Friday, April 29, 2011

Holling Hoodhood Learns About Life, Love and Literature in The Wednesday Wars

The year is 1967. Holling Hoodhood, a seventh-grader in Long Island, lives in a pristine house with his mother, a covert chain-smoker; his father, an architect with ruthless business principles; and his older sister, who dreams of running off to California to become a flower child. As he knows from the Walter Cronkite broadcasts that his father watches each evening, the Vietnam War is raging overseas, but to Holling, this is more of an abstraction than a pressing concern. More troubling to him is the question of what he ever did to make his teacher, Mrs. Baker, hate him.

Holling is the sometimes naïve, sometimes insightful but almost always endearing narrator of Gary Schmidt’s The Wednesday Wars, a 2007 mid-grade novel given Newbery Honor status. Mrs. Baker is a particular problem for him because every Wednesday, while half his class goes to Catechism and the other half to Hebrew school, he, the only Presbyterian in the seventh grade, must remain behind with his teacher. When the first couple months of his school year are marked by several unlikely disasters, it only adds fuel to his suspicion that she has formulated an elaborate plan to make him as miserable as possible. But when she introduces the subversive tactic of making him read Shakespeare instead of clapping erasers during their time together, Holling is sure he has the upper hand. She clearly intends to torture him with these musty tomes, but he actually is enjoying himself. Could her evil plot be failing?

The Wednesday Wars is a book that encompasses and transcends several subgenres within juvenile literature: the coming-of-age story, the historical novel, the inspirational teacher tale, the book framed by the reading of other books. The 264-page novel contains ten chapters, each covering one month in the school year, with particular focus on Wednesdays. Throughout the year, Holling immerses himself in several of Shakespeare’s plays: The Merchant of Venice, The Tempest, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Much Ado About Nothing. He becomes entranced with the rhythm of Shakespeare’s words – particularly his colorful insults, of which “pied ninny” and “toads, beetles, bats” are among his favorites – and he begins to think more deeply about his own life and the world around him as a result of his reading.

Mrs. Baker is a stern, demanding teacher cut from the same cloth as Minerva McGonagall, the severe Transfiguration professor in the Harry Potter series. She will not hand anything to her students on a silver platter. Nonetheless, Holling begins to understand that there is a human being behind that strict façade, one as capable of both agony and ecstasy as he is. And while he may miss her subtle sense of humor at first, by the end of the year, the twinkle in her eye is easier for him to identify. While Holling’s primary focus is on how she relates to him, he does pick up on her interactions with other students, each of which reveals a bit more about her personality and values. Mostly, she refrains from telling Holling what to make of a particular play, allowing him to draw conclusions for himself, but when she does chime in with her own reflections, we truly get a glimpse of what makes her tick.

Schmidt skillfully weaves his tale in such a way that although the school, and particularly Holling’s classroom, always seem bustling, we never become overwhelmed with characters. He wisely focuses on just a few classmates. Meryl Lee Kowalski, whose father is Mr. Hoodhood’s primary business rival, has a fierce affection for Holling that often manifests itself as aggression. The relationship between these two is mostly comical for the first few chapters but eventually becomes one of the most poignant elements of the book. Danny Hupfer, a lively boy preparing for his bar mitzvah, is Holling’s closest friend, while Doug Swieteck is the class troublemaker who seems to be taking after his dangerously delinquent brother. Mai Thi Huong, a solemn orphan recently brought over from Vietnam by a Catholic Relief Agency, has little to say, but she brings the impact of the war home to Holling in a powerful way.

Along with Holling’s peers are several adults of note, most of them connected with the school. Mr. Guareschi, the principal, runs his school like a dictatorship. His administrative style is mostly cause for mockery, though his lack of concern for student welfare is galling. School board member Mrs. Sidman, traumatized by her encounters with the Swietecks, finds that they have prepared her well for the unexpected challenges that come her way. Mr. Petrelli is known for his laughable insistence upon personal relevance in history projects like “The California Gold Rush and You,” while the overzealous Coach Quatrini works Holling to the bone after he wins a spot on the varsity cross-country team in one of the funniest chapters. Lunchlady Mrs. Bigio, like Mrs. Baker, has a deeply personal connection to the war; unlike Mrs. Baker, this has a detrimental impact upon how she relates to certain students. Mr. Goldman, the jovial baker whose shop is near the school, helps Holling with one predicament but lands him in another one that will haunt him for months to come.

Finally, the behavior of Meryl Lee and Danny’s parents casts a revealing light upon Holling’s dad, who expects his son to take over his architectural firm and has no qualms about putting him into embarrassing situations if it might further a future client relationship. What he won’t do is extend the smallest personal loan to help his children out of a jam or divert from his routine in order to support them in their endeavors. Ultimately the most frustrating character in the novel, he unwittingly facilitates several of its sweetest moments as others rally to make up for his indifference.

Holling’s narrative voice is wonderful, an intriguing mix of the soul of a seventh-grader and the eloquence of an adult whose early introduction to Shakespeare seems to have led to a continuing love of language. He settles into the limited viewpoint of his junior high days, and we’re certainly getting the thought process of an early teen, complete with moments of amusing cluelessness. For instance, when he begins reading The Tempest, he’s sure that Mrs. Baker has never read it, or she wouldn’t have assigned him something with such colorful language. It never seems to cross his mind that the monstrous villains of the play might have inspired the names of the class’s hideous pet rats, with which he came into startlingly close contact in the previous chapter.

At the same time, there is a certain difference between his narrative voice and his dialogue or the essays he writes for Mrs. Baker. While it’s not self-consciously reminiscent and never looks ahead to what befalls characters in later years, it does remind me a bit of the voiceovers in A Christmas Story or The Wonder Years. These are his immediate reactions, but polished just a little in the meantime. Sometimes, his observations are wryly funny: “Life got brighter, and somehow, the world suddenly got brighter, too. You know how this is? You’re walking along, and then the sun comes out from behind a cloud, and the birds start to sing, and the air is suddenly warm, and it’s like the whole world is happy because you’re happy. It’s a great feeling. But never trust it. Especially in November on Long Island.” Others are somber: “Maybe the first time that you know you really care about something is when you think about it not being there, and then you know – you really know – that the emptiness is as much inside you as outside you.” And, of course, Shakespearean quotes frequently wriggle their way into the crevices of the narrative. Perhaps my favorite: “The quality of mercy doesn’t drop much from Gym teachers.”

The book’s setting is of vital importance to the story, and the tumultuous international events of late 1967 and early 1968 are never as distant as they initially seem to Holling. The culture war divides his own family as his Beatles-loving, face-paint-wearing peacenik sister tries to assert herself against their disapproving father. Amidst looming fears of atomic warfare, the Columbia protests, the Battle of Khe Sanh and the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy are among the major historical milestones that affect Holling as he becomes more keenly aware of the divisions that rend his world as surely as they did Shakespeare’s.

Over the course of the year, Holling studies, observes and even takes part in any number of wars. While the Vietnam War provides a historical backdrop and several grand Shakespearean conflicts offer literary context, he becomes more aware of the wars that surround him. Some are hysterical, like the war his class and a couple of teachers wage on the rogue Sycorax and Caliban or the ill will that develops when Holling receives a much-desired delicacy while his classmates are away. Others are inspiring, like the cross-country competition in which Danny and Holling compete. But many are cause for deep turmoil, whether it’s the ideological divide in his own family or the prejudicial attitudes that poison interpersonal relationships at school, and he begins to understand what Mrs. Baker means when she says Macbeth tells her “That we are made for more than power. That we are made for more than our desires. That pride combined with stubbornness can be disaster. And that compared with love, malice is a small and petty thing.”

Seventh grade is generally a chaotic time no matter when one enters it, but the typical insecurities, miscommunications and awkwardness that mark this age become magnified when the whole world is in upheaval. The Wednesday Wars makes grand events intimate and shows how tiny events can have far-reaching effects. “Love and hate are not far apart in the seventh grade, let me tell you,” Holling asserts. Perhaps, then, this is the perfect time to painstakingly learn how to reject the second in favor of the first. In this novel that is at once hilarious and deeply moving, Holling takes those steps and invites us to do the same.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The Temptations Tells the Sad But Exhilarating Tale of Motown Legends

One of my favorite movies is That Thing You Do!, the mid-90s Tom Hanks-directed movie about the meteoric rise and fall of a fictional Erie-based band in the 1960s. My friends Libbie and Dan share my hometown pride in that feel-good flick, but when it comes to stories about the ups and downs of life in the music business, there’s a movie they like even better, a movie we sat down to rewatch together when Dan returned to Erie recently for a visit.

The Temptations, a 1998 made-for-TV biopic, chronicles the progression of the Motown giant from its earliest incarnation, a high school doo-wop group led by the ambitious Otis Williams (Charles Malik Whitfield). The two-and-a-half-hour-long movie, directed by Allan Arkush with and written by Robert Johnson and Kevin Arkadie, covers a span of about 35 years, so it’s as drawn-out as That Thing You Do! is lightning-quick. The Temptations is not a summertime dream for Otis and the young men who join him; it’s the backbone of their lives.

The central character of the film is Otis, who serves as narrator and is both the group’s first member and its last. The early part of the movie captures the excitement of youthful singers finding each other, perfecting their sound, impressing the right people, getting into the studios and embarking on tours. At first it’s a little hard to latch onto particular characters, since Otis is more committed to this idea than most of the people he hooks up with, and groupmates, along with group names, come and go. But gradually, the Temptations truly take shape, and we get to know the rest of them, with all their gifts and foibles.

Paul Williams (no relation to Otis) sang lead on many of the early records, and Christian Payton pours a lot of passion into his performances, as well as later scenes depicting the sad derailment of his life due to alcohol. Terron Brooks also does an impressive job as high-voiced Eddie Kendricks, Paul’s closest friend in the group. He doesn’t stand out quite as much to me, but through him, we really see the toll of the group’s eventual fracturing.

Probably the standout performance is Leon Robinson as David Ruffin, the hot-headed singer who elbows his way into the group and tries to take over. David is an erratic character, a brilliant performer with a dangerous temper and an impossible ego. At times, I caught myself feeling sorry for him as he let his poor choices lead him into a downward spiral. Other times, I objected to his abhorrent behavior. And then there’s his big scene, the blowout that occurs when Otis decides he’s had enough of David skipping rehearsals and acting superior and confronts him on it. It’s a tense moment, and yet David is so explosively expressive and just plain in love with himself that I get the giggles just thinking about it. “There is only one David Ruffin,” he retorts, “and without him, the Temps ain’t nothin’ but a group in search of a David Ruffin.”

While David’s volatility makes him fascinating to watch, I’m most drawn to Melvin Franklin (D. B. Woodside), the quiet, even-keeled bass singer whose voice wows teenaged Otis when he hears him singing on a street corner. Otis is the manager and the driving force behind most of the group’s major changes, but in many ways it’s his best friend, who’s been with the Temptations longer than anyone besides Otis himself, who serves as the glue. Otis butts heads with most of the other members from time to time, but Melvin has a way of smoothing things over. A man of few words with an expansive smile but sad eyes, Melvin struggles with physical ailments but rarely complains, and he generally comes across as the most selfless of the Temptations.

Melvin’s strong-willed, protective mother, Mama Rose (Jenifer Lewis), is among the most memorable side characters, particularly in her initial meeting with Otis, which is funny and sweet and marks the beginning of a beautiful friendship. As Otis’s supportive mother Haze, Tina Lifford makes a different kind of impact later in one of the film’s most poignant scenes. On the music end of things, Obba Babatunde makes a slick but enthusiastic Berry Gordy, head of Motown, while Erik Michael Tristan brings a soulful vibe to Smokey Robinson, who wrote several Temptations hits.

One of the hits Smokey penned was My Girl, and for sheer joy, few moments in the film can compare with the scene in which he presents it to them for the first time. “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day. / When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May…” Watching the smiles spread across their faces as they listen is exhilarating; it’s clear that they realize this song is something special. The recreations of musical performances are excellent, with different songs punctuating events in the life of the group. If you’ve enjoyed the music of the Temptations, you should get a kick out of the songs presented here, which include, among others, The Way You Do The Things You Do, Ain’t Too Proud to Beg, I Wish It Would Rain, Ball Of Confusion, Just My Imagination and Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone.

This is a long movie, and it’s filled with heartache as the group’s members fall out with each other and succumb to addictions and illnesses. Nonetheless, it’s a fascinating tale offering background on perhaps the greatest group to come out of Motown. If you’ve ever caught yourself singing along with their harmonious hits, I ain’t too proud to beg you to give The Temptations a try.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Poetry Helps Kevin Navigate Adolescence in Shakespeare Makes the Playoffs

“Boys don’t write poetry. Girls do.” That’s the complaint early elementary schooler Jack lodges at his teacher when she gives her students poetry journals in Sharon Creech’s Love That Dog. Despite his misgivings, he gradually comes to appreciate poetry, expanding his knowledge and practice of it in the sequel, Hate That Cat. If he were to continue his experimentation with verse, I imagine he might end up rather like Kevin Boland, the eighth-grade narrator of Ron Koertge’s Shakespeare Makes the Playoffs.

Like Jack, Kevin keeps a poetry journal, but it’s not for school. It’s just a way for him to settle his thoughts. “All writers need journals,” his dad explains to him when he gives him the blank book. This novel is that journal, a collection of mostly free and blank verse poems but also several formal poems, including a pantoun, a sestina, a villanelle, several haiku and imitations of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Song of Hiawatha. “Hilarious, but Hiawatha really got into / our cells,” Kevin says, commenting on the distinct rhythm of the resulting poem, the two-page On the Shores of Gitchee Gumee Middle School, perhaps my favorite of Kevin’s efforts. “It was two days before we could talk / like normal human beings.”

Shakespeare is the nickname that Kevin earned as a poetry-penning little leaguer in Shakespeare Bats Cleanup, which preceded this novel. I picked this one up when it jumped out at me in the Young Adult section of the library and was dismayed to realize that the original book is not in our system. One of these days I would like to read it, but the sequel provides enough background information to make it a stand-alone read. We know that he lives in Los Angeles. He recently lost his mother to illness, and his father is beginning to explore the dating scene. We know that Kevin has a cute girlfriend named Mira; we don’t get the details on how they hooked up, but at this point, their relationship is faltering. He loves poetry and baseball; she is a budding environmentalist. Neither has much knack for pretending to share the other’s passions.

Baseball doesn’t figure as prominently into the book as poetry does; I get the sense that it is a bigger part of Shakespeare Bats Cleanup. Kevin shares the exhilaration of making a great play and the aggravation of having to deal with an equal-opportunity heckler. Still, his primary focus is on poetry, particularly once he meets Amy, the offbeat daughter of an independent bookstore owner. (When she introduces herself at the shop’s open mike night, she implores him to call her Trixie but never explains her preferred pseudonym; might this avid reader be a Trixie Belden fan?) Amy understands him in a way that Mira doesn’t, and while he’s begun to dread his phone conversations with his girlfriend, he eagerly anticipates e-mails from Amy, who proposes that they become online poetry pals.

Kevin is a very likable narrator. He’s a kind boy with deep thoughts who’s still struggling to adjust to a world without his mother in it. He worries that when he moves on to high school next year, he might not be good enough to make the baseball team, and even if he does, it will become a much more high-pressure sport. He mulls over Mira and wonders whether they are naturally drifting apart and what he should do about it. He pours out his angst sometimes, as in the “poem” What Was I Thinking?, which is simply the title repeated ad nauseam. Kevin comes to really rely on his poetry journal as a place to work out his conflicted emotions, allowing him to spew venom on the page when he needs to instead of launching it at the object of his ire. Perhaps his father anticipated the anger he would stir up by dating again, and that motivated him to give his son an outlet.

Kevin’s voice is realistically earthy, but with an artful edge demonstrating that he is in love with words. I especially like his metaphors, which draw from his everyday experiences with quiet grace. “The sky / is all eyes-down like it’s just been yelled at / unfairly.” “Sadness is a big dark bus / with a schedule of its own. / But when it pulls up and the door / opens with a hiss, you pretty much / have to get on.” “I love my thesaurus. I like / to think about all the words / in there, cuddling up together / or arguing. Montagues on / one side, Capulets on the other. / Synonyms and antonyms.”

Along with providing an engaging story of grief management and budding romance, the book invites readers to craft poetry of their own. Kevin discusses the various poetry forms in such a way that giving it a go feels natural and almost irresistible. It certainly made me want to flex my poetry muscles again. Meanwhile, Kevin’s reflections on the art of poetry are as insightful as any I’ve read from established poets. “I’m basically a good kid,” he writes. “But imperfect / enough to be interesting. // Like a good poem.”

He thinks a lot about poetry, learning from the masters and adjusting for a modern era. “It’s one of those almost-summer evenings / when the moon comes up a little before the sun / is down. ‘O impatient orb,’ the old poets / would say. // But I’m a new poet, so I’d say, ‘What are you / doing here so early? The party doesn’t start / until nine!’”

While he wrestles with a lot of it on his own, he listens intently to his eclectic English teacher, Mr. Beauclaire, and incorporates his wisdom into his writing. “He calls rhyme a benevolent bully because it’ll make a poet / look hard for just the right word and then maybe he finds / an even better one!” Mr. Beaclaire also advises, “’Don’t worry so much / about what it means. Pretend poetry is chili / and you’re starving. Would you ask what chili means? / Just eat it up.’” Kevin likes this, but he also qualifies it later during his correspondence with Amy. “Sometimes I read poems and I don’t get them. // I might not totally get yours, but it’s not like / it could mean anything anybody wants it to. // I hate it when people say that. A poet works / a long time on something. Then some bozo reads / it and says, ‘Boy, that sure reminds me of the time / I detached my retina.’”

Words matter to Kevin. If they matter to you too, I highly recommend Shakespeare Makes the Playoffs, whether you’re 14 or 40. Sink into the unvarnished artistry of his words, and who knows? You may just be inspired to put pen to paper yourself.

A Super-Villain Faces an Existential Crisis in Megamind

Last year saw the release of two computer-animated films about not-so-evil villains struggling to determine whether their dastardly ambitions can ever bring them true fulfillment. I had hoped to catch both Despicable Me and Megamind in theaters, but I ended up settling for DVD. The former rose to the top of my Netflix queue in early March, and I found it thoroughly charming. This month, I got to check out Megamind, and I found it equally satisfying.

Despicable Me aims at a younger audience, with more slapstick, a lead with a silly accent and three young girls as the major secondary characters. The pull of parenthood causes hunched, hook-nosed Gru to deviate from his plans, and the theme of longing for a family makes it relatable viewing for young and old alike. Megamind, on the other hand, is clearly designed more for adults. Megamind is a bald, scrawny blue humanoid who was launched toward Earth as an infant with an unknown destiny heavy upon him.  Barreling toward Earth right alongside him was the baby who would grow up to become Metro Man, who looks like a typical human, only burlier, more classically perfect.  He had the privilege of a pampered upbringing, while Megamind was raised in prison.  All their lives, these two aliens have been dodging each other, with Metro Man, adored hero of Metro City, always just one step ahead.  Until now.

Megamind (Will Ferrell) has grown used to the routine of baiting Metro Man (Brad Pitt) by kidnapping saucy reporter Roxanne (Tina Fey). None of his predictable scare tactics faze her, and when the inevitable confrontation comes, the nemeses’ quick banter conveys a sense that the two are rather enjoying themselves. This is all little more than a game, albeit a tired one. It’s a game Megamind gleefully schemes to win – but when the dust from his latest encounter settles and he finds himself the victor for a change, he realizes just how empty his life is without his destructive goal to fall back on.

Megamind is a story demonstrating the way that love can combat inhumane impulses, with Roxanne filling a previously unnoticed void in the blue villain’s life in much the same way as the orphans in Despicable Me. I often found myself reminded of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog as I watched. The obvious hero is narcissistic and more concerned with adulation than the improvement of the city whose residents worship him. The villain is cunning but clearly doesn’t have a strong taste for violence. Compassion stirs within him at inconvenient times. In a guileless guise, he befriends Roxanne and begins to wonder if his life might be more worthwhile if he considered a different path. What is a man to do when his purpose has been realized and the years stretch out before him, full of terrifying possibility? It’s an existential quandary.

Jonah Hill brings a slightly skeezy slacker vibe to the role of Hal, Roxanne’s cameraman. At first he just seems like a lovable chump who can’t get the girl embroiled in a world of supernatural powers, but by the time Megamind decides to involve him in his next big scheme, it’s apparent that this young man has a little something extra, an indefinable quality that will make him stand out. But will he play into the plan that Megamind has groomed him for, or will he veer off-course? Other fairly major characters include bland museum guard Bernard (Ben Stiller); the crusty prison warden (J. K. Simmons) who knows Megamind all too well; and Minion (David Cross), an extraterrestrial fish who was sent to be Megamind’s caretaker. Much of the film’s comedy comes from these side characters.

The film has a rather dark and foreboding quality to it, with many scenes of ruination and cold technology. At times, the atmosphere almost reminded me of The Dark Knight, though the tone is never that oppressive. Nonetheless, this is a movie that broods, so while I’m not sure I would deem it inappropriate for children, I think adults will get the most out of it. In addition to the somber reflections on finding meaning in a confusing world, the movie offers homages to superhero and espionage conventions that will probably be best appreciated by those with more extensive viewing experience. For family film night, then, I would first recommend Despicable Me. But if you’re in the mood for something a little bit more adult-oriented, why not wrap your mind around Megamind?

Monday, April 25, 2011

Trixie Tries to Solve a Hundred-Year-Old Case in The Mystery of the Emeralds

I’ve always been intrigued by attics and thrilled at the idea of exploring one filled with long-forgotten treasures. In The Mystery of the Emeralds, 14-year-old detective Trixie Belden doesn’t need to go far to make a fascinating attic find. After stumbling upon a hidden crawl space, Trixie finds a Civil War-era canteen, along with a letter in a coat pocket. The canteen will be an excellent addition to an upcoming charity sale, but what really captures Trixie’s imagination is the letter, which mentions a hidden emerald necklace. The problem? The letter was written in 1861. What’s more, though the letter gives a clue as to where to start looking, Trixie has no idea where Rosewood Hall is. Is this mystery worth pursuing, or is it too far beyond her reach? Anyone coming into this volume as an established reader of the series would be able to tell you that Trixie is far too persistent to be deterred by a seemingly cold case.

This is the 14th book in the Trixie Belden series and the eighth written by Kathryn Kenny, a catch-all pseudonym for a number of ghost writers who continued penning adventures for Trixie and her friends after original author Julie Campbell tired of the characters. Along with Trixie, the intrepid blond tomboy with such a knack for attracting mysteries and following them to a satisfying conclusion, the main characters include the rest of the Bob-Whites of the Glen, a tight-knit club Trixie co-founded. Her co-president is Jim Frayne, the adopted brother of Trixie’s sweet-natured best friend Honey Wheeler. Other members include Trixie’s older brothers Mart and Brian and their neighbors, Di Lynch and Dan Mangan. At home or on one of their many group vacations, these friends always manage to work together to crack puzzling cases and have a lot of fun in the process.

The circumstances that set this mystery into motion are almost too coincidental. Trixie finds this letter that has been languishing in the attic for nearly a century, and as soon as her local detective work leads her to the disheartening discovery that Rosewood Hall is hundreds of miles away, Di announces that her parents just happen to be leaving imminently for a destination within easy distance of that stately manor. Then again, luck often seems to be on Trixie’s side in her investigations. If it weren’t for her initial skill in focusing on the right details to lead her in the proper direction, they never would have realized that the Lynches’ trip could have any connection with this long-concealed treasure.

Although the first five chapters take place in the Bob-Whites’ town of Sleepyside, New York, this is primarily another away-from-home adventure. I confess I’d hoped to see the Wheelers’ cheerful groom Regan in this installment, since he’s my favorite side character and we haven’t seen him since the tenth book, but it was nice to spend a bit of time with the rest of the Belden family, which includes Trixie’s supportive parents and her rambunctious little brother Bobby, before heading off for unfamiliar territory. While the previous installment, The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island – which this book references several times – allows the Bob-Whites a true vacation in many respects, Trixie and her friends know from the get-go that this will be a working trip. They have a very definite goal in mind and a limited amount of time in which to achieve it.

Hence, while the six friends – everybody but Dan, who has to bow out because of work – enjoy the sights and sounds of Washington, D. C. and Williamsburg, Virginia, this book has a more frenzied tone to it. Everyone thinks this is their most impossible case yet, and that just seems to increase Trixie’s determination, especially once she finds a few leads. The bulk of the investigation occurs at Green Trees, a home near the dilapidated Rosewood Hall occupied by Mr. Carver, an older artist restricted to a wheelchair.

While the current owner of the Rosewood property is surly, Mr. Carver couldn’t be more congenial. What’s more, he has a family connection to the correspondents, so he soon is as caught up in the search as the Bob-Whites. His stately manners and youthful exuberance make him one of my favorite minor characters yet, and his vivacious friend Miss Bates, who adores flowers and old houses but is deeply suspicious of most men, provides several laughs. The Bob-Whites themselves are well-drawn, and it’s especially nice to see Di playing a fairly major role here. While Trixie is intensely focused, she doesn’t come across as whiny as she sometimes does, and she seems more willing than usual to think the best of people in this outing. It’s also amusing to see her pleased but embarrassed reactions to several pointed compliments from Jim throughout the journey.

In addition to the intrigue of the mystery, which involves careful clue-finding, a spooky graveyard, a secret passage and a race to find the treasure before someone else who has gotten wind of it, the book includes historical tidbits of interest to those fascinated with the Civil War. I was particularly struck by the parts dealing with the Underground Railroad, and I found the reflective moment the Bob-Whites share at the Lincoln Memorial quite moving.

While this Trixie adventure is not as relaxing as the one that preceded it, The Mystery of the Emeralds is an engaging adventure from start to finish. Kinda makes me want to go rooting through my attic again…

Friday, April 22, 2011

Matthew McConaughey Blunders Toward Independence in Failure to Launch

I have a mixed track record when it comes to movies starring Matthew McConaughey. Sometimes he’s great, as in his spirited turn as a coach who helps revive a tragedy-struck college football team in We Are Marshall. Sometimes, he makes me cringe, as I’m doing right now as I recall his role as a womanizing sleazebag in the lamentable Ghosts of Girlfriends Past. I feared that I might be veering closer to the latter with 2006’s Failure to Launch, but I decided to give the romantic comedy a try anyway.

Tripp (McConaughey) is a bit of a womanizer too, but at least he sticks to one girl at a time. The commitment-shy boat salesman feels like he’s got it made. Sweep the ladies off their feet, have a little fun with them, invite them home for some hanky-panky… and let them find out that his gorgeous residence actually belongs to his parents. Yes, he’s 35 and still living at home, and his dates all consider that a major turn-off – especially when Mom (Kathy Bates) or Dad (Terry Bradshaw) could poke a head in his bedroom at a most inopportune time. He seems quite content with this living arrangement, but his parents aren’t. They’re ready to be empty nesters. So they call in Paula (Sarah Jessica Parker) to help their little fledgling fly the coop.

Paula has built a lucrative career out of getting men like Tripp to fall for her, which motivates them to get on their feet and become independent. She’s got it down to a science, and Tripp is putty in her hands. Their courtship is going so well that she expects to have him out of his house in no time. The only catch? Tripp is not the only one falling in love. Paula has prided herself on her ability to maintain emotional distance; could Tripp’s surprising hold on her ruin his parents’ plan and her career? Will two hearts be broken before all is said and done?

I found the movie’s premise interesting. For a number of reasons, adult children living with their parents is increasingly common in America. There’s almost a presupposition here that no woman in her right mind would ever knowingly date a guy in such a situation, which seems to be overstating things a little. Then again, I may just feel defensive of these fellas since I live at home myself. (The movie also seems to imply that this is chiefly a male phenomenon, but I know several more women who live with their parents than men. Hmm… Do I smell a sequel?) Paula’s tactics seem very effective, though I would think that if she is the main factor in getting a man to leave his parents, there would be a serious chance of him running back to them after the relationship dissolves. In any case, she seems to be setting all these guys up for heartache.

Nonetheless, I couldn’t help finding Paula pretty likable, and I do get the sense that it’s not just about the money. She wants to encourage her unwitting clients to spread their wings a little. Meanwhile, Tripp is a loafer and a ladies’ man, which makes him rather annoying, but he’s also got a respectable job that suits him and a tender big brotherly relationship with a young man he refers to as his nephew. It’s through this boy that we and Paula best glimpse his softer side.

Tripp is aptly named, since he seems to have a special knack for taking pratfalls, particularly when wild creatures are involved, and his hapless buddies Ace (Justin Bartha) and Demo (Bradley Cooper) are the worst wingmen ever on these occasions. Paula’s pal Kit (Zooey Deschanel) is a bit more helpful, though she spends half the movie glowering over the racket made by a mockingbird plaguing the house she and Paula share. Despite her morose countenance, I found her one of the funniest characters and in some ways enjoyed the romantic subplot involving her more than the main one. Bates is funny too as the mom who smothers Tripp with affection but simultaneously wants him out of the house. For her, letting go is a struggle, while Bradshaw’s gruff manner as Tripp’s dad demonstrates that he would be more than happy to see his son venture off on his own.

On the whole, I found Failure to Launch a pretty engaging comedy and far from the worst McConaughey vehicle I’ve seen. It’s a bit silly at times, while at others it’s thought-provoking, prompting rumination over the reasons adults live with their parents and the issues involved in such an arrangement. Mostly, though, it’s just a light romance with a feel-good conclusion and some pretty good laughs along the way.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

A Hardened Zealot Seeks Meaning in Elizabeth George Speare's The Bronze Bow

The month and a half leading up to Easter, and the last week in particular, are meant to be times of deep contemplation for Christians. Thanks to a most timely recommendation, Elizabeth George Speare’s The Bronze Bow rose to the top of my must-read list this month, giving me a beautiful novel to reflect upon for Holy Week.

Speare has received Newbery recognition for two of her other novels, both of which explore themes of faith, friendship and overcoming one’s prejudices. In this 1962 Newbery Medal-winning book, set near Capernaum of 2000 years ago, Biblical characters weave their way in and out of the story of 18-year-old Israelite Daniel, who has lived for nothing but revenge since his father’s crucifixion a decade earlier. Having exchanged apprenticeship to an abusive blacksmith and a dreary home with a withered grandmother and cowed sister for a bandit’s existence in the nearby mountains, Daniel venerates Rosh, a fierce outlaw he believes will lead an army to rise up against the Roman scum who hold the Jewish people under their sway. On the mountain, he feels a sense of belonging, of purpose, of freedom. But his life is about to change dramatically.

Daniel has been part of this pack for five years, yet he remains an isolated individual, focusing all of his emotional energy on his lust for vengeance. He has no need for friendship, or so believes until he meets twins Joel and Thacia, who come from his town of Ketzah but are relocating to bustling Capernaum. Joel, a rabbi in training, studies the Law intensely but echoes Daniel’s thirst for ridding the land of Romans. Thacia, who shares a deep bond with her brother, is by turns fiery and gentle, and her beauty and bravery flummox the hardened Daniel.

The same day the twins ascend the mountain to gaze over their homeland before their departure, Rosh orders a raid on a caravan. His object? An enormous slave the men laughingly name Samson. Daniel takes charge of him, leading him up the mountain to their camp and using his iron-working skills to remove the chains that confine him. Little does he realize that in so doing, he is binding himself to the seemingly deaf-mute lummox, who thereafter will answer only to him. Samson’s strength makes Daniel’s work in the makeshift forge easier, but it’s uncomfortable for him to feel so tied down to one person. It’s a discomfort he will soon be forced to get used to as his childhood returns to haunt him.

Speare paints a vivid picture of the landscape’s unique sights, sounds and smells, transporting readers to dusty streets and salty shorelines and introducing a people hungry for hope. When they meet again, Daniel, Joel and Thacia take heart in the words of King David, adopting as their mantra, “He trains my hands for war, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.” Surely a revolution is coming, and they vow to be ready when it does. But threatening Daniel’s ambitions are the looming reminders of his dying grandmother and his sister Leah, traumatized into apparent madness by the events that lit the fire of vigilantism within Daniel. Can he maintain his distance from his only family for the sake of the cause – especially as doubts about Rosh’s leadership style begin to creep in?

And then there is Jesus. Daniel learns of him from village blacksmith Simon the Zealot. From the moment he first sees him, he is transfixed by his “vital, radiant face, lighted from within by a burning intensity of spirit.” The teacher’s quiet words mesmerize him, but Daniel walks away frustrated. Here is a man who can captivate thousands; each time Daniel goes to see him, the crowd around him seems to expand. An unfathomable power seems to flow from him as he talks of the Kingdom of God. Yet usurping the Romans does not seem to be his agenda. Daniel wonders how a man with such influence can fail to use it for the long-awaited liberation of his people. Or might Jesus offer a different kind of freedom?

First and foremost, this is Daniel’s tale. It is not primarily an account of Christ’s ministry, and Speare sprinkles in encounters with Jesus and his followers, particularly Simon Peter and Andrew, sparingly. The parable of the Good Samaritan, the feeding of the five thousand and the raising of Jairus’s daughter are among the notable Gospel passages that are organically integrated into the story, taking on a renewed potency as seen from the perspective of the teen who just can’t quite make out what this man is all about. Speare keeps dialogue directly involving Jesus to a minimum so that every moment with him feels like a cool drink of water in the midst of a barren landscape of rage and despair.

For nearly a third of his life, Daniel has taken orders from a man who regards compassion as a weakness to be filed away like the heaviest chain conceivable. As new responsibilities take him beyond the mountain and the words of a different kind of leader work their way into his soul, Daniel must carefully consider the true meaning of strength, of courage, of devotion. Is his bond with Samson truly a lamentable burden? Is it frailty to care for his troubled sister, whose sweetness shines out of the shadows just a little more with each passing day? Faced with the prospect of heading up his own faction of revolutionaries, which role model will he follow?

While Speare’s The Sign of the Beaver, which I recently read for the first time, has a straightforward simplicity to it, this novel is considerably longer and more complex, with more characters to keep track of and more twists and turns, not to mention the expert way in which Speare intermingles Daniel’s story with Gospel accounts. Each of the major characters has hopes and aspirations that are tested at various points, but their gravest challenges often come in quiet moments. Despite Daniel’s readiness for a violent uprising, his most grueling battle is internal as he struggles under the weight of a torment that only one person truly seems to understand.

I’m glad that this was the week I read The Bronze Bow. Through the stormy eyes of Speare’s passionate protagonist, I gained a fresh appreciation for what those days must have been like and the soft but forceful ways in which Jesus impacted the lives of those around him. When Daniel and his twin friends first read the psalm that will be such a source of inspiration to them, Thacia speculates that David means “that when God strengthens us we can do something that seems impossible.” Daniel’s own impossible feat is both simpler and more daunting than he ever could have imagined. He cannot do it alone. Neither can we.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

World-Weary Violet Navigates a Broken Life in Dear George Clooney, Please Marry My Mom

I love Epinions. One reason? It’s led me to a lot of great books. Sometimes the recommendation will come directly to me from a trusted fellow reviewer. Other times, I’ll stumble upon a review that intrigues me so much, I have to scour the library system in search of that title. It was the latter that led me to Susin Nielsen’s Dear George Clooney, Please Marry My Mom, a mid-grade novel narrated by Violet Gustafson, a cynical 12-year-old who is sick of seeing her divorced mom blunder her way through one bad relationship after another.

Violet and her affectionate five-year-old sister Rosie live in Vancouver with their 37-year-old mother Irene, a hairdresser who used to work in film and television. That’s how Irene met their father Ian, a philandering director who turned their world upside-down when he moved to Los Angeles with Jennica, the voluptuous young star of his latest series and soon-to-be mother of his twin daughters. That was more than two years before the beginning of this book.

In that time, Violet’s mom has focused most of her energy on trying to fill the void left by his absence, and Violet has had to grow up much too quickly. She’s tired of having so much responsibility on her shoulders and of dreading what her mom’s next date will bring. She wants to feel secure again, so she hatches an audacious plan to fix Irene up with the perfect man: George Clooney. After all, she had done his hair years ago, and he’d given her a photo with the message, “May Our Paths Cross Again.” Surely an earnest letter from this desperate word nerd will be enough to convince him that his true love awaits in Vancouver.

In some ways, the authentic- but precocious-sounding Violet is a very sympathetic narrator. Bullied at school herself, she is fiercely protective of Rosie, and generally she takes very good care of her. She has an important support system in the form of Phoebe, the calm, understanding girl who has been her best friend since kindergarten, and she often inclines the ear of her mom’s kind friend Amanda, the one person she knows whose romantic relationship gives her reason to hope that her mother might one day find happiness in that department. She wants the best not only for her and Rosie, but for her mom too.

But Violet is also a sulky, snarky child with major anger management issues. She resents being sent to counseling sessions that she sees as pointless. She is flat-out rude to Ingrid’s irresponsible friend Karen. She peppers her mom’s boyfriends with a barrage of sarcastic remarks and impertinent questions, hoping to nip one more train wreck in the bud. And she absolutely seethes in the presence of her father and Jennica. Her behavior toward them is often downright vindictive, and on one fateful occasion, her half-sisters get caught in the crossfire. Her extreme reluctance to apologize for her misdeeds is frustrating.

I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Jennica, despite her home-wrecking status. Now that Ian has clearly made a new life for himself, it’s apparent that Jennica wants to reach out to her stepdaughters, but Violet has nothing to offer but venom. Mostly, though, I empathized with Irene’s latest boyfriend, the one whose arrival sends the stretched-to-her-limit Violet into crisis mode.

Violet hates him instantly, declaring him a pudgy, balding, dorky punster who her mom shouldn’t even be giving a second glance. He owns a bath goods shop called Skip to My Loo. He wears kitschy hand-knitted sweaters. His name is Dudley Weiner. No, he won’t do at all. What she’s too stubborn to see is that while Dudley may not have supermodel looks or a suave demeanor to match, he does have something all of Irene’s previous suitors have lacked: the spirit of a gentleman. And Rosie absolutely adores him.

This aspect of the book reminded me very much of Much Ado About Anne, the second book in Heather Vogel Frederick’s Mother-Daughter Book Club Series. In that book, the girl in question lost her father in a car accident, and she deeply resents the intrusion of a mild-mannered accountant named Stanley who has inexplicably swept her mother off her feet. In both books, the contempt of the daughter is understandable, but it’s hard to see them act so viciously toward such guileless men.

Another book I thought of as I read was Leslie Connor’s Waiting for Normal, a beautiful mid-grade novel I encountered a couple years ago. Addie, the narrator in that book, had undergone unspeakable trauma in her first 12 years, yet she continued to embrace life with optimism and grace. I kept recalling her and thinking that Violet could stand to be a little more like Addie and a little less consumed by bitterness. Then again, letting go of anger is a big part of what this book is all about.

While I did struggle with Violet’s cruel streak, I mostly found this book very enjoyable. I like her sharp wit when it isn’t being destructively channeled, and in a book revolving around an attempt to connect with a movie star, it’s fitting that she fills her reflections with pop culture references. She talks of her compulsive need to alphabetize her mom’s video collection in a variety of ways; she compares a particularly bad day to Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events; she uses techniques learned from Nancy Drew and Harriet the Spy to conduct stake-outs at the homes of her mom’s boyfriends. And toward the end of the book, she learns that her dad is currently working on a show that Jennica describes as “a cross between LOST and Touched By an Angel.” Now that sounds like something I’d gladly watch!

Her friendship with Phoebe is touching, and there’s something undeniably sweet about her interaction with Jean-Paul, a soft-spoken classmate who seems to enjoy her company and causes her to reconsider her fervent vow never to fall in love. The book made me laugh many times, but I liked it best when it moved me as Violet’s carefully constructed fortress begins to crumble, allowing her to slowly accept the light of others’ love. This is a girl who has reason to be wary, but it’s heartening to see her gradually learn how to trust again. And what role, if any, does George Clooney play in this healing process? You’ll just have to read it for yourself to find out…

Monday, April 18, 2011

Drink Up Some Tasty Mini-Poems in Bob Raczka's Lemonade

April is National Poetry Month, so I have been making an effort to immerse myself in poetry. In some cases, it has found me without my having to go look for it. That’s what happened with Lemonade: and Other Poems Squeezed from a Single Word, a slim but intriguing volume written by Bob Raczka and illustrated by Nancy Doniger. The book arrived in my mailbox late last week, an unexpected gift from my Aunt Nancy, who has been feeding my appetite for books for the better part of three decades.

I have her to thank for my introduction to such delights as the intricately illustrated books of Jan Brett; Lois Lowry’s challenging The Giver; Louis Sachar’s intriguing Holes; Lemony Snicket’s twisted A Series of Unfortunate Events; and, most notably, J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, a gateway into one of the most enriching reading experiences of my life. She’s always giving me books I’ve never heard of, and I’m always gobbling them up – or in this case, perhaps “drinking” would be a more suitable word.

“No special reason for this book,” she wrote in her enclosed note. “I think it’s cool – thought you might, too.” I certainly do. The book is a collection of super-short poems, each with a one-word title. The author’s explanatory introduction acknowledges that he fell in love with the form after stumbling upon the work of Andrew Russ. He couldn’t wait to try some one-word poems of his own, adopting Russ’s method of laying the poem out so that each letter lines up with its corresponding letter in the title and often skipping a line between each word. This makes the poems look very unusual on the page. You have to concentrate a bit to make out what he’s saying, while the odd spacing gives the poems an artistic quality almost akin to a concrete poem.

The typeface is courier or something very like it, which gives the impression of these poems having been banged out on a typewriter. Each letter is large enough that it stands out, and the effect of the unusual spacing is striking. Raczka uses all lower-case letters, with the title in black and the poem itself in red on each right-hand page, which features a white background and a squiggly illustration incorporating only shades of black and red.

On the back of each primary poem page is a red page in which the poem Is presented more plainly, with title and poem alike in white print and each word on a separate line. A blank space separates distinct thoughts. For instance, we have “ladybug,” which is “a / buggy / buddy // a / glad / gal”. If you have any trouble deciphering the poem’s components on the main page, this page will steer you right. Each poem, then, has two pages to itself, and the book includes 22 poems “squeezed” from words ranging in length from six to 13 letters.

While these poems are all extremely short – the longest contains only 12 words – they are not so sparse as to prevent wit and poignancy to shine through. It’s amazing what one can do with such narrow constraints. Take one of the shortest poems, “friends”: “fred / finds / ed”. That’s it. But think of all the potential stories wrapped up in that one incredibly simple sentence! And the pleasantly eerie “constellation”: “a / silent / lion / tells / an / ancient / tale”.

Naturally, because these poems are so short and there are only 22 of them, it doesn’t take long to get through the book. But this is a volume one can turn to again and again. The mini-poems are clever and contained, and best of all, they cry out to be imitated. If you’ve ever played one of those party games in which the object is to find as many words within a single word as possible, you’re well on your way. Even if you haven’t, you’ll pick it up in no time.

Take a word, any word – though the longer it is, the more options you’ll have. Study it and see if anything jumps out at you; otherwise, start making a list of words within that word. Any of the letters can be used any number of times within a word, which expands your options. Play around with it, and when you’ve found something that satisfies you, lay it out on the page like Raczka does.

It’s trickier than you might think. However, with time comes “understanding”: “i / read / it / and / i / grin”. My own faltering attempt. But keep at it, and keep going back to that book for inspiration. When a poem clicks, it’s as refreshing as a cool glass of lemonade.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Books Connect Continents in 84, Charing Cross Road

Books have the capacity to bring people together. I’ve read several charming books exploring the ways that shared texts deepen friendships and particularly recommend the Mother-Daughter Book Club series for intermediate readers. In 84, Charing Cross Road, Helene Hanff shares a 20-year-long correspondence centered upon books. Frank, her primary correspondent, finds them for her, and she reads them. They don’t discuss the books’ contents at length, or at least he doesn’t, and yet these volumes bind them together in a powerful way, bridging the gap between two continents.

I stumbled upon the movie 84 Charing Cross Road on Netflix last year, and in light of National Poetry Month, I thought it seemed a good time for me to read the book that inspired the movie. After all, Hanff is extremely passionate about poetry. The book is simply a collection of just under 100 letters between Helene Hanff, a New York writer, and Frank Doel, a London bookseller. Occasionally, letters to and from other employees at Marks and Co., Booksellers, as well as Frank’s wife Nora and a sprinkling of other acquaintances, work their way into the book, but the real heart of the story is the reserved, humble Frank, who, from Helene’s first letter requesting a few hard-to-find books, works tirelessly to secure her desired volumes and never charges her any more than he needs to.

Most of the letters are well under a page in length; generally speaking, Helene’s are much longer. She fills her letters with impressions of the books she has received – sometimes glowing praise, sometimes stern rejoinders. Beyond just the words, she is often awed by the craftsmanship of the books themselves: “I just never saw a book so beautiful. I feel vaguely guilty about owning it. All that gleaming leather and gold stamping and beautiful type belongs in the pine-panelled library of an English country home…”

On the other hand, it’s not at all uncommon to find her missives peppered with words in all caps, and it’s easy to imagine her pounding away at her typewriter in fury. She’s a fiery woman, and it infuriates her to see poor editorial decisions hampering her enjoyment of beloved authors. For instance, she lavishes disdain upon an abridged version of Pepys’ Diaries that excludes some of her favorite entries and scratches her head at a volume of poetry that includes the complete works of both John Donne and William Blake. “Will you please tell me what those two boys have in common? – except they were both English and they both Wrote?” She also delights in scolding Frank if he goes too long without sending her something. She “needles” him endlessly, while he takes her jabs with good grace.

Frank’s notes are polite and tend to be rather detached, though the warmth of his gratitude shines through when he writes to thank her for the packages she sends to the bookshop containing food that is scarce in England of the 1950s thanks to rationing. He always comes across as extremely appreciative. Additionally, though he always passes her letters around to the other employees, once they begin writing to Helene they make it clear that he treasures their correspondence and thinks of her as his own personal pen pal. It’s charming to see his subtle wit peek through as he gradually becomes less formal with Helene. One of his funniest moments comes about halfway through their exchange, when he announces, “Prepare yourself for a shock. ALL THREE of the books you requested in your last letter are on the way to you and should arrive in a week or so.”

“From where I sit,” Helene writes in one of her letters, “London’s a lot closer than 17th Street.” She says this to indicate that it’s easier to write to Frank for what she wants than to walk all the way to a New York bookshop that probably won’t have it anyway, and almost certainly not as nice an edition as Frank is all but sure to find for her. But it also emphasizes the sense of intimacy that develops between her and Frank, as well as his close circle of associates and his wife. Yet physical proximity eludes her. There’s never any talk from England of a visit to America; it doesn’t seem to be within the realm of possibility. But Helene wants nothing more than to come to London, and it’s apparent that Frank and the others want this to happen as much as she does. At a certain point in the correspondence, nearly every letter from London includes some sort of entreaty to come soon, with the tone growing ever more wistful. Frank’s letter ten years into their exchange seems particularly poignant: “We are all sorry to hear that your television shows have moved to Hollywood and that one more summer will bring us every American tourist but the one we want to see.”

It’s often the case that reading the book makes a person rather disdainful of the movie that followed, but in this case, I gained a deeper appreciation for just how well-done the movie is. It incorporates the majority of the letters in the book, trimming some of them, while providing just enough in the way of dialogue and unspoken scenes to give us what feels like a complete story. Of course, Anne Bancroft’s zesty performance and Anthony Hopkins’ quiet gestures give us a strong sense of Helene and Frank’s personalities as well. The book is a wonderful record of a lasting correspondence, but it lacks any sort of context or transitions between the letters, which, toward the end, become ever more infrequent. Given the choice between the two, I would actually first recommend the movie; it’s an incredibly faithful adaptation with just a bit of embroidery to make the tale feel more complete.

That’s not to say, however, that I don’t recommend the book wholeheartedly. If you’re someone who loves “antiquarian” books or the art of letter-writing, you’re sure to find it a rare delight.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

The Bob-Whites Get a Real Vacation in The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

“The loneliest place on Earth.” That’s how the first keeper of the Presque Isle Lighthouse in my hometown of Erie, PA, described his post, and in The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island, the thirteenth book in the Trixie Belden series, teen sleuth Trixie postulates that the keeper of the lighthouse there would feel the same way. “You know you’d get bored stiff after the first week without your friends,” she tells her friend Diana, who romanticizes the position. But solitude is one thing Trixie needn’t fear during her sojourn on Cobbett’s Island, a quiet fishing village that reminds me of Passamaquoddy, the quaint town that serves as the setting for Pete’s Dragon.

That’s because she has not only Diana but her older brothers, verbose Mart and responsible Brian, and her neighbors, demure Honey Wheeler and resourceful Jim Frayne, to share her vacation. In fact, the trip comes courtesy of Honey’s parents, who have rented a summer house on Cobbett’s Island. Six of the seven Bob-Whites, the club that also includes former gang member Dan Mangan, will have ten days to relax, soaking up the sun and surf in what even Trixie hopes will be a true vacation, free from any preoccupying mysteries.

“Well, I think my girl deserves a vacation, and the boys too,” Mr. Belden says warmly when he finds out about the invitation, since apparently we are not supposed to think of Trixie having just returned from a vacation in New York, and a vacation in the Ozarks before that. At any rate, despite the fun of those trips, the stress level was high throughout. What the Bob-Whites need is a chance to simply kick back and enjoy themselves. And despite stumbling upon yet another mystery – and missing one of their members – this feels like about the most laid-back vacation the Bob-Whites could ask for.

The mood in this book is just so carefree. Mart and Brian swap quips with a wit and frequency unseen since they first showed up in The Gatehouse Mystery, and banter in general is at a high level. I found myself laughing out loud several times per chapter. I smiled, too, at the twitterpation that emerged in this idyllic oasis. Jim and Trixie, already thick as thieves, are practically inseparable – and the new bathing suit Trixie uncharacteristically needs causes quite a stir. Diana takes turns batting her eyes at Mart and local boy Peter, who becomes a fast friend to the sextet - and appears to have his eye on Trixie. And my favorite couple, Brian and Honey, whose mutual regard has been understated and rarely hinted at in previous volumes, seem to spend half the book flirting with each other.

The teens swim together; they learn the basics of sailing and experience the rush of racing; they gorge on a clambake feast and listen in rapt wonder as a salty sea dog spills his tales of the open water. The mystery this time feels more like a treasure hunt, with pieces of the puzzle leading them gradually to a thrilling prize; a ruffian skulks about but rarely comes into contact with the friends, and when he does, he’s one of the least intimidating villains to plague the Bob-Whites yet. Even getting stranded while boating and having to wait for rescue from the Coast Guard feels more like an exciting adventure than a fearful experience. The ever-industrious Bob-Whites take over for a wounded groundskeeper, help repair a battered gazebo and serve guests at a tea party, but even when they’re hard at work, it’s clear that they’re having the time of their lives.

Little is known about the individuals who wrote the last 33 volumes in the Trixie Belden series under the name Kathryn Kenny, but whoever penned this tale obviously knew her stuff. The book just bubbles over with exuberance and affection. I get the sense that, free from any truly pressing concerns or responsibilities, they are able to be more themselves than ever before. The characterization feels spot-on, and the dialogue particularly sparkles.

It’s a shame that Dan is excluded yet again; I can’t help feeling like a lot of writers didn’t really know what to do with him so they just wrote him out of the story. But Peter is a great new character, as is his kind-hearted mother; the grateful groundskeeper Elmer, upon whom Brian has a chance to demonstrate his medical expertise; competitive sailor Cap; grizzled Captain Clark; and bubbly baker Ethel, among others. Additionally, readers are likely to pick up a bit of nautical knowledge as they wind their way through this story, and maybe another random factoid or two as well. For instance, did you know that “Blitzen” is German for “Lightning”? I didn’t!

I also didn’t know just how untroubled a Trixie trip could be until this book. Every one of the Bob-Whites’ outings has sounded like a blast, but The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island seems just a notch above the rest. In fact, in the words of Honey, who’s rarely wrong about these sorts of things… I would say it’s perfectly perfect.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Celebrate Traditional Irish Balladry With The High Kings

A couple years ago, my dad and I discovered Celtic Thunder. I’d heard of them before; he hadn’t. These lads from Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland soon became a major part of our musical landscape. Their hearty mix of pop and folk, of solos and group numbers, made it easy to get a good sense of each performer’s strengths, and with their frequent updates on Facebook and Twitter, they soon came to feel almost like friends. I long ago relinquished my reluctance to whole-heartedly embrace another Celtic group out of loyalty to the Irish Rovers, and when I stumbled upon the High Kings, another group introduced to America primarily through PBS, I snatched up their DVD for my dad’s birthday.

The High Kings: Live in Dublin features Finbarr Clancy, Martin Furey, Brian Dunphy and Darren Holden, all established Irish musicians in their own right with musical legacies to uphold. Produced by David Downes, who is also responsible for Celtic Woman, the band has a much more old-fashioned, folksy feel to it than Celtic Thunder. The vocalists consistently play a variety of instruments while singing, and for the most part, they sing together. They stand or sit on the stage, four in a row, and they sing with very little theatricality. You don’t have the borderline corny choreography you get with Celtic Thunder; you do have a fair bit of talking, which is one thing I miss with Celtic Thunder. The songs here are almost always a group effort, so getting a sense of the individual members isn’t as easy. The High Kings isn’t so much about individual personalities; it’s simply about the music.

That music includes a number of traditional songs that were familiar to me. The Irish Rovers introduced me years ago to The Black Velvet Band, a tragic but ever-so-sing-along-able tale of a man who falls for a wily seductress who frames him for theft; The Wild Rover, about a meanderer who has decided to settle down; Marie’s Wedding, about a rather raucous wedding; and perhaps my favorite of the four, Will Ye Go Lassie, Go?, a mellow, summery song about friendship, togetherness and the way romance seems to bloom more robustly among wild mountain thyme. The harmonies and instrumental accompaniment are especially nice on this one when the High Kings perform it.

Another thing you hear a lot more of from the High Kings than from Celtic Thunder are nonsense lyrics. Irish music is full of these babbling series of syllables that don’t mean a thing but sure are fun to listen to. We get the biggest dose of it in Jimmy Murphy, and they essentially dare the audience to sing along with the chorus, which gets longer and longer and ever more tongue-twistery. “Skinnymalink killymajoe whisky frisky tooraloo, rank a diddle dido ding dural i doe!” I think I’ll stick to listening, thanks. Same goes for the “routin’ toutin’” rambles of The Little Beggarman. Phil the Fluther’s Ball isn’t as nonsensical as it sounds; they just sing it really quickly, and the words trip all over each other in this jolly number. Unless you’ve got a very agile tongue, you’re likely to have a hard time wrapping your way around speedy lines like “With the toot of the flute and the twiddle of the fiddle, o; hopping in the middle, like a herrin' on the griddle, o…”

Because the four singers, who dress alike in a series of rustic outfits, also are adept at playing musical instruments, jigs and reels are integral to this concert. Bearded, burly Martin Furey, whose father was a member of The Fureys, picks up the bodhran, an Irish hand-held drum, to perform a sort of percussive version of Dueling Banjos with an Irish step-dancer in the very entertaining Dance at the Crossroads. This fascinating drum also gets the spotlight in Bodhran Solo. The Beggarman Jig, which follows The Little Beggarman, is a joyful showcase for the fiddle and accordion.

The lovely Ar Eirinn Ni Neosainn Ce Hi includes the music of Gaelic lyrics, as well as English lyrics to clue listeners in on the devastating tale being told. Finbarr Clancy, whose father was in the Clancy Brothers, adds to the poignant nature of the song with his beautifully performed Irish whistle. He’s front and center for The Holy Ground, one of the rowdiest tracks, which gives him and his bandmates the chance to sing while wearing the iconic white “jumpers,” or sweaters, that became so associated with Irish music. Though this is a song in the grand tradition of ballads about Irishmen leaving home and loved ones to try their luck across the ocean, it’s far too raucous to feel morose, particularly during the booming exclamations of “Fine girl ye are!”

A much more melancholy take on the same idea is the achingly harmonic Paddy’s Green Shamrock Shore: “A place in my mind you will surely find although I am so far away…” Even more downhearted is The Auld Triangle, an a cappella lament about a doomed prisoner daydreaming about being imprisoned with women. The Rocky Road to Dublin, which starts off the concert, is a breathless account of a treacherous trip that starts off essentially a cappella before the instrumentalists kick in and turn it into a lively reel. The moment in the concert that reminds me most of Celtic Thunder is Fields of Glory, in which the men sing a rousing anthem about Gaelic football and its power to make “boys become men”.

The strangest song in the collection would have to be Galway to Graceland, a pretty but oddball ballad about a woman who makes a pilgrimage to Graceland and has a little too much trouble tearing herself away from the gravestone of her idol. Meanwhile, the one that sticks in the mind most afterward is The Parting Glass, which concludes the concert. It’s basically a traditional Irish benediction bidding farewell, and there’s a sense a permanency about it. A simple song that builds in intensity as it repeats, eventually incorporating bagpipes, it leaves listeners feeling both charmed and wistful. “Fill to me the parting glass and drink a health whate’er befall, and gently rise and softly call, ‘Goodnight, and joy be to you all.’”

Nobody tells a rousing good tale quite like the Irish, and although I didn’t write this review in time for St. Patrick’s Day as I’d originally intended, it feels just as fitting for National Poetry Month. Whatever month it happens to be, these talented musicians breathing fresh life into classic ballads are well worth an hour of your time.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

It's a Small World But a Big Ride Fit For a Big Dream

If there is one ride that I have always associated most with the Disney parks in California and Florida, it would have to be it’s a small world (un-capitalized on purpose). I believe my introduction to the song that plays throughout the ride came in the form of a small toy television I received as a toddler. As I recall, I turned the knob and the music played, albeit only an instrumental, music box-ish version, and two-dimensional versions of images from the ride paraded before my eyes. I also had the book and record inspired by the ride, and I’m sure that was where I heard the song with lyrics included for the first time. It’s one of those songs that, once you’ve heard it, you never forget it, and just a snippet of it will be enough to lodge the song in your head for a week. Many people consider it one of the most annoying songs they’ve ever heard – The Lion King even slipped in a self-deprecating joke about it – but I’ve always liked it.

This past December, I saw The Boys: The Sherman Brothers’ Story, a documentary about perhaps the most legendary songwriting duo in Disney history, and a fair bit of the movie involved the creation of this attraction. I was moved to hear Richard Sherman discuss his reverence for the project and how he really saw the song as an anthem of peace and global understanding. Yes, the words are simple and the tune is maddeningly catchy, but really, isn’t this the sort of message that’s worth getting stuck in people’s minds? “There is just one moon / and one golden sun, / and a smile means friendship / to everyone. / Though the mountains divide / and the oceans are wide, / it’s a small world, after all.”

My mom went to Disney World once with a choir, and she only had enough free time to go on three rides while she was there. This was one of them. I tend to think of it like Hershey’s Chocolate World; if you’re going to go to Hersheypark, that is the one ride you absolutely must go on. (Of course, unlike it’s a small world, it’s outside the actual park entrance, so you can go on it without actually paying park admission…) When I went to the Magic Kingdom with my aunt, uncle and cousin last month, this was my one essential ride just as surely as the pair of Walt Disney World Mickey Mouse ears was my one essential souvenir.

We spent one full day and one evening at the Magic Kingdom. The first day, we waited quite a while to get on this iconic ride. I would estimate that we spent about an hour waiting in line, in part because we happened to hit it at what seemed to be the busiest point in the day. When we rode it the second day, we only had to wait about ten minutes. The line winds down toward the waterway, where a series of 24-passenger boats wait to take visitors on their leisurely trip through the world.

I’ve seen enough representations of the ride on film and in books to have a pretty solid idea of what to expect, and there was a definite air of familiarity about it as I slowly gazed around to admire the displays. However, my first time through, I couldn’t help thinking that it may be a small world, but it’s an awfully big ride. Every time I thought that we had come to the end of the attraction, we turned a corner and entered another room just as vibrant and joyous as the one before it.

The animatronic figures all look extremely similar in basic body and facial structure, which emphasizes the common ground we all share. Yet the costumes are completely distinct from each other, as are the props filling each section. Several prominent Disney artists, including Mary Blair, Marc and Alice Davis and Walt Disney himself, were involved in the design of the original attraction, which started out at the 1964 World’s Fair and then moved to Disneyland, and although it didn’t come first, the Disney World edition still feels like a labor of love. It’s a 15-minute cruise that is meant to encourage children and adults alike to see the beauty in other cultures and contemplate our similarities while celebrating our differences.

Nearly 500 animated figures fill the ride, including both human and animal dolls as well as a variety of toys and contraptions. Every room is bursting with activity. Hula dancers offer a welcome in grass skirts; Arabian children fly on magic carpets; leprechauns linger on golden harps. In each land, you can find children dancing and playing and taking to the land, sea or sky in a variety of whimsical vehicles. Creatures ranging from kangaroos to giraffes lurk nearby, adding more unique flavor to the countries that host them. And each time the boat takes you through a different part of the world, the language on the recording of the song changes, so you hear it in a variety of different tongues. The basic nature of the song makes it ideal for translation, and the words and melody are so memorable that you always know pretty much what they’re singing no matter how unfamiliar you are with the language at hand.

I understand that at Disneyland, it’s a small world now includes several prominent Disney characters mixed in with the characters specific to this ride, much like certain characters are scattered through Epcot’s International Village. While I’m not used to thinking of familiar Disney faces like Pinocchio and Peter Pan populating it’s a small world, I imagine that this new twist would add another layer of fun, as would the holiday version of the ride, which includes lights, decorations and festive music. In any incarnation, I can’t picture myself getting tired of this attraction. With so much to see in every room, I think I’d have to ride it several times before I even managed to catch everything that was happening, and I don’t see the wonder wearing off even then. This ride is a beautiful artistic feat and the representation of Disney’s dream of a future in which children all around the world could live in harmony, a dream that the Sherman Brothers shared when they wrote the song that is one of the most performed and recognized in the world.

“There’s so much that we share / that it’s time we’re aware / it’s a small world, after all.” Yes, indeed.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Brooke White Brings Her 70s Singer-Songwriter Vibe to High Hopes and Heartbreak

I’ve been watching American Idol since my friends Libbie and Dan got me hooked on it way back in season one. Dan’s been out of town for most of the seasons since, but Libbie and I still watch it together whenever we can, so by now, I’ve become fairly familiar with more than a hundred finalists. Some of them are monstrously talented. While anyone who knew me well in 2003 would surely tell you that my all-time favorite American Idol contestant is Clay Aiken, I felt a quieter sense of kinship with season seven contestant Brooke White.

Brooke, a sunny, squeaky-clean 24-year-old at the time of her audition, is one of only a handful of finalists who was married when she entered the competition. She charmed Simon Cowell, the British judge so famous for his snarky quips dashing the dreams of the musically clueless, with her confession that she’d never seen an R-rated movie, and he embraced her breezy, laid-back vocal style, a throwback to such 70s singer-songwriters as Carole King and Carly Simon. He pegged her early as a favorite, naming her as one of the four he thought most likely to win the competition. She came in fifth, hanging in there long enough to gain a devoted following.

A glance at her musical influences reveals plenty of overlap with mine, and from the start, I thought her personality, her values and her vibe seemed to mesh with mine. I swooned a bit as I rooted for Clay; with Brooke, I felt like I was voting for the kind of contestant I would be if I had her musical chops. I’m neither married nor Mormon, but a decade after American Idol began, the show has yet to produce a contestant to whom I relate more than Brooke. On High Hopes and Heartbreak, produced by American Idol judge Randy Jackson, she co-wrote all but one of the songs, and she played the piano as well. The result is an album that feels authentic, poetic and full of promise.

Radio Radio - This month, I decided to join the ranks of Facebook users participating in the 30-Day Song Challenge. The point is to link to a song for each of 30 categories, thus demonstrating how thoroughly music permeates our lives. There are so many songs that remind me of particular moments, and moments that remind me of songs. It’s a big part of why I love writing filksongs so much; music is inextricably linked with so many powerful emotions and so many beloved friends, real and fictional alike. Music is a constant companion, and when I’m down, stumbling upon snippets of certain songs can make all the difference in the world to my demeanor. That’s what this song is about, and considering that I listen to Brooke White as a pick-me-up, I think this upbeat track is a perfect way to start the album. “I’ve been wide awake, stayin’ up all night, waitin’ for the song that will make me feel all right.”

Hold Up My Heart - Track two, and we’re starting in with the heartbreak. There’s an unmistakable country twang to this percussion-heavy number, particularly when the guitar kicks in. It’s a fairly up-tempo number in the vein of many songs using pep to hide the pain. She sings of a stilted relationship, where both parties are on speaking terms but it’s more “talking without speaking”. A wedge has developed, even if it hasn’t been overtly acknowledged; admitting her own role in the breakdown, she expresses her hope that they can stumble together toward a renewed closeness. “Please hold up my heart. Give me a reason for this empty silence. You’re here but you seem so far; why did you run away from me?”

Out of the Ashes - This one feels like a natural continuation of the last track. She’s admitting that things are broken and that she messed up, and she’s hoping that they can be fixed. It’s a song of reconciliation – a high hope. Perhaps in part because I play the instrument myself, piano-driven songs have always held particular appeal for me, and Brooke’s strongest American Idol performances were generally those that found her behind the piano. This, then, is a wonderful showcase for her. The lyrics have an open, vulnerable quality to them, and on a song about trying to repair a fractured relationship, the beauty of the harmonies in the chorus is especially striking. “Everybody makes mistakes. Nobody’s, nobody’s perfect. I know that I’ve made mistakes; well, nobody’s, nobody’s perfect. So will you meet me in the middle of the fire escape if it’s not too late?”

Phoenix - The simple placement of this song on the album is brilliant. Out of the Ashes followed by Phoenix - what could be more natural? So it feels like a bit of a fake-out when you realize that she’s singing about Phoenix, Arizona, where she was born. And yet there’s still an element of that mythic bird’s imagery at play here in this breezy, guitar-heavy nostalgic number. It’s an acknowledgment that things change, but they don’t have to be lost in the process. “Oh, let the light shine down on Phoenix when it rains, ‘cause when the sun is shining you know it feels like home.”

When We Were One - Another song on the heartbreak end of the scale. The relationship has ended, but she’s having a hard time coming to grips with it. She’s like Bella Swan in New Moon, wandering around on autopilot with a gaping hole in her chest. A slight country favor to this one as well. The melody is fairly upbeat, but the lyrics remain pretty somber. Healing can come later; right now, she just wants to wallow. “Time is growing hard to bear. Moving on but going nowhere. Still staring at the picture but you’re not there, you’re not there.”

Use Somebody - Guitar is in prominence on this Kings of Leon cover, the only song on the album in which Brooke had no hand in writing. This is a song of romantic interest; it’s not clear how well the speaker and the object of her affections know each other, but it’s apparent that she wants to get to know him better and is willing to put forth whatever effort is necessary to make that happen. “Off in the night while you live it up, I'm off to sleep waging wars to shake the poet and the beat. Well, I hope it's gonna make you notice…”

Smile - This song of mingled misery and optimism reminds me very much of Ryan Kelly’s exquisitely melancholy In Too Deep. A relationship has shattered, and the speaker is trying to pick up the pieces. The legato piano complements Brooke’s yearning vocals beautifully as she expresses a desire to move on with her life while accepting that she’s going to go on missing this person for some time. Although this feels like a song of romantic heartache, the lyrics suggest that it might be a platonic friendship that has broken down; of course, that can be every bit as painful, so this song seems to recognize just how deeply entwined the souls of two friends can be, giving this a slightly wider applicability. A definite favorite. “Like the sun upon my skin, like the whisper on the wind, I'll watch the end begin. I'll miss you, my friend. Oh, and it might take a while, oh, ‘til I forget your smile…”

Little Bird - This guitar-driven track is probably the most country-flavored song on the album. There’s a bit of a sorrowful edge, but overall the tone is optimistic. She’s going through a tough time and addressing a bird with an entreaty to sing her a sweet song to help give her a hopeful outlook. “Well, I don’t care what people say. Gonna believe in love anyway. All of my life I’ve been afraid to lose myself in seasons of change.”

High Hopes and Heartbreak - This one has a slightly mysterious tone to it and is one of the most instrumentally diverse songs on the album. I think I hear a xylophone or marimba and a theramin, giving it a very distinct feel. It’s another song of awakening love. She doesn’t know the guy too well yet and doesn’t really think falling for him is a very good idea, but doggone it, she can’t help herself. Extra cool points to her on this one for trotting out the Star Wars… “Just who do you think you are playing Jedi mind tricks with my heart? Don’t you go and leave me in the dark.”

Sometimes Love - Another song involving a relationship-that-isn’t-quite-yet. It’s clear in this folk-poppish number that she really wants to take it to that next level, but before they start exchanging those dangerous three little words, she wants to make sure they really know what makes each other tick. This piano-driven plea for a deeper dialogue is one of my favorite tracks. “Can we have an honest conversation underneath the surface where we’ve been stayin’, where it’s comfortable, where we play it safe and we try so hard not to make mistakes?”

California Song - This is a fun one that’s more in line with Radio, Radio. In fact, it would make a nice bookend to it, and kind of does, as the last song almost feels like a “P.S.” slightly removed from the rest of the album. Brooke grew up in Arizona but relocated to California as an adult, and she seems to have embraced the new state whole-heartedly. This is a joyous number heavy on the percussion and piano and the references to California landmarks and musicians. It’s fun to catch the nods to America, Joni Mitchell, The Mamas and the Papas and The Beach Boys. In this musical landscape of the West Coast, I’d say she fits right in. “Hey, don’t worry if you get it wrong. Don’t you know that you still belong – na na na na na na – in a California song…”

Be Careful - Brooke’s folkie vibe is strongest on this gentle acoustic track with just a hint of cello and xylophone toward the end. It feels like a lullaby and a love song. I’m not sure how autobiographical those other love songs were – I don’t have the physical album so I’m missing out on the liner notes; I’m curious about the insights she might reveal there – but this feels the most personal and immediate, directed at the husband who presumably must often stay home while she hits the road with her music. She wants to reassure him that though they endure times of separation, he is always on her mind, and she wouldn’t want it any other way. A very sweet ending to the album. “I wouldn’t do very well having to live without you, so keep up your guard, look after your precious heart, and every time that we’re apart remember I’m with you, I’m with you.”

Last year, I filked my way through National Poetry Month, pouring all of my poetic energy into reflections on LOST, which was hurtling toward its conclusion the following month. This year, I haven’t tried my hand at lyrics in ages, but listening to Brooke makes me want to get back in the groove and maybe even attempt a song from scratch, which I haven’t done in well over a year. I hope I do. But even if I never write a radio-worthy song – a very distinct possibility – I’m glad that Brooke White is out there making her music and representing the neo-folkies like me who’ve always felt more at home musically in the decade that predates them.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Bob-Whites Hit the Big Apple in The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

I’ve been to New York City a couple of times and spent just enough time there to know that you could stay a year and not get the full experience of everything the city has to offer. Intriguing sights await on every corner. As a vacation destination for a group of chummy teens, it’s “wonderfully wonderful,” to use the phrase favored by Barbara, one of three faraway friends who flies to New York to meet up with the Bob-Whites in The Mystery of the Blinking Eye, the twelfth book in the Trixie Belden series. But just sight-seeing like a typical tourist is not sufficient for intrepid 14-year-old super-sleuth Trixie. She has a knack for stumbling into mysteries wherever she goes, and here in the Big Apple, she blunders her way into a humdinger.

Earlier books in the series have established that Trixie has rather eccentric tastes, so it’s not too surprising when she goes gaga for an ugly Incan idol she discovers in an antique shop. What’s more startling is the fact that her peculiar souvenir has attracted the intense interest of some pretty shady characters. Trixie and her fellow Bob-Whites – sweet best friend Honey, grandiloquent Mart, practical Brian, gallant Jim, elegant Diana and reformed Dan – have all been to New York before, but they’re thrilled to be giving their Iowan pals – twins Barbara and Bob and their neighbor Ned – the grand tour. But whether they’re taking a carriage ride through Central Park, perusing the Museum of Natural History or ascending the Empire State Building, shadowy men lurk nearby, and they clearly want that statue for themselves. Why? And how can Trixie stop it from falling into those nefarious hands?

The questions of what’s so special about this knick-knack and who these men are should pose quite enough mystery for one volume, but the ghost writer adopting the name Kathryn Kenny for this volume decided to make things even more enigmatic by introducing yet another odd element: a prophecy given to Trixie by an elderly fortune teller she assists in the airport. More precisely, the woman gives Trixie a purse, and in the purse is a poem written in Spanish. Trixie’s curiosity consumes her, and she begs Miss Trask, Honey’s former governess who is serving as chaperone on this trip, to translate it into English for her.

When I was in high school, I wrote rhyming poems in French for the school’s literary magazine on two occasions. I then translated them into English. And let me tell you, it was a heck of a lot easier to write the poem from scratch – even in another language – than to translate it and leave both form and meaning intact. But what does Miss Trask do? She sits down with a pen and paper and painstakingly translates that poem. Ten couplets and, for no particular reason I can discern, one set of three rhyming lines. Half an hour later, she has a poem that sounds a lot like gibberish but nonetheless rhymes perfectly and displays nearly seamless iambic tetrameter throughout. Either Miss Trask is some kind of poetry translating savant or this little feat is just as unbelievable as the contents of the poem itself.

Trixie sees the prophecy as a treasure map of sorts, a guide to unfolding events, though it only ever seems to make any sense in retrospect. What the poem mostly does is serve as a structure for the book, with something in every chapter corresponding to a couplet or two. It’s awfully involved for a prediction, and it’s mostly just a series of abstract images. As Miss Trask firmly states late in the book, “A person can twist words to get almost any meaning out of them he wants.” Trixie may have her career path all laid out before her, but if for some reason she decides she’d rather pursue something less harrowing than detective work, she’s got a real future as an English major. She certainly displays an aptitude for making tenuous connections.

Poetry comes into play in a more natural way as Bob and Barbara entertain first their friends, then a wider audience with tragic ballads they wrote themselves. Between the prophecy and the songs, which have a certain folksy charm about them, particularly considering that they were supposed to have been written by teenagers, that’s a lot more rhyming than I’ve seen in any other Trixie Belden book. This leads me to suspect that this particular Kathryn Kenny was a frustrated poet.

Along with the poetry, literary references abound here. Sherlock Holmes gets a nod in almost every book, and this is no exception. We’ve also got Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz and Hans Christian Andersen, and Mart made me chuckle by mentioning the mighty mouthful Mephistopheles, since I imagine that the unwieldy nature of the name is the main reason he brought it up. My biggest smile, though, came early in the book when, during a trip to Central Park, the Bob-Whites-plus-three observe several park-goers floating boats out on the nearby pond. I immediately thought of Stuart Little, so I laughed aloud when, a couple paragraphs down, Honey said, in reference to a boy with a boat, “He makes me think of Stuart Little in E. B. White’s book.” Right there with ya, Honey…

This is the first time that all seven Bob-Whites have taken a trip together. Indeed, Dan, who made his first appearance in the eighth book, all but dropped out of the series for the next three, so it’s nice to see him so involved here. He’s lost the angst that he had when we first met him, but he remembers his street rat days well enough to play a vital role when Trixie tangles with a tough crowd in a scene that makes her ill-advised trip to the Skid Row of Sleepside, NY, in the fourth book look like a cakewalk. Mart treats his buddies to a magic show; Diana shares an unsettling experience with Trixie at the Empire State Building. Everyone has at least one moment in the spotlight.

Other characters still have room to emerge, however. Along with the affable Ned and Bob and the exuberant Barbara, we’ve got Honey’s father and those shifty men who keep tailing Trixie. The most memorable new character is Dr. Joe Reed, a physician and family friend who invites the teens over to have a look at his model railroad. I grinned as I imagined Big Bang Theory’s locomotive-loving Sheldon Cooper geeking out over the intricate display. And speaking of geeking out, I love the way that normally reserved Brian wears his Hippocratic passion on his sleeve when Dr. Reed shows them around the hospital where he works.

For those whose passions include the Bob-Whites, The Mystery of the Blinking Eye is really the first book in the series to integrally involve all seven of them, and certainly the first away-from-home adventure to include them all. Between that and the exciting setting, this is a great installment, even with that absurd prophecy underpinning their New York adventure.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Survival and Friendship Intermingle in The Sign of the Beaver

The long wall in the upstairs hallway of the house where I have lived for 28 of my 30 years is covered with shelves, and those shelves are covered with books. They’re grouped rather strangely, in loose categories, some more logical than others. The most organized portion is the long stretch of Newbery books that I’ve been collecting since the age of eight or so.

I started by simply buying some books because they interested me and noticing that they’d received this award. I began picking them up on the strength of that word alone, whether from school catalogs, book swaps or library sales, and over the years I’ve amassed a sizable collection of Newbery Medal and Newbery Honor books, alphabetized by the author’s last name. However, because I buy them on the strength of the award and not from any particular or immediate interest, many of them go on the shelf and remain there for years, half-forgotten until something compels me to pick one of them up. This week, I returned to the Newbery shelf for Elizabeth George Speare’s The Sign of the Beaver.

Just a glimpse at the cover, which depicts young Matt, a 12-year-old settler left to fend for himself for several weeks in the wilds of Maine while his father fetches the rest of the family, and 14-year-old Attean, the Penobscot boy he befriends, is enough to furnish some idea of the book’s contents. Set in the late 1700s, it’s a tale of adaptability and cross-cultural understanding.

I’ve always loved wilderness survival stories, from Scott O’Dell’s Island of the Blue Dolphins and Arthur Roth’s The Iceberg Hermit to Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet series and, of course, the ultimate shipwrecked survivor story, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, which, appropriately enough, is the only book that Matt owns, one that he’s read multiple times. That element was the main thing that drew me to LOST, which ended up becoming my all-time favorite television series, though it ultimately had more to do with people from different backgrounds learning to live together in harmony. In some ways, so does this book.

Over the course of 25 chapters, Speare weaves a compelling tale in which not a word is wasted. Her artful descriptions of the landscape and the activities in which Matt and Attean engage root the reader immediately in the book’s very particular setting. On page after page, I marveled at the beauty of her writing; she’s the sort of author who can make a would-be wordsmith like me shake her head and mutter, “Jeepers, why do I even bother?” Take, as a small sample, this autumnal reflection from chapter 18: “The maple trees circling the clearing flamed scarlet. The birches and aspens glowed yellow, holding a sunlight of their own even on misty days.” She takes just as much care when she allows us to peer into the soul of our protagonist, Matt, like she does in chapter 16 in this sparse but searing exploration of his growing fear that his family may never return. “Matt hugged his arms around his chest. But the cold was inside. It would not go away.”

In the beginning, Matt is alone. His days stretch before him in isolation, but he is comfortable in the cabin he and his father built together, and he is proud of the work he is doing to feed himself and maintain their lodging. But when an unfortunate incident causes him to lose his rifle, the days grow more difficult, and his diet becomes limited enough to tempt him to brave a swarm of angry bees for just a taste of honey. It is this expedition that ultimately leads him to the solemn, elderly Saknis and his scowling grandson Attean.

Saknis proposes a treaty: he will provide food for the struggling Matt, and Matt will teach Attean how to read, a skill in which the sullen boy clearly has little interest. Yet he returns, almost daily, to Matt’s cabin, and despite his lack of interest in deciphering words on a page, he is engrossed by Robinson Crusoe, which Matt reads to him, carefully omitting passages that paint the former cannibal Friday in a demeaning light. Attean speaks very little. But gradually, he opens up to Matt and begins to show him some of his secrets: how to build a snare, how to construct a bow and arrows, how to recognize the signs of various tribes. His spoken English improves along with his subtle humor, and Matt picks up bits and pieces of Attean’s speech as well, particularly piz wat, “good-for-nothing,” his favorite term to describe his mangy, bedraggled dog.

The book is only about 130 pages long, so it’s a fairly quick read, yet Speare paces the progression perfectly so that each chapter signifies a slight advancement in the boys’ understanding of each other. Then, in the final chapters, she brings Matt to what this Star Trek geek can only term a Kobayashi Maru – a no-win scenario.

Autumn is wearing on, and Matt’s father, a kind but taciturn man who reveals a great deal through small gestures, has been gone more than twice as long as expected. Attean has come to feel like a brother, and Matt finds welcome among his people, but game is becoming scarce, and the time has come for them to move on and find land upon which settlers have not yet encroached. Saknis issues an invitation, and Matt must make a choice. Should he join these people he has come to know and love or remain and wait for the increasingly uncertain arrival of his parents and siblings? Give up his best friend or his family? Matt has had to take on immense responsibility for several months, but making this irrevocable decision may be the hardest task of all. Either path entails separation and loss. Which way will he go, and how will he come to terms with the consequences?

Years ago, I read The Witch of Blackbird Pond, another historical novel about cross-cultural understanding for which Speare received the Newbery Medal. The Sign of the Beaver only received the Newbery Honor designation, but it is no less engrossing or enriching. Both as an educational slice of American history and a touching tale of how strangers can overcome their differences to become friends, this novel succeeds beautifully. Part of Matt’s maturation process is the painful lesson that sometimes, embracing one dream means forsaking another, and we feel that keenly along with him. But every step in the journey is important for Matt and revealing for us in this book that is quite the opposite of piz wat.