the lively, warm-hearted, creative girl who moves in next door to sullen, friendless, secretly artistic Jess Aarons, teaches him how to open his mind to the farthest reaches of imagination. She helps him find a place where the two of them are safe from the drudgery and travails of the everyday world, yet it is ultimately to his everyday, ordinary life that Jesse must apply those gently drawn-out skills. Bridge to Terabithia is about friendship and family and finding your place in the world. It's not about knocking down giants with acorn grenades.

So I was much relieved when I discovered the special effects-drenched trailer was grossly misleading. There is CGI, but in small doses, and done in such a way as to show us that Jesse is growing into an ability to witness such visions. Over the course of several Terabithian sojourns, we observe fierce fights with monsters derived from squirrels, birds and even trees. The latter, an enormous giant, becomes representative of a threat that looms large back in the real world: Janice Avery (Lauren Clinton), an aggressive eighth-grader who delights in throwing other students' sandwiches at unsuspecting victims, eating other students' Twinkies and charging even the kindergarteners a dollar to use the bathroom. Interestingly, while Leslie mentions Narnia several times in the book, all references are excised here despite the convenient opportunity for self-promotion. The visual similarities are striking, however; one can't help but think of Narnia as Leslie (AnnaSophia Robb) and Jesse (Josh Hutcherson) gaze out over the treetops to overlook their kingdom with its majestic mountains and shimmering rivers, or when its subjects gather from all corners of that magical land for a culminating regal scene.

Across the creek from Terabithia, just a rope swing away, is harsh reality, where everything seems to be stacked against Jesse. The kids at school, especially Janice and equally ill-tempered Scott Hoager (Cameron Wakefield), shove him around; his rigid fifth-grade teacher, "Monster" Myers (Jen Wolfe), barks at him in class; his quarrelsome teenage sisters Brenda (Devon Wood) and Ellie (Emma Fenton) yap endlessly about inane topics; and worst of all, his gruff, no-nonsense father (Robert Patrick) rarely has a kind word for him. Leslie, too, faces the derision of classmates, and although her parents work at home, she doesn't get to spend much time with them. Still, she keeps a positive outlook, and it's her cheerful persistence, coupled with Jesse's blooming empathy, that brings the two of them together after a false start when she outruns him in a race he's been training for all summer.

The novel is set in the 1970s, and although the film is transported to modern times, the setting changes little. The cars are newer-looking, Ellie and Brenda watch VH-1 all day (which is odd, considering how dirt-poor the Aaronses are), Mrs. Myers issues a grave warning against downloading essays from the Internet. Oh, and in the wake of all the recent scandals, Ms Edmunds (Zooey Deschanel), the luminous music teacher with whom Jesse is smitten, offering to take Jesse on a trip to a Washington, D.C. art museum could raise an eyebrow among more jaded audience members. Actually, though, she brings a definite 70s vibe to the film with her offbeat style and the mellow songs she has the class sing. Moreover, aside from those offhand references to modern technology, the town feels like it's much the same as it has been for decades, and certainly the year matters little once Jesse and Leslie are in Terabithia.

The acting is good all around, if not remarkable. Hutcherson's performance is understated, while Robb's role calls for a touch of the overdramatic. Leslie is perky and fun, smiling throughout most of the film, as opposed to Jesse, who is mostly stony-faced, though we are sometimes privileged to see the thought processes behind his eyes. As much as his time with Leslie awakens his imagination, I thought his best and most revealing scenes were those he shared with his father and his little sister May Belle (Bailee Madison). Having just seen Patrick in a small but effective role in We Are Marshall, I paid extra attention to his part in this film, and I found his portrayal of Jesse's father to be quite moving. He doesn't seem to know how to interact with his son and snaps at him out of frustration that he always seems to have his head in the clouds. This contrasts with his tender, affectionate treatment of May Belle, to whom the adorable Madison brings an irresistible charm. May Belle worships the ground her brother walks on, and she tags along after him all the time, often to his annoyance. Shortly before the film ends, Jesse enjoys reparative scenes with each of them that I found to be the most touching in the movie. Also of great impact is a brief scene in which he gets an unexpected glimpse at Mrs. Myers' softer side.

The cinematography is well done, especially in Terabithia, and the opening and closing credits, which feature animated drawings of Jesse's, are clever. The film does delve into the darkness of life, but in such a way as to show that light is never out of grasp. It grapples delicately with difficult topics, opening the door for such discussions amongst families. Bridge to Terabithia marks yet another successful chapter in Walden Media's history. If they take as much care with all their adaptations as they have with this, Charlotte's Web and Narnia, I'd say the children's literature canon is in pretty good hands.

Arabian Nights Meets Stone Soup in Mouse Soup

I love Arnold Lobel, so I was disappointed when his Mouse Tales failed to deliver the level of enjoyment I usually derive from his books. As a result, I was tentative upon opening Mouse Soup, which is described as that collection's companion. Happily, though these stories boast no recurring characters, which doesn't allow for the sort of development that happens in such books as the Frog and Toad collections, they are richly imaginative and amusing, and they all tie together in the end with the mouse's clever plan to escape being the main ingredient in mouse soup.

The book begins and ends with a mouse who has been disturbed from his reading by a sudden weasel attack. Before the weasel can cook him, the mouse's quick wits win him some time as he informs his captor that the soup will be no good without a few stories to add flavor. The gullible weasel agrees to hear the mouse's stories, at the conclusion of which he even more trustingly follows the mouse's complicated instructions for getting the stories into the soup.

The first is Bees and the Mud, the tale of a clever mouse who finds himself in an annoying situation when a bees' nest falls on his head. The bees want to stay right where they are. Luckily, he has a scheme for changing their minds...

Two Large Stones is a melancholy tale but probably my favorite of the stories. Two rocks sit side by side amid the grass and flowers and wonder what sights lie on the other side of the hill. When a passing bird tells them of the beauties they are missing, they are very sad... until a mouse comes along and offers them a different perspective.

The Crickets made me laugh because it reminds me of a familiar situation in my home. Mom might say to Dad, "Buy some peanut butter, but make sure it isn't crunchy." Unfortunately, as "crunchy" is the last word to reach his ears, that is precisely what he remembers, so the instruction has the opposite effect. Such is the case here, in which a mouse maid attempts to drive away a growing ensemble of cricket musicians who only catch the last part of her plea and not the negatives that precede it, leading to confusion and increased aggravation.

Finally, The Thorn Bush is the off-beat story of an eccentric old mousemaid who enlists the aid of a passing policemouse when the thorn bush growing in her chair begins to droop. His solution to her woes is simple but effective, and his efforts are rewarded in more ways than one.

Each of the stories is about ten pages long. The drab illustrations are very nicely done, if not quite to Frog and Toad standards. I especially applaud Two Large Stones; Lobel really does manage to make two hunks of rock look depressed. All told, a charming collection for beginning readers that makes up for my slight disappointment with Mouse Tales.