Socrates Retreads Miyagi and Yoda's Steps in Peaceful Warrior

A couple weeks ago, my dad spotted something curious in the newspaper: the words "free" and "movie" in suspiciously close proximity to one another. I'd never even heard of the film Peaceful Warrior; I was familiar with the book The Way of the Peaceful Warrior in title only and no notion of its contents. But I didn't much care. I knew enough to know that this movie, which director Victor Salva deemed "important" enough that he offered up three days' worth of free passes all around the country just so people would pay attention, wasn't a slasher flick, meaning if I could see it for free on opening night, I was going to go for it.

I went. And now, at one in the morning, I'm sitting here trying to absorb what I saw. Peaceful Warrior is a movie with a message. You can't escape that fact. Based on the article I read, I expected a little preaching. I got a lot. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. This is, above all, a mentor movie. Mostly, it's like The Karate Kid without the cornball 80s trappings.

A restless young man (whose name just happens to be Daniel (Scott Mechlowicz), though this is coincidental since this guy actually exists) is intrigued by a man at a gas station who appears to teleport to the top of the roof. The fellow is courteous to each of his customers, offering them a "How are we doing?" and "Thanks for stopping by", but when Dan begins barraging him with questions, he is gruff and sarcastic, and he makes strange requests of him. He looks a bit like Santa Claus with his head of snowy hair and a beard and mustache to match, but because of his philosophical ramblings, Daniel nicknames him Socrates. His was the only readily familiar face in the small cast, and my mom correctly pegged him as Nick Nolte, which I missed, still stuck on the image of a wild-haired Nolte going Hawaiian for his mug shot.

One of the first things Socrates tells Dan is to lay off the booze. Life might do well to imitate art in this case. That said, Nolte is what kept the movie compelling for me as he delivered cryptic dialogue in a gravelly voice. Sometimes his words are wise, sometimes funny, but there's no question he gets the best lines in the movie. He never loses his enigmatic presence; we don't learn anything about his background, not even his name. Heck, we're not even sure he exists; could he just be a figment of Dan's imagination, pushing him to excel in his chosen pursuit of Olympic gymnastics?

It's possible but unlikely, since there is the small matter of Joy (Amy Smart), who, the credits tell us, went on to marry Dan. I mention it because the romantic subplot involving her is developed so poorly that most of the time I forgot all about the character. But she is definitely real, and she claims to know Dan's mysterious friend. She never gets around to telling us just what her connection with the bearded mystic is; perhaps that's because screenwriter Kevin Bernhardt wants us to free our minds from the desire for such details. But for as little as she has to do in the movie, I feel as though her part could have been excised with little to no detriment to the film.

More substantial are Dan's coach (Tim DeKay) and fellow gymnasts, particularly the ultra-competitive Trevor (Paul Wesley, who played Lex's long-lost, bad-news brother Lucas in season two of Smallville) and the timid, mediocre Tommy (Ashton Holmes). They are Dan's only consistent companions aside from his new mentor, and the first half of the film alternates fairly frequently between the gym at Berkeley and Socrates' "service station", as he insists Dan call it. When a calamity, hinted at in a recurring dream Dan has, strikes, largely due to his own recklessness, Dan has to start over, and while Socrates offers encouragement, his coach insists that he will never compete again.

The war that Dan must fight is with himself, with his insecurities and his impure motives and everything else that gets in the way of living in the moment. Because in the beginning, not only is he haunted by spooky nightmares, he just isn't a very nice guy. Later, while sitting atop an old car near the shop, he postulates that fear is the reason for all the other negative emotions, which Yoda could have told him. In a way, he did; Socrates is like Yoda and Mr. Miyagi, while Daniel is the impetuous youngster in such desperate need of training.

The movie starts off pretty dark, with many scenes occurring at night, and taking itself pretty seriously with Socrates' frequent lectures, delivered as much to the audience as to Dan. Though the serious tone continues, with occasional relief from Socrates and eventually Dan, who learns to lighten up a little, the movie begins to look brighter, with more daylight scenes as the young protagonist learns to empty his mind of distractions and concentrate on the moment. It becomes as much "inspirational true story" as it does philosophical exercise.

The movie feels a little long at two hours, mainly because it gets off to a slow start. Or maybe it just seemed that way to me, partly because I wasn't quite sure what sort of film it was. Like Mr. Miyagi, Socrates imparts sage lessons by having Dan perform menial tasks, such as washing windows and cleaning toilets. These lessons don't have any specific correlation to particular gymnastic moves; rather, they help him to focus his mind on the job at hand. The film does get rather trippy on a few occasions, as the teleporting trick is a precursor for things to come, and it turns out that Socrates has super-quick reflexes too. Nolte was once considered for the role of Superman in the original film; maybe a little of that power rubbed off on him... The metaphysical mind-bending stuff makes Socrates a little harder to accept as someone who actually exists; it causes us to wonder which scenes really are all in Dan's head.

I didn't like it as much as The Karate Kid, a comparison with which it is hard to resist. I think it's just a little darker and more didactic than it needs to be. That said, it's a film that inspires audiences to strive for the things we love while keeping in mind that the journey is more important than the destination. Nolte's performance is extremely enjoyable, while the rest of the cast hold their own and the Zennish messages permeate the plot so thoroughly that the audience can't help but pick some of them up. I don't know if watching a free screening of Peaceful Warrior is going to make a profound impact on anyone's life. But it's definitely worth a shot.

Jane Austen Would Be Proud of This Mini-series

For several months now, I have been greatly intrigued by the 1995 BBC / A&E miniseries Pride and Prejudice. The curiosity that I, Erin Elizabeth, experienced thanks to the hearty recommendations of my good friend Elisabeth was finally sated this week, courtesy of another close friend... by the name of Elizabeth. It would seem that fate was aligned in my favor, drawing me to yet another Elizabeth, this one pre-dating us all by a couple of centuries.

It is through the eyes of Elizabeth Bennet (Jennifer Ehle) that we watch Jane Austen's classic novel unfold, and it is much the same in this five-hour mini-series, though we do occasionally catch a glimpse of scenes in which the second-eldest of the Bennett daughters plays no part. A quick-witted, free-spirited girl of about 20, she enjoys the close companionship of her older sister Jane (Susannah Harker) and the special affections of her father (Benjamin Whitrow), with whom she shares a sly sense of humor. While the dearest wish of her well-meaning but overdramatic, busy-bodyish mother (Alison Steadman) is to have all five of her daughters married off to men of fortune as quickly as possible, Elizabeth doesn't seem too anxious to take a walk down the aisle, and if she does, she'd prefer to go tumbling head over heels.

That's not to say she isn't practical. She's simply seen all too closely the pitfalls of a passionless marriage thanks to her parents, and she's horrified by her no-nonsense friend Charlotte's (Lucy Scott) suggestion that Jane turn on the charm to secure the rich Charles Bingley (Crispin Bonham-Carter), who seems to have taken quite a liking to her. Not that Elizabeth dislikes him; indeed, in all her dealings with him, she has found him to be as generous and good-natured as his sister Caroline (Anna Chancellor) is snobby and uncivil. She simply doesn't think marriage is something to be rushed into.

At least she knows for herself exactly what sort of men to avoid in her courtships. Men like Mr. Collins (David Bamber), the awkward, self-righteous clergyman who will inherit her father's estate upon his death. This cousin of hers is prone to making long speeches on tedious subjects, his favorite of which is his overbearing patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh (Barbara Leigh-Hunt), and all the material delights of her estate. In fact, it is his devotion to this woman that drives him to ask Elizabeth's hand in marriage, since she indicated that he ought to find himself a wife and since he thinks the proper thing would be to marry someone in the family so the house will not be lost to the Bennets after all. It's a nice thought, but not at all worth the torment it would bring Elizabeth to have such a man for a husband.

Worse than Mr. Collins, who is too ridiculous for her to take too seriously, is Fitzwilliam Darcy (Colin Firth), the darkly handsome friend of Mr. Bingley who snubs Elizabeth upon their first meeting, who verbally spars with her when they meet again at Bingley's home, who convinces the impressionable Bingley that his affections for Jane are not returned, who evidently is responsible for the ruination of the career aspirations of George Wickham (Adrian Lukis), the charming officer Elizabeth warms to. Yes, the deck is stacked against Darcy despite his vast wealth, so when he approaches her with a wholly unexpected marriage proposal that is as unromantic in its own way as Mr. Collins', Elizabeth balks. It's only after this, the midway point in the mini-series, that Elizabeth begins to suspects she may have misjudged Darcy...

Even those unfamiliar with the story must suspect that there is more to Darcy than a dour countenance and a terse tongue. In his star-making role, Firth boasts icy features the first couple of times we meet him, but there is fire in his subsequent exchanges with Elizabeth. There's a sense that while he may find Elizabeth frustrating, he also is invigorated by her, finding in her spirited demeanor and unapologetic wit a refreshing change from Caroline, who never learns that undercutting Elizabeth is not the way to win Darcy's favor. We watch his behavior toward her change subtly; we see the hurt in his eyes when she rejects his offer to dance, the admiration when he gazes at her as she plays and sings for Lady Catherine, who happens to be Darcy's aunt.

Indeed, while Darcy marvels over the beauty of Elizabeth's eyes, his are even more arresting, communicating the depths of his soul as effectively as any of his meticulously chosen words. Firth reminds me of Christopher Plummer, whose eyes are stern and flinty for the first half of The Sound of Music but gradually soften as Captain Von Trapp falls in love with Maria, until they melt into a misty puddle when he finally blurts out, "You can't marry someone... when you're in love with someone else." The comparable moment in Pride and Prejudice has to be when Darcy stares dreamily at Elizabeth as she turns the pages of sheet music for his sister Georgiana (Emilia Fox), thus distracting the delicate young woman from the mortifying comments of Caroline. A mutual regard for Georgiana, to say nothing of the awkward but blissful opportunity for a new start their accidental meeting has afforded, seems to have deepened Darcy's affections and awakened Elizabeth's.

Beyond the eyes, we get several little moments that show the depths of Darcy's discomfort in finding himself unable to resist Elizabeth's charms, later compounded by her rejection. Twice we see him submerge himself in water - once in a tub, once in a pond, both times evidently to douse the improper passion burning inside him. On other occasions we see him engaging in various elite sporting activities, again seeming to need a physical outlet to distract himself from emotional pain. (I couldn't help but think of Lex Luthor in a couple of scenes; what is it with rich, inscrutable guys and billiards and fencing?) His character is always revealed one tiny bit at a time, and the reserve he demonstrates around Elizabeth is such that his dismissal of Jane as disinterested in Bingley is not only presumptuous, it seems hypocritical. How can such a deep man make such shallow judgments?

If only Bingley were not so easily persuaded - though his reliance on Darcy at least means that his friend can undo the damage his meddling has wrought. For as much as I adore Darcy, I'm equally smitten with his closest friend, who is always diplomatic, courteous and cheerful. He's the sort of fellow who lights up a room when he walks in, and he's perfectly matched to optimistic, altruistic Jane, who can't help but see the best in everyone, even if such kindness is undeserved. Bonham-Carter conveys Bingley's generous nature wonderfully; while these two men may be very different from each other, it's hard to say which sister gets the better end of the deal.

Steadman is a tour de force as Mrs. Bennet, always chattering away in the most animated fashion, wringing her hands, caterwauling comically, conniving whenever a marriage prospect appears within reach, petulantly bemoaning the unfairness of it all when her schemes don't quite work out. Whitrow's humor is drier; he doesn't speak half as much as his wife does, yet nearly every sentence out of his mouth is a zinger, a triumph of sarcasm whose meaning is usually missed by its target but not an astute audience. There is almost always a twinkle in his eyes and dimples in his cheeks; he can't hide them no matter how cross he tries to appear. And for all his laughter at his family's expense, Mr. Bennet does feel genuine, if fleeting, remorse for the disaster his poor planning could wreak upon his daughters if they fail to marry during his lifetime. Whenever he was on screen, I paid especially careful attention, and my diligence never failed to be rewarded with his dialogue, always delivered with impeccable comic timing.

Smaller characters add further flavoring to the mini-series. Chief among them is Lydia (Julia Sawalha), the youngest Bennet whose imprudent entanglement with Wickham (whose later exchanges with Elizabeth are pricklingly uncomfortable) toward the end sets into motion the fruition of Elizabeth's blooming desires. Sawalha is a boisterous bundle of giggles whose impish face reminded me strikingly of Billy Boyd, who portrayed mischievous Pippin in The Lord of the Rings. She runs around the house making breathless, silly exclamations. She finds everything to be a joke - except for anything that comes out of the mouth of her older sister Mary (Lucy Briers). These statements are always met with the most exaggeratedly exasperated of sighs. While the audible reaction is another indication of Lydia's immaturity, Mary's Debbie Downer demeanor is a bit much for anyone to take. She truly seems to relish being miserable, and she tries to spread that wealth around as much as possible with her constant moralizing and her insistence on providing the musical entertainment at every party, despite her mediocre skill and her refusal to play anything that could be remotely considered fun. Poor Kitty (Polly Maberly) is wedged between these two sisters, and as she functions mainly as a shadow for Lydia, we scarcely notice her whenever her little sister is on screen. By the time she gets a bit of time for herself, we're much too engaged in the affairs of the other Bennets to pay much attention.

Then there is the wide assortment of friends and neighbors: jovial Sir William Lucas (Christopher Benjamin), whose delight in observing youthful joys and engaging in a bit of match-making calls to mind Sense and Sensibility's Sir John Middleton; Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner (Tim Wylton and Joanna David), the kindly uncle and aunt who are responsible for Elizabeth's life-changing visit to Pemberley, Darcy's estate; Mr. Hurst (Rupert Vansittart), Bingley's Neanderthal of a brother-in-law, who scarcely opens his mouth if not to snore or grunt out something semi-intelligible; Maria Lucas (Lucy Davis), Charlotte's good-natured sister who adores Elizabeth and is awed but intimidated by Lady Catherine, whom the two often visit during their stay with the now Charlotte Collins; and several others.

Andrew Davies' script relies heavily upon Austen's own dialogue, which is a good thing since that is where her wit shines brightest. We're treated to many heated exchanges as well as lines spoken away from the bustle of a crowded cast of characters, where comparative silence increases the impact of words uttered with quiet conviction. It's easy to tell where each of the six installments ends, which gives a better appreciation for how well-paced it is, with each segment introducing an important element.

The cinematography is wonderful; we understand why Mrs. Gardiner is so in love with the untamed beauty of this particular section of English countryside. I often found myself wistfully wishing I could step into that world for a few hours and "take a turn" through the wind-swept grass with Elizabeth. Carl Davis' pianoforte-driven score, meanwhile, adds a lovely sprightly tone to many scenes, capturing the energy of the diverse group of characters.

Pride and Prejudice is five hours of supreme entertainment, an outstanding adaptation of one of the most beloved novels in English literature. I think Miss Austen would be very impressed. This Erin Elizabeth sure is.

Fox Faces Classroom Traumas in Fox At School

Usually when we see Fox, the main character in a series of easy-to-read books by James Marshall, he is at home with his sarcastic mom and his troublesome but adoring little sister Louise or carousing somewhere with his buddies Dexter, a pig, and Carmen, a frog. We see all those characters in Fox At School, but because the school is the setting of each story, the most prominent secondary character is Fox's teacher Miss Moon, who is a cow.

In Fox on Stage, Fox is ecstatic to have won the lead in the class play. Now all the girls will go gaga over him! Unfortunately, he is so busy daydreaming and accepting adulation that he fails to prepare properly for practice, resulting in great embarrassment. I'm not sure whether this book came before or after Fox On Stage; I'm thinking before, because in that book, he seems to be a little more diligent about learning his lines. Incidentally, I'm amused by the fact that Fox exclaims "Hot dog!" in this story, as well as in the last. What a dorky thing to say... Mr. Rosso would be proud.

In Fox Escapes, Fox's fear of heights comes to haunt him again when the class must participate in a fire drill. We often had fire drills in school, but they never involved sliding down a chute from the second floor. It sounds fun. It sounds exciting. But it's not something Fox wants to do, and it turns out it's not something Miss Moon particularly wants to do either, so the two manage to have a bit of a bonding experience, perhaps improving their relationship after the disastrous play. This story also introduces the principal, a mean-looking pig with thick glasses, beady eyes, big buck teeth and an ugly brown suit. He looks like a guy students wouldn't want to cross.

Fox In Charge wraps up the volume. Once again we find him babysitting, though in this case it's for his fellow classmates, since his teacher has put him in charge for a few minutes. It's unclear whether this is because she trusts him or because word got around to her that Fox wants to be a teacher because he thinks it's easy and she wants to teach him a lesson. Frankly, with all of Fox's misadventures in looking after youngsters, I can't imagine why he would want to be a teacher and certainly don't know what gave him the idea that it was a simple job. He starts out smug as usual, but I end up feeling sorry for him before too long, since he's in the biggest class full of hooligans since Sister Mary Clarence's music class in Sister Act 2. His buddy Dexter is the worst one of all. Is there any way to get out of this disaster?

I miss Fox's always funny mom here, as she only shows up on one page, but Miss Moon fills the authority role nicely. Aside from the first story, Fox isn't quite as obnoxious here as he often is, which is a bit of a relief, and getting a glimpse of his school life is a nice change of pace for those who are fond of James Marshall's wily young protagonist.

Can Anyone Outclass Fox in Cleverness?

The other day, I sat back and enjoyed Herbie Goes Bananas, a film starring my all-time favorite vehicle, that lovable little Volkswagen beetle with a mind of his own. When I glanced at the cover of Fox Outfoxed, part of the James Marshall series for early readers about a self-involved fox who's always getting himself into trouble, I couldn't help but think of Herbie. The picture is of Fox literally flying down the sidewalk in a homemade car painted red with an angry, sharp-toothed mouth. It would seem that Fox is in a race. It soon becomes apparent that in this small-time tournament, he is not Jim Douglas, Herbie's talented driver, but Peter Thorndike, Jim's nemesis, who resorts to extremely dubious tactics in order to win races.

In A Faster Fox, after watching his friends building cars so they can race them for a grand prize of a candy store shopping spree, Fox decides to build his own vehicle. His little sister Louise offers to lend a helping paw, and at first he shoos her away, but then he realizes that with some ingenuity and some sisterly aid, that shopping spree might just be within easy reach. Fox is a real twerp in this story, though he's worse in the third tale. His unethical behavior here is rewarded accordingly, though, so children won't likely be inspired to attempt cheating based on his example. In fact, I would say his experience is a very effective deterrent, though the lesson is imparted with humor, particularly in the droll illustrations, rather than heavy-handedness.

Comic Fox makes me sad. Fox is extremely fond of comic books, as we see in the picture in which he sits surrounded by massive piles of them. He is unmoved when his mom teases him about his obsession, but then his pretty neighbor Lulu catches him out front reading his ten favorite comics. And her teasing is a little harder to take, so he pretends he was just on his way to toss them out, leading her to snatch them, supposedly for her little brother. Fox learns a lesson about the value of swallowing his pride while discovering he might not be the cleverest trickster in the neighborhood.

The book ends with Fox Outfoxed, in which Fox, wearing a hideous homemade costume, is forced to let Louise tag along with him and his friends while they go trick-or-treating. Louise is the trickster here, and she gives him the scare of his life after he ditches her on a park bench. My favorite aspect of this story is Louise's costume. She's dressed as a pumpkin, and all we can see is her legs, arms and tail. She's absolutely adorable, especially when she's sitting on that bench, as forlorn as a pumpkin can look. What I don't like is the way Fox's friends goad him into mistreating Louise on their trick-or-treating expedition. Fox is a jerk in this story, but his Dexter and Carmen are worse.

Fox is a sly young devil, but in this book, his tricks backfire on him on three different occasions. While his antics are amusing, they also carry a warning that children would be wise to heed. Even the cleverest among us can sometimes be outfoxed.

A World of Wonder Awaits On Market Street

In my 20-some years of reading children's book, I have come across all sorts of books intended to teach children the alphabet. Most have "alphabet" or "A to Z" in the title, but some are a little more subtle, like On Market Street, which is written by Arnold Lobel and illustrated by his wife, Anita. In this case, Arnold doesn't have a whole lot to do. Aside from introductory and closing verses of eight lines each, the only text in the book is one word per page. It's what Anita does with those items that makes the book so interesting.

The book is a fanciful adventure upon which a little girl embarks in dreamland. As she sleeps, safe and secure next to her dozing cat, she imagines herself of Market Street, a wondrous avenue full of an incredible assortment of items. On each page, she buys enough of these things to fashion a body for herself. For instance, for "A", she has baskets of apples for feet. Her legs and arms and shoulders are branches laden with apples, while her mid-section is composed of more baskets and a halo of apples surrounds her head, the only part of her body besides her hands that is still human.

So it goes throughout the book. Only her face and hands remain fleshy as the rest of her becomes a creatively composed display of complementary objects. She pays tribute to her husband with the toys, which include figures of Frog and Toad, while the colorful array of flowers reminds me of The Rose in My Garden. She tickles tiny taste buds with pages dedicated to doughnuts, ice cream and lollipops, which she balances out with tributes to healthier foods like noodles, oranges and vegetables.

While most or all of the objects should be familiar to young readers, they are presented in an incredibly unique way, with great intricacy on every page that merits in-depth study. Children can take the time to count how many individual objects are in each picture and point out all the varieties there are. While the apples are pretty much the same aside from coming in red and green varieties, most of the objects differ greatly in terms of color, size, design and other variables.

The Lobels were a winning team, and the Caldecott Honor this book earned is well deserved. On Market Street is a unique and delicately designed alphabet book with the capacity to delight time and again.

Austen Echoes Prejudice Me in Favor of the Delightful Enthusiasm

Thanks to my friend Beth, I am on a Jane Austen kick at the moment. So when I read her enticing review of Polly Shulman's Enthusiasm, a debut young adult novel heavily influenced by Pride and Prejudice, I was intrigued. I took the book out in time to provide me with reading material for my flight to San Diego, but I cracked the book open a couple days early, and once I'd started, I couldn't resist reading it through in its entirety. It's just as well, I suppose; had I waited until I was on the plane, I might have been too hooked to put it down when we hit turbulence - which happened a lot - and my stomach wouldn't have thanked me for that...

Enthusiasm is a thoroughly charming book narrated by Julie Lefkowitz, a high school sophomore both blessed and afflicted by the devout friendship of Ashleigh Rossi. She couldn't ask for a more affectionate or considerate friend, and yet she can't help but be a bit exasperated by Ashleigh's boundless enthusiasm for her obsession du jour. She's gone along with Ashleigh's Camelot phase, her candy-making phase, her Wet Blankets phase. But when a stake-out for tickets to a concert of the latter accidentally leads to Ashleigh's discovery of Jane Austen, Julie's favorite author, thanks to the copy of Pride and Prejudice Julie totes along for reading material, the newly dubbed "Miss Lefkowitz" isn't sure how she likes having her own passion hi-jacked by her exceptionally exuberant buddy.

Especially when Ashleigh reveals her plan to crash a ball at Forefield Academy, the exclusive prep school for young men whom Ashleigh deems most likely to exhibit qualities worthy of a 19th-century romance novel. But if she doesn't agree to the scheme, she'll be forced to endure the embarrassment of Ashleigh wearing an approximation of 200-year-old clothes to school. Her constant barrage of flowery, antiquated speech is bad enough. So it is that they find themselves standing at the entrance to the dance one night in early autumn, withering under the glare of a cranky man with a neck like a turkey, who refuses to admit them without tickets. And then... a miracle, courtesy of a Mysterious Stranger whom Julie has seen and admired around town, whom she has secretly cast in the role of Mr. Darcy opposite her own Elizabeth Bennet. Handsome, courteous Grandison Parr comes to the girls' rescue, along with his friend Ned Downing, an easy-going composer.

For a few brief hours, Julie is swept off her feet by his attentions, and she dares to dream that there is more than politeness at play in his kind words and actions. And then disaster strikes when she realizes that Ashleigh likes him too. She sees it as her duty as Ashleigh's best friend to step back and let the relationship develop, regardless of her own feelings. But it certainly is difficult, particularly when Ashleigh convinces her to try out for a play at Forefield, which results in both of them seeing the lads several times a week. How long will it be possible to keep her feelings bottled up?

Shulman is herself an Austen enthusiast, and it shows. She crafts a tale that pays obvious homage to Pride and Prejudice and, to a lesser extent, Sense and Sensibility. Beyond Ashleigh's adoption of early 19th-century speech patterns and clothing, the plot has many Austen echoes. The young women are as devoted to and different from each other as Elinor and Mariane Dashwood. Indeed, they remind me more of that pair than of the Bennet sisters whom they more often reference, though Julie, restrained as she is, is sharp-witted like Elizabeth. Parr is as dashing as Darcy but never so disagreeable; Ned, like Bingley, is pleasant, but he doesn't seem to be quite so outgoing. Other characters with Austen echoes include Chris, who's as slimy as Wickham but nowhere near as charming, and Seth, a tiresome teen who works on the literary magazine with Julie and whose pursuit is as unwelcome to her as Mr. Collins' is to Elizabeth.

And what would an Austen homage be without a healthy helping of correspondence? In this case, most of the writing is done over e-mail, but the contents are just as revealing - and confusing. While Ned's notes tend to be very short and littered with misspellings, Grandison's are elegant and fairly lengthy, and they leave Ashleigh and Julie puzzling for hours over possible meanings in each sentence. When a physical message does arrive, it doesn't come through the mailbox; instead, the girls find a sonnet tacked to the tree between their houses, and the mystery deepens, for not only is it unsigned, but they don't know which of them is the intended recipient.

Both Julie and Ashleigh are very likable, a pair of vibrant young women who value their friendship deeply, even as they are caught up in the excitement of first romance. Aside from each other, they are also friends with Samantha, an older girl who is a neighbor of Julie's dad and part of the cool group at school. She acts as a sage for Julie, giving her advice on how to handle some of the situations Ashleigh gets her into. At school, the girls are close to twins Yolanda and Yvette - though not so close that they can tell them apart most of the time. The major tip-off tends to be how much they talk; Yolanda is a chatterbox, and Yvette is more reserved. But they delight in confusing people, and identity-switching skills come in handy later when Yolanda is grounded and unable to continue rehearsing for the Forefield play.

We don't really see Ashleigh's family, but we get to know Julie's mom pretty well. She's a wonderful, affectionate woman, artsy and flighty and absolutely dedicated to giving her daughter as good a life as possible. She and Julie get along famously. Not so much Julie's dad, whom she visits regularly throughout the book in scenes that remind me a lot of Carmen's storyline in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. They care about each other, but he's pretty distant, and he has expectations for Julie that don't factor in her interests and don't show much empathy for the heartache he caused when he left her mother for another woman. The other woman, Amy, is perky and tries to be nice to Julie, at least on the surface, but she's too self-involved to really embrace her step-daughter - and Julie's grudge runs too deep for her to accept such an embrace.

Julie does have a bitter streak that surfaces time and again throughout the novel, but her better nature overpowers it, especially when her jealousy involves Ashleigh, who is oblivious to Julie's interest in Grandison. As a big fan of both Jane and Bingley, I was rather put out by Julie's dismissal of both characters, but I suppose it is understandable when the girl who has always considered herself Elizabeth is assigned to the role of Jane by her best friend. Ashleigh doesn't have as much darkness churning around inside as Julie. On the other hand, she does tend to get so carried away with her flights of fancy that she inadvertently hurts those she cares about, particularly Julie. The flaws of both girls only make them more interesting and easy to relate to, while their admirable qualities make it easy to root for them.

Enthusiasm is a wholesome, breezy read that shows good old-fashioned romance can still survive in a modern, cynical world. As an ode to friendship and an homage to Austen, who seems to have great box-office draw these days, I think it would make a great movie, for the same sort of audience for which Sisterhood was intended. It certainly is a marvelous book.

I'm Not as Enamored With Wilson as Usual in Bear Hugs

I got my hands on Bear Hugs: Romantically Ridiculous Animal Rhymes, a collection of humorous poetry by Karma Wilson and illustrated by Suzanne Watts, about a month and a half too late. From the pink cover to the sappy sentiments stored inside, this book seems designed especially for Valentine's Day. Included in the book are 20 short poems, some written in the first person and some from a more detached viewpoint. Most are corny enough to be featured on Valentines distributed to classmates via those prettily decorated shoeboxes that always sit atop desks on that holiday.

Since first reading Wilson's Bear Snores On, I have been hooked on her books, which generally feature adorable illustrations and narration that cleverly uses rhyme, repetition and wordplay to create an irresistible story. Bear Hugs is not a story. Moreover, while children will probably find at least some of the rhymes silly, the pun-tastic jokes seem designed to attract adults as well. Most poems have a punch line playing off of the specific animal involved. For instance, a rooster wants to ask a pretty young hen out but is too chicken, while a frog overdramatically states, "If you love me, / I'll croak with delight. / If you don't - / I'll simply croak."

Watts' illustrations fit the verse, looking just like the sort of pictures that would come in a box of 20 Valentines with cute sayings on them. Mostly, they feel a bit generic, not as distinctive or attractive as the work of other illustrators Wilson has worked with. This may have been a deliberate stylistic choice, as a sort of parody of traditional children's Valentines, but I was rather disappointed to find that I was unable to fall in love with the pictures in a book revolving around romance.

Additionally, Wilson's usually impeccable rhythm is off here. Many lines seem to ramble, with too many syllables strung together, while others seem too sparse. The poems are probably best read aloud, but much of the humor depends on the visual, as in the poem about the "love-a-bull" dog and the one asking "Will ewe please be mine?" I guess that makes it just right for children who prefer reading aloud to themselves; I'm not sure it would be such a great choice for reading to a child, or especially to several children at once.

Bear Hugs is still a pretty cute collection, especially for lovers of animals and puns. It just doesn't quite live up to my expectations, formed after reading several Wilson books that truly can be termed outstanding.

Can Mr. Putter Train Tabby to Stow Away Where She's Unwelcome?

When I was little, my family used to go for a drive to a relatively nearby town, where we would catch a train that would take us on a scenic ride through the countryside. I think we spent more time in the car than on the train, but we always looked forward to the expedition, on which my brother and I would wear our conductor's hats proudly and gaze out at the passing scenery. Nowadays, when I think of trains I'm more likely to recall the Hogwarts Express before my own childhood adventures, but in either case, there is just something inherently exhilarating about riding in a train.

That's what Mr. Putter thinks, too, when his neighbor Mrs. Teaberry proposes a four-hour train ride in Mr. Putter and Tabby Take the Train, written by Cynthia Rylant and illustrated by Arthur Howard. Mr. Putter may be a rather old man now, but he remembers his boyhood and the joy he felt when he accompanied his parents on train rides.

Howard shows us one idyllic scene in a flashback illustration; we see the young Mr. Putter as a freckle-faced redhead wearing glasses and sitting next to his tattered teddy bear, while his father dozes and his mother, looking elegant with her pronounced fingernails, eyelashes and golden hair in a bun, begins reading the second chapter of Tom Sawyer. What a relief to the polite Mr. Putter that Mrs. Teaberry has proposed an idea that actually suits him, unlike some of her previous schemes, which he has often found outlandish and uncomfortable.

The book is divided into three sections: An Idea, Another Idea and Taking the Train. Between the first two sections, Rylant employs a technique that she often uses throughout the easy-reader series. She ends An Idea with a definitive statement and starts Another Idea with a complete contradiction of that statement. The effect is very funny, especially when amplified by the horrified expression on the usually placid Mrs. Teaberry's face.

I like the way this particular book emphasizes the fact that not only are Mr. Putter and Mrs. Teaberry friends, his cat Tabby and her dog Zeke are friends as well. While the humans are chatting with one another on the phone, the pets go to their windows and greet each other, and throughout the book they are often within inches of each other but never seem in danger of snarling or hissing.

I've noticed that in Rylant's world - or at least in the worlds of Mr. Putter and Tabby and Henry and Mudge - pets have a free rein to do pretty much anything they want. They can go to stores and zoos and amusement parks. They can explore farms and hotels and beaches. They generally have free access to any place a human can go. So I was a bit surprised that in this book, cats and dogs are not allowed on trains. Perhaps the glance at Tom Sawyer near the beginning is a bit of foreshadowing, because Mr. Putter turns mighty mischievous when faced with such a restriction, and Mrs. Teaberry gladly follows suit. Interestingly, when they approach the ticket lady a second time and she grants them passage on the train, her eyes are closed and a smile is on her face, as if to say, "Okay, have things your way, but I don't want to know about it."

Mr. Putter and Tabby Take the Train is another charming installment in this series that shows again and again that fun and adventure can come at any age. Take a relaxing ride through the countryside with Mr. Putter and Mrs. Teaberry... and perhaps a stowaway or two!

Mr. Putter Gives Mrs. Teaberry a Very Grand Christmas Gift

I love Christmas. It's my favorite time of the year for many reasons, and one of the aspects that I enjoy the most is coming up with presents for certain people. It's always fun but also time-consuming, especially when I decide to make gifts. And sometimes things go wrong and what looked like a lovely ornament in my head is a gluey, jagged mess in real life and I have to start over. This is the sort of trouble Mr. Putter faces in Mr. Putter and Tabby Bake the Cake.

The book, third in the easy-reader series written by Cynthia Rylant and illustrated by Arthur Howard, is broken into four short sections: A Good Cake, No Pans, Mary Sue and Something Airy. If I were reading this series in order, it would be only my second encounter with Mrs. Teaberry, his cheery neighbor, and Zeke, her little bulldog. Zeke doesn't come into the story much, but the events of the book occur because Mr. Putter wants to give his dear friend Mrs. Teaberry a Christmas present that is truly special. After a great deal of deliberation, he settles upon the idea of giving her a light, fluffy Christmas cake so she will have something better to eat than those fruitcakes she is inexplicably fond of, which carry the risk of bodily injury if dropped.

There are just a few problems with this plan. Mr. Putter has no pans. Mr. Putter has no ingredients. Mr. Putter has no cookbook. And Mr. Putter has no prior experience in making cakes. Realizing all the strikes against him, he's tempted to give up. Instead, he seeks advice from a local cake-making expert, who sells him a hundred dollars' worth of supplies, none of which are ingredients. When he finally does get started on his sweet surprise (on Christmas Eve), his lack of expertise leads to several failed attempts. Will he have to settle for a cup of tea and a consolation card, or can he mange to give Mrs. Teaberry a treat that's good enough to eat?

It's fun to see Howard apply his skills to traditional Christmas images. We see the bustling sweetshop all decked out in holly and wreaths and surrounded by customers all bundled up to protect themselves against the powdery snow. There's Mrs. Teaberry's oddity of a fruitcake, indented with a strange assortment of implements including several very prominent cherries. There's the Christmas tree-shaped pan Mr. Putter buys from Mary Sue, the cake lady. And then there's my favorite, the card he imagines himself giving to Mrs. Teaberry, the front of which bears the words "It's the thought that counts" and features a perplexed-looking Santa.

I also like the little details in the book that give us greater insight into the personalities of these two people. We learn that Mrs. Teaberry is especially eccentric, embracing kitschy knick-knacks like monkey heads made of coconuts and wind-up salt shakers. We learn that as much as Mr. Putter loves a good story, his bookshelves also feature a wide assortment of volumes of non-fiction on topics ranging from seaweed to Chinese trees. And we learn that Tabby and Zeke are unusually patient, since they are willing to subject themselves uncomplainingly to festive attire with no apparent attempts at removing the items - a sweater for Zeke to match his mistress's wardrobe and a Santa hat for Tabby to match Mr. Putter's headgear, which is larger but otherwise identical.

This book reminds me of two later books in the series. Like Mr. Putter and Tabby Paint the Porch, it shows that Mr. Putter is a man with stick-to-it-ivity. He doesn't abandon a project just because the going gets tough. Like Mr. Putter and Tabby Spin the Yarn, it involves an attempt by Mr. Putter to do something extra-nice for his neighbor. Not everything goes as planned, but Mrs. Teaberry is certainly appreciative. Unlike both of those tales, this is a Christmas story, which makes it ideal December reading. Those who open it because of the holiday theme will find themselves drawn into a wonderful series that is 15 volumes strong, with hopefully many more to come.

Mr. Putter and Tabby Court Colorful Calamities

When I was in my early teens, I spent one summer painting the fence around my backyard. I went through can after can of red paint, splattering my designated painting shirt and shorts liberally and getting a decent amount on my face, in my hair and throughout the grass. I made a bit of a mess, but not any place where it counted, and by the end of the summer I had a whole freshly painted fence to my credit. Yes, it took a long time... But that was a big fence! In Cynthia Rylant's Mr. Putter and Tabby Paint the Porch, illustrated by Arthur Howard, the happy bachelor who lives with his cat in a lovely house decides that his house would be a little more lovely if he painted the porch. Unlike my unwieldy fence, Mr. Putter's porch should be a one-day paint job. But small paws and fresh paint are not a good combination in this book...

This easy reader is divided into four sections: The Porch, Scat!, Very Pink and A Lovely Yellow. It begins when Mr. Putter, just about to read a funny story to his attentive cat Tabby, notices that his front porch isn't looking so hot. Time for a new paint job! The text and illustrations both emphasize the fact that this is spring and seem to tie this project into the newness of the season. It's the time for fresh beginnings, for finding in the depths of disrepair an opportunity for beauty. Frankly, I don't think Mr. Putter's porch looks all that bad, but perhaps this is as much about wanting to pour his enthusiasm into a project as fixing something that is clearly broken.

The trouble begins shortly after Mr. Putter picks up the brush when a squirrel leaps onto the railing and begins running along its wet, pink surface. Up until this point, the project has been a bonding experience for the man and his cat. He sings to her, and she catches stray rags that get picked up by a playful wind. She wants to continue to be helpful, so she takes it upon herself to get rid of the pesky squirrel by chasing it away. Unfortunately, she knocks the paint can over in the process, and her wild pursuit of the offending critter results in a pink squirrel, a pink cat and a porch covered in pink paw prints.

This was not exactly the paint job Mr. Putter had in mind. He has to start from scratch. Luckily a sympathetic Mrs. Teaberry offers to help, and together they begin to paint the porch sky blue. And then a chipmunk comes along, and her dog Zeke, also wanting to be of service, remembers that he is an expert chipmunk chaser... This rib-tickling story about determination and false starts has two valuable lessons to teach. First, don't give up when you face an unforeseen roadblock to finishing a project. Second, leave the pets inside if you decide to paint the porch...

Mostly, though, Mr. Putter and Tabby Paint the Porch is just a hilarious tale of painted tails (and whiskers and paws and goodness knows what else). It's one of the most colorful books in the series, what with the burst of spring blooms and the spatter of clashing colors on the porch, and Rylant's winning style once again milks a simple story for all the humor it's worth. Excellent for springtime or any time!

I Go Bananas for Herbie!

Among my Christmas presents this year was a gift card to Target, which I used to buy the game Apples to Apples. Last year, I also got a Target gift card, with which I purchased a four-pack of Herbie movies. I spread out my viewings of the movies, leaving the last for this year. The title: Herbie Goes Bananas. What can I say? I'm a fruitcake! You almost have to be to get such a kick out of the idea of a little Volkswagen beetle with a heart of gold and an ability to drive himself around town. Herbie sure seems to know what he's doing, despite the nerve-racking nature of some of his death-defying stunts; I wouldn't mind having him as my own personal chauffeur. Especially if he came with that nifty theme song.

But a lot of people don't agree with me. The movies, made during the 70s and 80s, back when Disney was still churning out innocuous live-action family films, are very G-rated, heavy on the corny special effects, marked in some cases by gaping plot holes (beyond the obvious "Wait! Cars aren't alive!" deal). I made the rather grievous error of semi-forcing Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo on my brother over the summer. He was not impressed. In fact, his string of cynical comments left me so jaded that I gave the movie three stars. Poor Herbie! If I wrote the review today, I'm sure I'd rate it much higher, but I'll leave my original rating as a reminder to myself that some movies are best enjoyed only in certain company.

My mom was the only one I subjected to Herbie Goes Bananas. We popped it in late the other night and fell asleep watching it. Tonight I skipped ahead and watched the ending I missed the other day. It's all gloriously cheesy, with hardy little Herbie always saving the day, much more in control of the situation than his human counterparts. It obviously was geared toward children, probably more than the other installments because this one features Paco (Joaquin Garay III), an adorable Spanish-speaking scamp whose pick-pocketing skill is unmatched and whose affectionate nature is wasted on such a cut-throat living. He just wants somebody to love, and he finds that someone in "Ocho," the name he chooses for Herbie when he stows away inside him early in the movie. After they are reunited later, a chorus of children sing a syrupy song about friendship whose lyrics include the cheerful line "I bet you a banana manana you'll have a new friend!" If Nathan had been watching with me, I think he would have hit the mute button.

Even I admit the song is a bit much, but the rest of the movie is pretty solid entertainment. Jim Douglas has passed Herbie on to new owners again; I don't know why he bothers, since Herbie somehow always seems to end up back with him. But the boys who inherit him are a good couple of chaps. His nephew Pete (Stephen Burns) is a dreamboat and a mighty soft touch, easily taken in by Paco's practiced routine, while his toothy compadre D. J. (Charles Martin Smith) seems just a bit more world-wise. It had been so long since I'd seen this movie that when we first started watching, I couldn't recall if they were the good guys or the bad guys, but their actions soon showed them to be men of character.

They're also men of ambition, having traveled to South America to pick up Herbie and drive him to victory in a major Brazilian race. Too bad for them that they get mixed up with Paco, who tangles with a group of troublemaking treasure seekers led by the sinister Prindle (John Vernon). Herbie takes it upon himself to protect the kid, which leads to several embarrassing situations for the lads, particularly when Herbie arouses the ire of the overbearing Captain Blythe (Harvey Korman), captain of the ship on which the young men appeal to their flirtatious aunt Louise (Cloris Leachman) for funds to back their entry into the big race. Problematically, Herbie's antics so enrage the captain that he forces the little car to walk the plank, of all cruel things. But we all know that's not enough to keep a good car down!

Interwoven into the plot are two love stories, neither of which is too prominent. The first involves Aunt Louise's rather ridiculous crush on Captain Blythe, an overdramatic sea dog whose only true loves are the open water and a fine vessel in full sail. The second is between Pete and Melissa (Elyssa Davalos), a severe young doctoral candidate who always keeps her hair up tight in a bun and her eyes shielded behind enormous glasses. While the first never seems to be reciprocal, the second could be, except that it begins merely as a means of winning Aunt Louise's favor, as she is determined to play matchmaker for her traveling companion, who has the capacity to be both pretty and vivacious. Once Melissa finds this out, she is none too pleased, feeling as though she has been used, even though Pete's feelings toward her have changed.

The main action involves Herbie, though, getting himself out of close scrapes while getting the humans closely associated with him into them. He zooms along at top speed. He floats for miles in the water, becoming covered with rust. He plays chicken with a bull - and wins! And of course, as per the film's title, he allows himself to be decorated with bananas in hopes that will throw the bad guys off his scent; later, when the scoundrels show up anyway, he resumes his attempts to thwart them, this time lobbing bananas at them as they try to get away with a massive wheel of pilfered Inca gold. It's quite the slippery spectacle. Other than those small scenes, plus that line in the song, there's little in the movie to suggest the title in any literal sense, but he certainly does "go bananas" throughout the movie if we're talking about acting in a crazily silly way.

We never actually get to see Herbie's big race; the film ends just before it's about to start, with Paco in the driver's seat in a shiny racing suit, having just explained to D.J. that he calls Herbie "Ocho" because "five and three make eight - everyone knows that"! The closest thing to an actual race is the bullfight, but that doesn't bother me much since every major Herbie race tends to play out pretty much the same way as the climactic event in The Love Bug. Herbie's most interesting to me as a sort of metallic Lassie, exuding friendship and coming to the rescue of an assortment of disaster-prone humans. We get plenty of that here, plus the sprightly theme song, so who am I to complain about a few corny moments and pesky plot holes?

Benjamin Bunny Could Learn a Thing or Two From His Cousin Peter's Mistakes

I come from a very eclectic family. My grandparents (George and Martha) are hippos. My dad (Ronald) is a clown. And my brother (Benjamin) is a bunny. I am reminded of the latter because of the approach of Easter, which always brings Beatrix Potter to mind, both because several of her books involve rabbits and because one Easter, my brothers and I received a collection of six tiny Potter books put out by BP, for whatever reason. Perhaps so we wouldn't forget that the "B" stands for "British"? Or because the powers that be were amused that BP also signifies "Beatrix Potter"? Whatever the case, we got a lovely little collection that Easter, and among those six books was The Tale of Benjamin Bunny.

It's interesting that Benjamin is referred as a bunny while his cousin Peter is introduced to us as a rabbit. I imagine Potter did this for two reasons: because "Benjamin Bunny" has such a nice alliterative ring to it, and because she wanted to emphasize the fact that Benjamin is younger. As such, he does not have the benefit of Peter's wisdom, acquired after his harrowing ordeal in the adventure bearing his name, so he is cheerfully headstrong in contrast to Peter, who spends most of this book in a state of anxious misery.

The mission that the two rabbits soon undertake is the recovery of Peter's clothes, which are hanging on the scarecrow where Mr. McGregor put them after Peter lost them in his garden. Peter ought to be overjoyed when he hears from Benjamin that the McGregor's are off for a day-long outing, since this should allow him ample time to retrieve his wardrobe, but his reaction is one of petulance. He glumly remarks that he wishes it would rain. If it did, it would ruin the fun of his human nemeses, but it would also likely crush his chances of getting his clothes back, and even if he succeeded, they would be all wet. Unless it didn't start to rain until he and his garments were safely home.

At any rate, Peter's caution and lack of enthusiasm for the task ahead of him lead Benjamin to take control, and he cavalierly strolls through the garden, nibbling on lettuce and wearing Mr. McGregor's very silly (and much too large for a bunny) hat, which was used to complete the scarecrow's ensemble. But his education is about to begin when he hides himself, along with Peter and a kerchief full of onions for Peter's mother, underneath a basket in order to escape the farmer's cat, only to have that cat hop onto the basket and remain there for hours.

The language Potter uses is a bit quaint, so not all the words will be familiar to contemporary children, but this is just a point of interest rather than a pitfall. The strangest of these words is probably "tam-o-shanter," which is the proper term for Mr. McGregor's floppy Scottish wool cap with a pom-pom in the middle. The corporal punishment Benjamin endures at the paws of his severe father could raise objections, though it is also his father who saves him from his life-threatening predicament. I also find it interesting how Potter puts herself into the story somewhat by stating that she once bought some of Mrs. Rabbit's hand-knit items at a fair.

Her illustrations are, as always, incredibly detailed. The rabbits look perfectly realistic except for the fact that they are wearing clothes. I especially love the expressiveness of their faces, particularly in one illustration in which Benjamin sits down next to his cousin, who is shuddering sadly while wrapped up in a handkerchief. He looks so comforting in this picture, and his one exposed eye is fully open, seeming to exude calmness, while Peter's is narrowed with crinkles around the edges, making it look as though he's been crying.

In the end, Peter and Benjamin are both good little bunnies who have learned the consequences of doing not-so-good things. The Tale of Benjamin Bunny is a charming story, whether or not it's Easter and whether or not you happen to have a brother named Benjamin.

Walking the Dog Poses Perilous Problems for Mr. Putter and Tabby

My dog Mokey loves to go for walks. But I don't always love taking her because she would much rather walk me. She tugs and tangles terribly, and when we come into contact with other dogs she tenses and tries to decide if the newcomer warrants closer investigation. It's all rather stressful, so I know how neighborly dog-walker Mr. Putter feels in Mr. Putter and Tabby Walk the Dog.

This second book in Cynthia Rylant and Arthur Howard's series for young readers, which is the first to mention Mrs. Teaberry, the pleasant woman who lives next door to Mr. Putter, and her little dog Zeke, is broken up into three sections: The Lollypup (a nickname for Zeke I haven't encountered in any other books in the series), The Nightmare and The Dream Dog. One day, Mr. Putter's kind offering of kiwis sets the stage for calamity when Mrs. Teaberry trips on one of them. A trip to the doctor yields a stern instruction not to walk Zeke for a week. But Zeke is so fond of his walks... How will he get along without them?

Mr. Putter saves the day by volunteering his services. Though she warns him that Zeke might not be the most cooperative of walkers, he's sure he can handle the pooch. Until he has that leash in his hand and he realizes just how much trouble one bulldog can be. He tugs. He winds around trees. He chases dogs three times his size. Poor Mr. Putter! It's enough to make him want to throw in the towel.

Rylant uses repetition to her advantage as she recounts the first three disastrous days Mr. Putter spends as dog-walker, followed by the more sedate remaining four. Moreover, our hero may have several decades on the children to whom this book is geared, but his generous, vivacious solution to his pup problem should certainly appeal to young eyes The activities he chooses as rewards for Zeke's good behavior don't seem quite appropriate for a dog; generally canines and chocolate don't mix too well, so a hot fudge sundae seems ill-advised, and when's the last time you saw a pooch jump off a diving board or go to the zoo? But Zeke seems to be having a wonderful time.

One point of interest for me in Howard's illustrations is the car Mr. Putter uses to drive Mrs. Teaberry to and from the doctor. It's a purple Buick Eight, a classy vehicle that looks straight out of the 1950s. I've been assuming that these stories have a contemporary setting, but Rylant never comes right out and tells us, at least not in one of the stories I've read. Well, I suppose Howard does narrow it down in Mr. Putter and Tabby Catch the Cold; the inclusion of Hagar the Horrible and Shoe in the comics limits the time frame to the last three decades. It just makes me wonder whether he's had that car since he learned to drive or for a couple decades (and this is the late seventies or early eighties) or not very long at all, and he just likes old cars. After all, he likes old cats...

And dogs, as long as they can learn how to take a walk without wearing him to a frazzle. Mr. Putter and Tabby Walk the Dog is a funny introduction to the neighbors who share many good times with the man with the mustache and his stripedy cat in subsequent books.

Tasty Temptations Distract Mr. Putter From Writing the Next Great Novel

It's hard to be a writer, especially when you are easily distracted. I can certainly vouch for that, having spent many an hour staring at a blank computer screen and feeling the urge to check my e-mal every five minutes or see what's on TV or run to the kitchen for a bite to eat. It's this last temptation that proves irresistible to the balding, mustache and glasses-wearing, vest-loving protagonist of Mr. Putter and Tabby Write the Book, part of the series of easy-to-read books written by Cynthia Rylant, who also authored the Henry and Mudge and Poppleton series, and illustrated by Arthur Howard.

The book, which is divided into the sections An Idea, Chapter One and Good Things, finds Mr. Putter cooped up inside during a blizzard. They enjoy gazing out at all the pretty white fluff and watching the young people have fun in it but don't want to risk injury by going outside themselves. So they stay in, and Mr. Putter comes up with a great idea for a way to pass the time. He will write a mystery novel. He has all the supplies necessary for such an endeavor, including a comfy chair, a cheery fire, a sharp pencil and lots of paper. He's ready. But writing a book is harder than he bargained for...

This is an especially entertaining book for me, since I'm always trying to write something and not always succeeding, especially when it's a large project encompassing dozens or even hundreds of pages. Howard amusingly shows us the thought behind Mr. Putter's writing process as his face displays a variety of confused and frustrated expressions before an accomplishment merits a satisfied grin. After each small victory - such as coming up with a title - Mr. Putter rewards himself with an elaborate snack, and preparing his culinary masterpieces always takes quite a bit longer than whatever writing he was attempting. And then he's so worn out he needs a nap!

In the end, Mr. Putter creates something entirely different than what he initially had intended. It's not as massive an achievement as a mystery novel, but it delights his dear friend and neighbor Mrs. Teaberry, and this appreciative response makes him eager to write again. Mr. Putter and Tabby Write the Book shows that writing a book is a difficult task and that while it is a goal worth working toward, there's no shame in starting small.

Sendak's Freaky Tale of Goblin Abductions is Really Out There

In Jim Henson's Labyrinth, spirited young heroine Sarah has a copy of Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are in her room. I can't help but wonder whether Henson ever read Outside Over There, another story by Sendak involving young children and strange creatures. In this Caldecott Honor book, Ida, a girl who is a few years younger than Sarah, similarly loses her baby sibling to goblin abduction and must retrieve her. Curiously, Sendak's goblins look just like babies; I'm not sure if this is how they always look or if it's just a momentary disguise to confuse Ida. In any case, the basic plot is similar, though the two stories unfold very differently.

Outside Over There isn't a very long book, and there's only a sentence or two of text per page. Our focus is supposed to be on the paintings that take up most of the space. These are artful and pretty realistic, though there is a strangeness to them I can't quite pin down. Sendak's done some pretty trippy stuff before - In the Night Kitchen is especially bizarre - so it's no great surprise to find another of his books to be exceptionally odd.

The illustration in which the yowling baby is carried away by goblins while Ida idly plays her horn beside a freakish-looking faux infant made of ice is chilling, as is the one in which Ida floats over the city, yellow cloak flapping wildly, as the goblins, concealed in their wraith-like robes, stand guard over her sister. Ida always has a melancholy look about her, which is appropriate for a girl whose father is away at sea and whose sister has been taken, but it makes her a little harder to embrace. The colors used throughout the book are deep and dark, the landscape and clothing richly textured. I can understand why the artwork was recognized; I just don't care for it all that much.

I'm also not crazy about the writing style, which is clipped and seems to be trying to achieve a particular dialect, though I can't say what that would be. Words that seem like they should be adverbs become adjectives, as in "they quick churned," or adjectives that should be integrated more naturally into the sentence show up after the noun, as in "Ida mad" and "Ida sly".

Outside Over There is an odd and unsettling little book, and it's not nearly as creative and action-packed as Labyrinth, so I'd recommend the latter if you're in the mood for goblins and stick with the wild things if you've got a hankering for Sendak.

Robert McCloskey's Quack-tastic Tale a Delight for Duck Lovers

Yesterday was the warmest, brightest, sunshiney-est day we've seen in Erie for quite a while, so when I got a phone call from my brother, who attends college half an hour away, I wasn't surprised to hear that he was outside enjoying the nice weather. His way of drinking in the beauty of the day was to sit by a large pond near his dorm and idle away the minutes watching the ducks. "There are geese here too," he confided, "but I just have a real soft spot for ducks." So much so that his current profile picture on Facebook shows only his outstretched hand and an insistent duck flapping up to snatch the pellets in his palm.

I'm not sure if he ever read Make Way for Ducklings, but I know he'd like it. This Caldecott Award-winning book by Robert McCloskey has been charming children and adults alike for six and a half decades. The sepia-tone drawings are richly detailed, particularly the various landmarks around Boston, the kindly policeman Michael and the feathery Mallard family that starts out as just the Mrs., whose idea of what constitutes a proper nesting ground is more limited than her husband's.

She's very firm on this matter, and rightly so, for she's about to bring a beautiful brood into the world, all downy feathers, stubby wings, waddling feet, bright eyes and smiling beaks. Graceful in flight, cozy while nestling, indignant when vehicles get too near, proud when bystanders compliment her ducklings, the determined mama is the star of the story, the momentum behind the marvelous sequence of events, particularly after her husband goes off for an expedition and requests that she meet him a week later in the park, which is nearby but can't be reached on foot without running into a couple of roads.

I do think, however, that Michael is my favorite character. He's a large enough figure to be imposing as he strolls around with his night-stick with his chest puffed out. But he uses his authority to protect the lives of these small, noisy citizens, bringing traffic to a halt so the nine ducks can cross safely into the park. He looks like such a nice man as he stands there with one hand up and a whistle in his mouth, calmly directing the befuddled drivers. His precautions come at some inconvenience to himself, too, as he rushes along, huffing and puffing to reach the corner where the Mallards are quacking at the cars and then off to call the station for another escort into the park itself.

The text is very readable, with plenty of dialogue to add variety to the narration. Mr. and Mrs. Mallard exchange some words with each other, and later the police and various townspeople comment on the duck promenade. The most memorable "talking", however, comes in the form of quacking, which is done most enthusiastically by Mrs. Mallard and her eight ducklings, all of whose names end in "ack". I don't think there are many words that will cause consternation, except perhaps for a few place names and the phrase "all of a dither," whose meaning should be clear by the agitation Mrs. Mallard displays in the accompanying sentences and illustration.

Duck lovers of all ages should have a quacking good time with this classic tale that encourages consideration for our fellow creatures. In fact, I think I will recommend it to my brother right now...

Mr. Putter Spins a Good Yarn With Tabby and Zeke

Mr. Putter, the charming elderly character created by the prolific author Cynthia Rylant and illustrator Arthur Howard, is a lucky man. He may have a few creaks in his old bones, but he has an agreeable cat named Tabby to keep him company and a kindly neighbor named Mrs. Teaberry to look after him and shower him with food. In Mr. Putter and Tabby Spin the Yarn, he decides he wants to give something back to his considerate neighbor.

This book for beginning readers is broken up into four sections: Good Neighbors, The Club, The Fun Starts and One Less Potato. As the book begins, we find Mr. Putter contemplating whether he is a good neighbor like Mrs. Teaberry. When she comes over to tell him about her new knitting club, Mr. Putter hits upon a marvelous idea. He will serve tea to the members of her club. He will prove that he is a good neighbor after all!

When he gets to her house, he's all set for a pleasant afternoon. He has the tea for brewing and some bridge mix to pour into a large bowl. But he also has a cat, and Tabby finds herself strangely affected by all these balls of string, as we see by her hilariously frazzled expression in the corresponding illustration. It reminds me very much of her reaction to the fish Mr. Putter buys in an earlier installment of the series.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Teaberry's dog Zeke, who is usually described as "good", has been shut up in the kitchen for meddling with the ostentatiously decorated hat of one of the knitting ladies. Thus Mr. Putter's job becomes more about keeping a rein on his two feisty, furry, four-legged friends than about serving tasty treats. Can the mild-mannered man in the dapper vest and fishing hat avert a disaster?

I like the title of this book because it refers not only to Tabby's obsession with the yarn but to the fact that she and Mr. Putter - along with Zeke - are responsible for a crackin' good "yarn," or story. The combination of two over-enthusiastic pets and several chatty ladies in silly hats leads to one of the most action-packed sequences in the series, becoming the sort of story that Mr. Putter and Mrs. Teaberry and anyone lucky enough to read this book are likely to recollect with laughter for years to come.

Meet Poppleton, a Perfectly Pleasant Pig

Over the past few weeks, I have been a voracious reader of books by Cynthia Rylant. This prolific Newbery Award-winning author has penned several series, of which I am currently working my way through three. Henry and Mudge are a red-headed boy of seven or eight and his big drooly dog. Mr. Putter and Tabby are an elderly bald man and his creaky orange cat. Poppleton, whose series is comparably short, is a quiet, unassuming middle-aged pig. After reading several installments of each series, I recently got my hands on the first volumes. All three mark a big change in the lives of the protagonists, but Poppleton makes the biggest change of all when he leaves his city life for a charming house in a small town. Far from anyone he knows, he has taken a risk, which is rewarded with a very special friendship with his new next-door neighbor, a llama named Cherry Sue.

We meet her in Neighbors, the first of three stories in this book, which is illustrated by Mark Teague. We get one illustration of Poppleton jogging along in a park in a hoodie, a street lamp behind him, a roller-blading chicken beside him, the cityscape off in the distance. Then it's off to the small-town life for him, in a lovely white house with a pine tree and a picket fence. He can garden in the yard and nap in the sunroom. He can put all his knick-knacks on the shelves throughout the house. And he can enjoy the company of his very friendly neighbor, who comes over constantly with food she has prepared. Though he likes her and her food, Poppleton begins to feel smothered. How can he make her understand that he needs a little time to himself? This tale is a charming introduction to the rather anxious Poppleton and a good lesson on the importance of assertiveness reminiscent of the George and Martha story Split Pea Soup.

My relationship with the library has wavered through the years, but at the moment it's going strong, so I can appreciate the importance of Poppleton's weekly visits in The Library. The text tells us that no matter what else is happening on Monday, he has to go to the library, where he sits and reads an adventure book all day, armed with a few essentials like tissues and a pocket watch. This is a good story to get kids excited about reading, though I confess I thought there might be some sort of twist at the end. Like Cherry Sue's birthday would fall on a Monday and he would become flexible in order to celebrate his friend's special day. Or he would discover that books can be checked out of the library, so he doesn't have to sit at the library reading all day. But he seems to truly savor this routine, so there's nothing wrong with that.

The Pill is a very silly story in which Poppleton offers to tend to his friend Fillmore, a goat who is sick in bed. (Incidentally, while another book shows a framed picture of a cheeseburger on Poppleton's wall, Fillmore has a framed painting of a just-opened can.) Every once in a while, my cats need a pill, and we often use the trick of putting the pill in something tasty so they will eat it without realizing it. Fillmore wants Poppleton to do just this. Not just any tasty something, mind you: something sweet and soft with raspberry filling and chocolate on top. What's more, he insists Poppleton divide the cake into ten pieces and not tell him which piece the pill is in. After each piece, though, he demands to know whether he has eaten the pill. What will happen when only one piece remains and the pill is inside? This story shows that Fillmore can certainly match Poppleton when it comes to eating. One can't help but wonder if he is really sick, or he just wants an excuse to eat lots of cake...

Poppleton is a perfectly pleasant pig, thanks to Rylant's marvelous writing that is perfect for early readers and Teague's soft, wonderfully detailed illustrations. Once you meet Poppleton, you'll want to come back and visit often!

A Sweaty Nightmare Turns Into a Dream for Mr. Putter and Tabby

After several months of winter weather, I think I am ready for some green grass, brightly-colored flowers, clear skies and sun. I am ready to ditch the heavy coat in favor of t-shirts and start eating dinner at the picnic table on the back porch. But I am not ready to melt into a pathetic puddle every time the mercury peeks above the 80-degree mark. I wilt on hot summer days, so I sympathize entirely with the striped cat and pudgy man who lie around miserably mopping themselves in Mr. Putter and Tabby Row the Boat.

This book, which is part of a series for young readers by Cynthia Rylant and illustrated by Arthur Howard, consists of four short sections: Sweaty, The Big Pond, Tall Tales and Much Better. Though I feel sorry for Mr. Putter and Tabby as the story opens on their sweltering suffocation, it's pretty funny to see them trying all sorts of different positions, looking equally lethargic no matter where they go.

Tabby looks especially pitiable, her legs and tail flopping around limply, her eyes half-open and dull, her mouth shaped into a small frown. This is not pleasant weather for a cat. Mr. Putter, I think it's time you invested in an air conditioner! Even a retreat to the basement fails to cool the tattered twosome off, though it does have the advantage of giving us a peek at some of Mr. Putter's antiquated possessions, including a phonograph and a typewriter.

Happily, an idea arises to reduce the discomfort not only of these two but also of their neighbors, the perky Mrs. Teaberry and her agreeable dog Zeke. Mr. Putter proposes a picnic, and soon the four are trudging through the mid-day heat with a picnic basket stuffed with goodies. It's not a pleasant walk, but the destination is worth it: a big pond where they can rent a boat (for two dollars!) and spend a couple of hours merrily rowing, munching a picnic lunch and splashing each other with the cool water.

Mmmm, now that sounds like a nice way to pass an afternoon. A stiflingly hot day turns into a delightful outing augmented by Mrs. Teaberry's lunch and her playful willingness to use her hat as a means for dumping refreshing water over the heads of her friends. Howard's illustrations go from the comically unhappy to the blissfully content, while Rylant maintains a light touch with her breezy storytelling, resulting in a book that's perfect for such sticky summer days.

Summer Fun's Around the Bend When Bear Makes a Brand-New Friend

I first came upon Karma Wilson and Jane Chapman's Bear books a couple years ago when I saw a selection of them being sold for five dollars a piece as part of a pre-Christmas Kohl's Cares for Kids promotion. I've enjoyed the wintry Bear Snores On and Bear Stays Up for Christmas and the springish Bear Wants More, and my most recent trip to the library yielded last year's Bear's New Friend, which brings the beloved Bear and his ensemble of woodland companions together again for a sun-soaked summery story with just a hint of mystery.

The tale begins, as usual, in Bear's den. On this occasion, Bear is wide awake, and with the verdant flower-flecked grass just inches away, it's little wonder he feels the urge to emerge from his home for some outdoor activity. He's got plenty of friends in the forest, so he's sure he won't be short on playmates, but his curiosity is aroused when he hears a noise nearby. "And the bear asks, 'Who?'" This is the refrain that is repeated throughout the book, each time Bear sees or hears evidence of an unfamiliar, reclusive creature. The mystery deepens as his friends join him one by one, and it persists until nearly the end of the book, when the stranger reveals himself.

Chapman's acrylic illustrations are as adorable as ever. Shaggy Bear, dainty Mouse, wise Badger, timid Mole... the furry friends are all smiles, except when they're puzzling over the strange circumstances. The book is very heavy on the green tones, with grass and leaves everywhere in a variety of shades. We also see a lot of blue: the cloudless sky, several butterflies, the swimming hole. The liberal use of these colors gives the book a rich, vibrant feel.

Wilson's rhymes, meanwhile, usually four lines to a page, are marked by simple words and irresistible cadence: "Bear calls, 'Is that Mouse / who hides in the tree?' / But Mouse scurries up / and squeaks, 'It's not me!'" As the interrogative refrain repeats throughout the book, the typeface on this sentence becomes larger and larger, reflecting Bear's growing curiosity and his frustration that his friendly overtures are evidently being rejected.

Bear's New Friend is a fine addition to the collection of Wilson / Chapman collaborations. Artful and endearing, it allows children to visit once more with these woodland friends while encouraging them not to overlook potential playmates just because they might be a little shy.

Say Hello to Henry and Mudge!

The first Henry and Mudge book I ever read, a mere month or so ago, was Henry and Mudge and the Wild Wind, the twelfth book in the easy reader series written by Cynthia Rylant and illustrated by Sucie Stevenson. Since then, I've bopped back and forth amongst the volumes, reading more than half of the books in the series thus far. But it wasn't until now that I saw how the story began.

Before I got my hands on Henry and Mudge: The First Book, my contemplations as to whether Henry had gotten Mudge as a puppy or an adult were silenced when I happened upon the spin-off series of Puppy Mudge books. I still find this rather surprising, since the third book in the series shows the boy and his dog in the summer, and Mudge is full-grown, but the fourth book tells us that Mudge had not yet enjoyed Thanksgiving with his family. That leaves a window of about seven months, except not really, since this first installment seems to take place in the spring. If Henry lived in the south, this could be January, but that's unlikely since later books show the ground covered with snow. Anyway, all this is to say that when Henry gets Mudge, he's about as tiny as Clifford is when Emily Elizabeth gets him, as we see on one page where he is shown next to a woman's hand, presumably Henry's mother's, and by my calculations, he only has about three months, if that, to grow into a monstrous 180-pound dog, since school is still in session when Mudge is an adult. I must admit I find the chronology suspect.

But other than that, this is a charming book, and it's fun to finally get the beginning of the story. This book is broken up into seven sections, three of which are entitled Mudge and three of which are entitled Henry. The final part is called Henry and Mudge. The books opens with an introduction to Henry, who has no siblings and no other children living in his neighborhood. He is lonely, but his parents can't help him out on the request for a brother or a house in a neighborhood full of kids. Realizing how isolated their son is, however, they agree to buy him a dog, and Henry, who is very particular about what sort of pooch he wants, sees Mudge and knows he is exactly what he has been looking for.

Henry actually does look a little smaller to me here than in other books, and it's funny to see him overwhelmed by the massive Mudge, who has a habit of lying down on top of him or knocking him over. He's also big enough to carry Henry's books to school for him, though if I were Henry I'd be worried about him getting back home by himself. Mudge does get lost towards the end of the book, but not on the way home from escorting Henry to school. He just wanders off, and eventually he wanders too far, much to the displeasure of a very nervous Henry. Where could that big mutt be?

Rylant's simple writing style is perfect for listing Henry and Mudge's individual attributes and the ways in which both of them, but especially Henry, change after they come together. Those who have read any of the other volumes in this popular series will want to have a look at Henry and Mudge: The First Book to see the first chapter in a beautiful friendship.

Poppleton, Cherry Sue, Hudson and Fillmore Will Be Friends Forever

Poppleton is a portly middle-aged pig. Cherry Sue is a stylish, furry llama. Hudson is a tiny, cheese-loving mouse. They may not look much alike, but Poppleton is blessed with the friendship of the other two, not to mention several other creatures of varying species and dispositions. In Cynthia Rylant's Poppleton Forever, Cherry Sue, Hudson, a dog named Newhouse who delivers packages and a munchy goat named Fillmore try to assist Poppleton by bringing their expertise to the solving of three different problems.

The Tree is a sweet springtime story in which Poppleton plants a little dogwood tree in his yard and is delighted by its growth - until one day it suddenly starts looking brown and withered. When the tree doctor, a raccoon with a white lab coat and stethoscope, can't figure out what's wrong - other than that "the tree needs something" - Poppleton turns to his friends for help. Hudson and Newhouse offer suggestions based upon what they knew would make them perk up, but it is Cherry Sue who hits upon a wise solution that turns out to be just right.

The Cold is a funny little tale in which only Cherry Sue makes an appearance. It opens with an illustration of a very vexed Poppleton blowing his nose and leaning against the wall at the end of a trail of tissues. (Incidentally, above his head is a framed picture of a cheeseburger and ketchup, which I think is a marvelous piece of artwork for a pig to display on his wall.) Kindly Cherry Sue, who probably could hear him sneezing through the window, comes over bearing a bowl full of ten oranges, full of cold-defeating Vitamin C. When he peels the first orange, however, a surprising thing happens. Just as he is about to eat a slice, the fruit flies out of his hoofed hands and into the fishbowl. So the resilient pig tries again, but this time the orange lands in the piano! Will poor Poppleton ever be able to take advantage of his friend's thoughtful gift?

Wallpaper is the third and final story. Poppleton decides to wallpaper his house, and he enlists the aid of his good friend Hudson. He soon realizes, however, that at three inches tall, this furry brown mouse may not be the best pal to help in this matter. So he calls in Fillmore, but the insatiable goat begins chewing on the wallpaper! Even Cherry Sue is ineffective, since her luxurious fur keeps sticking to the glue. This is a sweet story that gently hints at the notion of self-sacrifice, as Poppleton's friends show themselves willing to change in order to better help him, while he offers to repay their generous spirit with a palatable reward inspired by the design on his troublesome wallpaper.

Rylant's writing style is pleasing as always in this fourth book in the Poppleton series for young readers, and I'm enchanted by Mark Teague's illustrations, which have a soft but richly detailed look about them. I've been enjoying two of Rylant's other series, Henry and Mudge and Mr. Putter and Tabby, and each set of characters has a different illustrator with a distinct style. Although the Poppleton books exclusively feature anthropomorphic animals, as opposed to the others that show humans residing with natural-acting dogs and cats, I would say Teague's style is considerably less cartoonish than the others. These animals look both very realistic and very human, and the combination makes them extremely lovable, especially when they're showing as much consideration for each other as they do in Poppleton Forever.

Old Friends Have a Great Time in This Inter-Generational Henry and Mudge Adventure

I love Henry and Mudge, the young boy and enormous dog who star in Cynthia Rylant's beginning reader series of the same name. But I love Mr. Putter and Tabby, the main characters in another of Rylant's easy reader series, even more. Rylant just makes the elderly Mr. Putter so endearing, and Arthur Howard's irresistible illustrations sweeten the deal. It's encouraging that a series for young children can focus on grandparent-aged characters and flourish. It's nice to see this inter-generational sensitivity show up in the Henry and Mudge series, and apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so because Henry and Mudge and the Great Grandpas, the twenty-sixth book in the series, received the 2006 Theodore Seuss Geisel Award for the most distinguished beginning reader book.

This 35-page book is broken up into four section: Grandpas, A Pond!, Skivvies and Full and Happy. The beginning explains how Henry's Great-Grandpa Bill lives in a big house with several other grandpas. It doesn't seem to be a nursing home, since we see no one there but the five old men who so look forward to Henry and Mudge's visits; it's evidently more of a Golden Girls situation, with most of the men comparable in age to spit-fire Sophia.

While the men appear to live very comfortably, the visits from Henry's family are especially happy times. Henry is very fond of all five men, and he's considerate, bringing them books, magazines, candy, decks of cards and crossword puzzles when he visits. He often joins them in games of poker or checkers, while Mudge simply drools and lets the grandpas hug him as much as they want. And while Henry's parents sit down to chat with Great-Grandpa Bill and his friends, Henry and Mudge can run off and explore the woods nearby.

Sucie Stevenson once again illustrates this book, and although her style is cartoonish as ever, she does a great job impressing upon us the beauty of the forest where Henry and Mudge go wandering, especially the gently rippling pond. She does an even better job of helping us get to know each of the grandpas as individuals. Though we don't learn the names of the others, each has a distinctive look. One wears a Hawaiian shirt, and his little remaining hair is brown. Another has a long face and a ball cap. The third has dark skin and a bristly white mustache, while the fourth has a dapper green hat, a bow tie and tufts of gray hair. His own grandpa has a long white beard and matching mustache and wears a straw hat. All five sport spectacles. On one page, we get a glimpse of what these men where like when they were young, each with a different job. It's all very much geared toward getting young readers to appreciate that these men are more than just old. They're people, with rich histories and plenty of life still in them.

Their vivacity is best demonstrated toward the end of the book, when Henry's discovery of a pond results in a swimming outing for the whole gang - except Mom, who Henry forbids to come along because the men are swimming in their "skivvies". Though it takes a while for them to walk to the pond, and once they're there, they have to use Mudge as a raft now and then as their strength fades, there's ultimately little difference between this assembly and a crew of rowdy boys playing in the water hole. Incidentally, Henry's parents always seem to give Henry an exceptionally free rein; it's a bit comforting to see where their boundaries are (in this case, "no swimming alone") and how well Henry respects them.

Henry and Mudge and the Great Grandpas is a tender story about respect and affection spanning the generations, and its award is well deserved if it encourages youngsters to seek out the inner child in the elders of their acquaintance.

Henry and Mudge Share a Carol and Cookie-Filled Christmas

I feel a little silly writing a Christmas book review during the first week of spring, especially now that all the snow has melted, perhaps not to return for another seven or eight months. But it only makes sense that in a series that includes nearly 30 volumes, there would be a story about Christmas, so in the interests of making my set of Henry and Mudge reviews as complete as possible, I'll garb myself in seasonal cheer once more and write about Henry and Mudge and a Very Merry Christmas, the twenty-fifth book in the easy reader series by Cynthia Rylant and Sucie Stevenson. (I find it interesting, incidentally, that Stevenson is the illustrator, as several previous books feature another illustrator in her style, as do several following this one...)

As with most books in this series, the story is about 35 pages long and is broken down into three sections:Christmastime, Applause and The Best Present. In the first part, Henry and Mudge make cookies together, which involves Henry shaping batter and baking cookies and Mudge licking the floor clean. I like the fact that Henry selects a different cut-out reflecting the interests of each of the six relatives who will visit, and also the focus on the distinctive smells of Christmas, since Mudge is always intent on sniffing things.

The second part involves a Christmas Eve caroling expedition involving Henry, his parents, his cousin Annie, his uncle Ed and, of course, Mudge. Their efforts seem to be well appreciated by the neighbors - so well, in fact, that somebody even has the consideration to toss Mudge an old shoe while the others munch on cookies and shake off with chill of a heavy snowfall with mugs of hot chocolate. Snowball, Annie's pet rabbit, also arrives in this section, matching Annie's earmuffs, though she doesn't go caroling; if she had, I would have questioned the wisdom of such an inclusion. Leaving her unsupervised in Henry's room is risky enough...

Finally, the book culminates in Christmas morning, with presents (including a silly sweater for Snowball and a pair of fish, which are rather ill-advisedly placed in Henry's stocking) and food (half of which seems to accidentally land in Mudge's mouth). We're treated to all the excitement of relatives and feasting, and when the company leaves, there's a nice quiet walk through the snow-blanketed woods, complete with deer, birds and squirrels.

Families have all sorts of different Christmas traditions, and it's fun to see how Henry and his parents recognize the holiday. The emphasis on food is especially appropriate given Mudge's ravenous appetite, while the gathering of relatives is a nice change for Henry, who's used to a pretty quiet house. Simple and fun to read, Henry and Mudge and a Very Merry Christmas is great for fans of the series or someone just looking for a nice Christmas story.

Don't Read This Henry and Mudge Adventure on an Empty Stomach

Never write a review of a book involving food on an empty stomach. So says Erin after innocently turning to the first page of Henry and Mudge and the Wild Goose Chase, the twenty-third book in the Ready-to-Read series by Cynthia Rylant. This book, which is illustrated by Carolyn Bracken in the style of Sucie Stevenson, who collaborated with Rylant on most of the books in the series, is 35 pages long and divided into three sections: Farm Fresh, Welcome! and The Chase.

It's the Farm Fresh that really got to me, when I opened to the first story to find Henry and his family eating breakfast and Henry's mom mentioning how she would like some farm-fresh eggs, blueberries and corn on the cob while Henry daydreams about all that glorious food, offering an increasing number of "yum"s, and Mudge wags his tail harder and harder, since "yum" is always a word worth wagging for. The only unappetizing thing about this scene is the coffee in the mug Henry's dad is holding. It looks fine the first time we see it, but the second time we see it mid-splatter, and it doesn't appear to be liquid. The stuff seems to be congealed goo. Or Bracken just isn't good at depicting splashing liquids. But she makes up for it with all of those golden-yolked eggs, juicy blueberries and ears of ripe corn. Gulp. Excuse me while I go raid the kitchen...

The food barrage continues when we get to the farm, though we're spared having to stare for long, since Henry and Mudge are given leave to run wild on the farm grounds, where they meet a wide variety of equally free-range animals. While they were still on the road, Henry's dad had to stop to let a white duck and her fuzzy yellow ducklings cross, and Mudge had to content himself with licking Henry instead of the adorable birds. But here he can lick whoever he pleases, and his friendly disposition extends to the goats (even the one that tries to eat Henry's shirt), the sheep, the cows, the cats and the chickens (even the ones that peck Mudge's head). But there is one member of this menagerie he does not like, and that is the extremely ornery goose that honks at them and chases them back toward the farm. Does a big drooly dog have any recourse in such a situation?

One nice thing about this book is the way it includes such a wide range of plant and animal life. Young readers can have fun pointing out the different fruits and vegetables at the farm stand and identify the animals Henry and Mudge meet as they wander around the farm. From mouth-watering first page to funny conclusion, Henry and Mudge and the Wild Goose Chase is a book worth chasing down.

Puppy Mudge Strives to Find What Has Been Lost

My dog Mokey has a blanket that she loves to death. It's folded up in the bottom of her kennel in a snuggly sort of way, and that's where it stays except for those occasions when we pull it out to run it through the wash. She does not have a portable blanket. But Mudge does in Puppy Mudge Loves His Blanket.

Cynthia Rylant, author of many series of children's books including Poppleton, Mr. Putter and Tabby and the original Henry and Mudge series, of which Puppy Mudge is a spin-off, writes this simple tale of a dog's devotion to a well-worn blanket, and Isidre Mones illustrates in the cartoonish style of Sucie Stevenson, who illustrated most of the Henry and Mudge books.

The books in this series are a pre-level 1 on the Ready-to-Read scale, which means that they are intended for children who are just learning how to read. The sentences are simple and only one or two to a page, and there is repetition aplenty. Throughout the 25 pages, for instance, the word "blanket" appears six times and is referenced with the word "it" on another four occasions. Once Rylant establishes how much Mudge adores the titular object, the rest of the book focuses on him trying to find the blanket, as it has gone missing, which evidently is a recurring problem.

Mudge is an enormous dog, so even as a puppy he dwarfs Henry, the happy-go-lucky red-headed boy who shares all his adventures. We also see Henry's parents, Dad with his bushy brown hair and mustache, Mom with her golden locks. But they don't come into the story much. The bigger star is the house, which Mudge explores thoroughly, hoping his blanket will turn up around the next corner.

Puppy Mudge Loves His Blanket is another cute installment in the Puppy Mudge series that will strike a chord with anyone who knows what it's like to have a deeply cherished possession.