A Gifted Artist-Storyteller Shares His Life in Bill Peet: An Autobiography

Of the many Disney shorts and featurettes released over the years, few hold a stronger claim on my affections than Lambert the Sheepish Lion, the thoroughly endearing tale of a lion who, thanks to a scatterbrained stork, is adopted by a sheep and grows up bashful and bullied by other lambs until a threat to his flock releases his pent-up roar. That tale was the brainchild of artist-storyteller Bill Peet, who put his distinctive stamp on several Disney projects and independently created numerous children’s books. While I have little familiarity with Peet’s solo output, I was excited to happen upon Bill Peet: An Autobiography, in which he chronicles his life up through his break with Disney during preparations for The Jungle Book.

This book is unlike any autobiography I have read before. It’s large at about 8 by 10 inches, and it’s 190 pages long. Nonetheless, it is not broken up into chapters. Peet just writes straight through from beginning to end. This means that it’s somewhat lacking in natural stopping points, though the text on most pages concludes at the end of a paragraph. Moreover, this is a much quicker read that one would initially guess. You could easily finish it in one sitting on a quiet afternoon. On most pages, the illustration takes up more room than the words do even though the font is quite large. Many pages feature only a paragraph or two, and every single page includes at least one picture.

Peet has a down-to-earth narrative style, and it is easy to identify with him at every step along his journey. Even at his most successful, we see him as a man who must struggle and sacrifice in order to achieve his dreams. While this is by no means a salacious tell-all, he does relate instances of some pretty poor treatment that he received at the hands of higher-ups, including Walt Disney himself.

The tale of the fateful meeting with an irate Walt that led to his decision to leave the studio is made that much sadder by the fact that it happened on Peet’s birthday and that Walt died just a year later, still estranged from him. While Peet consistently portrays Walt Disney as more of a boss than a friend, he spends as much time praising his genius as recalling his towering tempers. It’s obvious his respect and appreciation for Walt run deep, and Peet’s portraits of him reflect this mixed impression.

Other familiar faces fill the latter part of the book as well. Peet sprinkles in sketches of some of the most iconic characters he helped to design. We see scenes from Fantasia, Dumbo, Song of the South, Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, 101 Dalmatians, The Sword in the Stone and The Jungle Book, along with several shorter projects, including Lambert.

While only the cover is in color, all of the drawings are exquisite. Some are hysterical; others are wistful. Animals are favorite subjects from the beginning of the book, which chronicles Peet’s happy early years, particularly one blissful summer at his grandpa’s farm. Trains also hold great fascination for him, and several two-page panoramas of locomotives make a strong impression. He also includes recreations of paintings that he did during art school – where he met his wife, to whom the book is dedicated – and beyond. It’s no wonder that this was named as a Caldecott Honor Book; each page is absolutely gorgeous.

While you could get a lot out of this book without actually reading any of it, the narration really does live up to the drawings. Peet’s skill as a storyteller is apparent as he shares some of the major milestones and memorable incidents of his life, continually casting himself as a plucky underdog. Notable anecdotes include recollections of his cross-country trek to Los Angeles with a friend of a friend, his first big break at Disney drawing monsters for a sequence of Pinocchio that wound up being scrapped and his storyboard proposal for a war film that, to his relief, Walt found too disturbing to run with.

Ultimately, Bill Peet: An Autobiography is a story about stories and of life and art imitating each other. I would recommend this to anyone interested in Disney history, children’s literature or art – and to anybody who has a dream that seems out of reach. Step into the world of Peet’s imagination and just look at what this dreamer accomplished.

Number 3100: Explore Inside the Dream: The Personal Story of Walt Disney

Back in May, I timed my 3000th post here on Epinions to coincide with the eight Epi-versary of my fellow bookworm Beth. When I realized that my reviewing pace was putting my 3100th review in close proximity to the Epi-versary of another extraordinary Epinionator, I pondered what might make an appropriate subject of a review to celebrate the marvelous Mark’s six years on the site. Then I happened upon Inside the Dream: The Personal Story of Walt Disney, and I stopped looking and started reading.

I had already seen the documentary from which this coffee table book by Katherine and Richard Greene arose, and I found it thoroughly enjoyable, so I went into this handsome biography with high expectations, and I’m happy to say they were met. Though it’s not quite 200 pages long, the hefty size allows for a fair amount of writing on each page, along with illustrations in the form of photos, sketches, movie stills, posters, memos, newspaper clippings and all sorts of other visual materials. Even those who aren’t too interested in Walt himself might want to browse through this book simply for the wealth of visual materials showing classic characters and attractions in their early stages.

The book includes a foreword by Diane Disney Miller, the older of Walt’s two daughters, and the book frequently quotes her as well. Sadly, Walt’s younger daughter, Sharon, died in 1993, several years before these interviews were conducted, but earlier recollections from her and other deceased relatives and associates pop up here and there. Most of the quotes, however, come from the Greenes’ interviews with 77 people who had some kind of personal connection to Walt, whether through family, friendship or business.

As the Introduction explains, the raw material for the documentary included about 38 hours of interviews that had to be whittled down to fit into an hour-and-a-half-long movie. Creating a book allowed more room for these voices to be heard. That’s not to say that the book is nothing but a collection of quotes. Instead, it is a cohesive narrative told in five parts, each broken down further into multiple sections.

First Dreams focuses on Walt’s young adulthood and his early forays into animation and movies. Here the Greenes recount his earliest projects, including the Alice in Wonderland shorts, which involved a real child immersed in a fantastical animated land; Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, Walt’s first major animated character; the creation and renaming of Mickey Mouse; and the beginning of the Silly Symphonies. Half of the six sections involve Walt’s career, while the other half deal with his personal life, focusing on his parents, Flora and Elias; his wife, Lilly; and his fondness for the sport of polo.

Worlds to Conquer begins with the ambitious experiment of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs before delving into the darker days of the animators’ strike and World War II, both of which had a major impact upon the studio’s productivity. Broken into seven sections, this part also discusses Walt’s passion for constantly improving his craft, from bringing live animals into the studio for Bambi to pushing the boundaries of animation with Fantasia. It also touches on his goodwill trip to South America, out of which came the movies Saludos Amigos and The Three Caballeros, and his massive output of films for the government. It was a time of intense highs like the Snow White premiere and crushing lows like his mother’s death by asphyxiation, and it ultimately led to a shift in focus.

New Horizons deals with Walt’s foray into live action, discussing his action films and documentaries and his decision to embrace television rather than fearing it as a threat to his success as a filmmaker. This part of the book, which includes 11 sections, is the longest, encompassing Walt’s passion for nature, his ability to see the possibilities inherent in television, his fondness for trains and the delight he took in carefully crafting his two major theme parks, only one of which he would live to see opened. It also discusses the animated films of the time, and some of the tidbits here are fascinating. For instance, the scene at the beginning of Lady and the Tramp in which Jim presents the Cocker Spaniel puppy to his wife in a hatbox was inspired by Walt having done the same thing. I also found it interesting that Walt disliked Alice in Wonderland, one of the few animated Disney features I don’t particularly enjoy, complaining that it had no heart. Not so with Cinderella, which was being crafted at the same time, and the recollection of Walt’s idea to have Ilene Woods, who voiced her, harmonize with herself is wonderful. Throw in the broad comedies like The Shaggy Dog and The Parent Trap that are the focus of the last section, and this is a very packed chapter.

Tomorrow Land features eight sections and concludes with Walt’s death in 1966. It spends a good chunk of time on Mary Poppins, considered by many to be Walt’s crowning achievement in the realm of movies. Here we read about the tug-of-war with P. L. Travers, who wrote the books upon which the movie is based, and the warm sense of synchronicity among Walt and the Sherman Brothers when it came to their vision for this film. When I watched The Boys, a documentary about the Sherman Brothers, last year, I first heard the story recounted here about how deeply Walt connected to the song Feed the Birds. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” he said of the song, which he often asked “the boys” to play for him. This anecdote particularly moves me because that’s always been my favorite song in the movie and one of my favorite Disney songs period. New to me, and quite amusing, was Dick Van Dyke’s confession that he so wanted to play the senior banker that he offered to do it for free and actually ended up paying for the privilege, as Walt wheedled him into donating $4000 to CalArts, an institute for the arts that he founded and to which he left half his estate. The remainder of the chapter discusses Walt’s involvement in the World’s Fair, his obsession with city planning and vision for Epcot, his enthusiasm for travel, his last months and the reaction to his death. As my grandpa was the same age as Walt when he died, also of quickly-progressing lung cancer, this sad final portion particularly resonates with me.

Finally, Walt’s Legacy is far shorter and is basically just a collection of nine commentaries by various experts about Walt’s impact upon the world. These include late news anchor Walter Cronkite, film scholar Leonard Maltin and children’s book author Maurice Sendak. Science fiction author Ray Bradbury, a close friend of Walt’s for the last couple years of his life, gets the final word, eloquently discussing the positive difference he made.

The book is formatted so that you can easily read a section in one sitting and then decide whether you want to go on to the next one right away or just let those few pages simmer a while. The larger part of the book deals with his career, but the personal sections take up almost as much space. The design makes leafing through the sections simple. I especially like that each career-focused section is printed on a white background and has a headline of white letters against a red strip, while the personal sections have beige backgrounds and the headline strip is gold. Meanwhile, the quotes scattered throughout both sections stand out, with some in blue pull-out boxes and others in yellow or beige. Meanwhile, all of Walt’s quotes are in red letters and simply printed against the white background instead of boxed in. The book is loaded with great quotes that lend insight to Walt directly or indirectly, but of the ones I hadn’t heard or read before, the one that stood out most to me is this from Walt: “All right, I’m corny. But I think there’s just about a hundred and forty million people in this country who are just as corny as I am.” I’m happy to be one of them.

This book presents a vivid picture of an extraordinary man from humble beginnings who was forever driven by his creativity and his desire to keep making new innovations. He comes across as a perfectionist but not a workaholic; while he was always very hands-on with his films, television projects and theme park plans, he was also a devoted father who always took time to play with his daughters. A strong work ethic and a sense of childlike wonder helped propel his company, as did his willingness to take huge financial risks. As this book was conceived partly as a response to unflattering portraits of Walt that emerged after his death, one might say that its unfailingly sunny portrayal is a bit suspect; every time a situation comes up in which Walt’s actions are called into question, he comes out in the right. Does the book lionize him a bit too much? Maybe. But even if there might be some less palatable aspects of his personality left unexplored, the dozens of positive anecdotes strengthen the credibility of the authors, and his body of work and subsequent legacy speak for themselves.

This December marks the 110th anniversary of Walt’s birth. It’s a great time to get to know the man behind the Mouse a little better. Unless you’re already an expert – and maybe even if you are – you should find some new insights within Inside the Dream: The Personal Story of Walt Disney. I certainly did. Thank you, Walt – and Mark, too – for making the world a more magical place.

Betty White Delights in the Light, Breezy If You Ask Me

Back when it was on the air, I used to watch The Golden Girls, mostly because I loved sweet, naïve, animal-loving Rose, portrayed by Betty White. I’ve seen her pop up in all sorts of other places since then and shared in the amusement of many mall visitors when the calendar kiosk where I worked last year stocked dozens of calendars bearing her image. It seems she is quite the star. So when my friend lent me her latest book, If You Ask Me (And of Course You Won’t), I was interested to see what she had to say for herself.

Practically her first assertion is “Writing is my favorite thing.” This particular admission is actually written in longhand, which she integrates into later portions of her book as well. It’s funny to think of a beloved actress claiming such a quiet pursuit as an even deeper passion, but it’s nice to know that she enjoyed herself while penning this memoir. The book is a pretty quick read at about 250 pages, which are grouped into eight sections of loosely related reflections. With 46 chapters, none of them is more than a few pages long. The most extensive chapter is the one dealing with her 2010 appearance on Saturday Night Live, and even that is not quite ten pages long and includes several photos.

Of course, every chapter has at least one accompanying photo, and there’s a blank page following each chapter, plus a separate page for section headings, so what you’re really getting are fewer than 150 pages of actual text. The tone is very conversational; you feel like you are just sitting down for an afternoon with Betty and she is relating some of the stories of her life as they come to her. I haven’t read any of her other books, so I can’t say whether this is the way they all are, but it works pretty well. It just feels a bit like we’re only scratching the surface because she’s barely begun to discuss a topic before she’s moved on to the next one.

The timeliest section is the one that prompted the writing of this book. Hollywood Stories discusses Hot in Cleveland, The Proposal, The Lost Valentine and the immensely popular Snickers Super Bowl commercial that prompted the Facebook campaign that led to her co-hosting of Saturday Night Live. Through all her successes, she maintains a humble attitude, repeatedly saying what a joy it is to be able to do something she loves for a living and to make enough money at it to feed her other passions. She never seems to forget that hers is a life that many would love to have.

She reveals nothing shocking in her recollections. This memoir is as courteous as Donny Osmond’s, and she spends no time spewing venom on anyone. She seems to go out of her way to see the good in people. For instance, in one chapter, she discusses film projects she declined because they contained scenes she found distasteful. However, she also indicates that the writers who penned the offending screenplays are very talented. She comes across as a woman of both integrity and tact.

Perhaps the most interesting revelation for me was that she never wanted to go into show business as a child. Instead, it was always her dream to become a park ranger or a zookeeper. This love of animals permeates the book at all turns, whether she is recalling memorable encounters with creatures like Koko the gorilla and Beethoven the beluga, discussing the idiosyncrasies of her beloved pets or confiding the comfort she has derived on set from fans who bring their dogs to meet her. While she has glowing remarks to make about many colleagues and friends, not to mention her adored late husband, she admits that she has always felt more comfortable in the presence of furry companions.

This is a very lightweight book, but it really is a delight to read. From her self-effacing comments about her struggles with stage fright and connecting faces with names to her fond memories of her parents and her easy-going attitude about approaching 90, If You Ask Me is relentlessly cheerful, almost inevitably provoking a sense of uplift. Betty White is an American icon and a very considerate woman, and if you ask me, her words are well worth reading.

Donny Osmond Bares His Soul in Life Is Just What You Make It

It’s no secret that I love Donny Osmond, and this year it was even more transparent than usual since he was on Dancing With the Stars and hence a more natural topic of conversation. Still, it caught me by surprise when my friend Libbie handed me his memoir, Life Is Just What You Make It: My Story So Far. For one thing, I had no idea he’d written a book, nor did I realize quite how much I’d evidently been gushing about Donny. But now I was about to get his life’s story.

The funny thing about my fondness for Donny is that it doesn’t begin with his child star or teen dream days. Well, maybe that’s not so funny, since I was born during his career slump and he didn’t bounce back until I was nearing double digits. Still, it seems strange to me that prior to reading this book, my only familiarity with his early life as an Osmond Brother was watching the miniseries about his family. I don’t think I’ve ever listened to an Osmond Brothers album. I mean to amend that soon.

No, while I was familiar with the name, I thought of him mostly as a television personality, especially once The Donny and Marie Show started again and I was subjected to Richard Simmons screaming their names several times a day on those endless commercials. But then along came Mulan and the exceptional I’ll Make a Man Out of You, and I realized what an amazing singer Donny is. And not so long after that, I saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat on PBS, and while the entire production dazzled me, it was his performance that really caught my attention, especially during the show-stopping Close Ev’ry Door. To this day, I’ve seen few performances to match the purity and sincerity of Donny singing what is probably my favorite Andrew Lloyd Weber song. (One of those, Ryan Kelly’s cover of Desperado, so enchanted me in part because it reminded me of Donny’s delivery of Close Ev’ry Door, as well as my dazed reaction.)

My Story So Far covers all of that territory, from before Donny joined the family group to after Joseph aired. Written with Patricia Romanowski, it’s a fascinating peek into the dynamics of a family who would build a media empire, only to see it crash and have to build it up again, stronger than ever. One of the endearing things about Donny is that he comes across as such a genuinely nice guy, and this book does absolutely nothing to disavow that notion. He seems incapable of truly trashing somebody; any time he expresses dissatisfaction with some element of someone’s personality, he tempers that criticism with praise of another aspect. He finds kind things to say about all sorts of people, from shock-jock Howard Stern to the group of teenagers who heckled him after a performance during his less popular years. He speaks frequently of his commitment to his Mormon faith, which helps inform many of his attitudes and habits, from abstaining from alcohol and profanity to simply being polite at every opportunity. This makes his book a refreshingly G-rated read.

One aspect of the book that I found particularly poignant in light of his death last year is that, particularly when speaking about the early days of the group, Donny compares himself to Michael Jackson. He says how he used to think that Michael was probably about the only other person on the planet who really understood what it was like to be him. Both were seventh in a line of nine children. Both joined their brothers’ groups and found themselves taking over the spotlight. They had to deal with fame from an early age and spent most of their free time practicing under the eyes of very demanding fathers. While I’ve always had a pretty negative impression of Joe Jackson, Donny presents George Osmond in a mostly positive light. It seems that he was an exacting taskmaster, but he never crossed the line into abuse like the Jackson patriarch did. Donny fondly remembers the few times when they got together as children, recalling Michael as sweet, shy and simply grateful to be able to have some normal kid time with a boy around his own age. It’s interesting to see the parallels between these two lives - strange to think how normal and well-adjusted Donny ended up being, while poor Michael, for all his talent, seemed to have little concept of how to operate in the real world.

Donny has plenty to say about many others in the music and television business as well. It’s dizzying to think of how many different people he has worked with on one project or another, from Andy Williams and Jerry Lewis to Groucho Marx and Rosie O’Donnell. But he speaks most often about his brothers, as well as his sister Marie, for whom he reserves special affection (and aggravation). Donny reflects on their beginnings as a group and the various ways in which they might have changed direction; he seems to particularly regret that his teen idol image prevented the group from truly branching out into rock and roll. He also discusses the disappointment that followed their concept album’s dismal sales, which he attributes to an excessive focus on its religious element as they promoted it. Considering his dedication to his church, I was a little surprised that he felt this way, but he was frustrated because he found that most of the songs worked on two levels but that there was no opportunity for people to listen to individual tracks from the album in a different way.

My copy of this book includes several chapters that were written a few years after the original edition. In this section, Donny says that his favorite aspect of his book is his discussion of his crippling social phobia, as his experiences have encouraged many others with similar issues to recognize that they are not alone and to get help. It’s strange to think of a man who’s been performing since the age of six freezing onstage as an adult, let alone going into a panic at the thought of returning an unwanted item to the store, but he candidly recounts this painful aspect of his life, which he overcame with lots of help from his beloved wife Debbie and his psychotherapist, Dr. Jerilyn Ross, who died earlier this month.

I can’t help wondering whether another edition of his autobiography is soon to be forthcoming, now that he’s been crowned Dancing With the Stars champion for the fall of 2009. Or perhaps that experience could be the beginning of a new book, because Donny, no doubt, has many adventures ahead of him, and I look forward to reading about them all.

Dewey Will Make You Wish Your Library Had a Cat

When I was in elementary school, a cat with several newborn kittens turned up in the storm well one night. One of the employees took her in, and while the kittens eventually moved on to other homes, the mother, dubbed Stormy, stayed. She spent most of her time in quiet spots like the parlor or the chapel, but if the classroom doors were open, we never knew when she might pop by for a visit. We all agreed that it was pretty cool that our school had its very own cat.

I've been thinking about Stormy lately because I just read Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World, written by head librarian Vicki Myron with the help of Bret Witter. My grandma read this book last year and, knowing what a sucker I am for a good animal story, she heartily recommended it. It took me a while to get around to it, but I picked it up from my own (sadly catless) library a few weeks ago and delved into the story of this unusual feline.

While Stormy had short hair and was gray with white patches, Dewey was a long-haired orange tabby. Every chapter includes a black-and-white photo of the cat in various positions around the library, but the cover features Dewey in full color. His coat looks so fluffy I have to fight the impulse to reach over and stroke his fur, and he sits in a dignified position, amber eyes gazing placidly out at the world. Dewey came to the library via a book drop when he was only a few weeks old, and the scraggly waif seemed unlikely to pull through at first, but as he battled through those first difficult days, he won the hearts of the library staff, especially Myron, who championed the idea of him remaining as a library mascot.

This book chronicles Dewey's life from his startling late-night arrival at the library in Spencer, Iowa, in January of 1988 to his death at the ripe old age of 19. Over the course of 27 chapters, Myron spills out her life story along with Dewey's and also provides ample background on the history of her little town and its hardscrabble residents. For those reading purely out of interest in the cat, it may be a tad tiresome to go for a chapter or two at a time with only a cursory mention of him. But Dewey's story is inextricably linked with Myron's, and both are tied in with the legacy of the city, so these side trips are generally rewarding, and I suspect that's especially the case for those who knew Dewey first-hand.

The book has a folksy, down-to-earth style that often gives off the impression of a neighbor standing outside, chatting over the fence. Myron tends to repeat herself, simply because there are only so many ways to emphasize that Dewey was an extraordinary cat and that he changed many lives, especially in Spencer. I get the sense that this is mostly her, with Witter smoothing out the edges of her writing and helping it take narrative shape.

Myron obviously is no impartial observer, and her air of maternal pride is so strong that I imagine her driving around town with a bumper sticker reading "My Cat Is an Honor Student at..." Well, no, not quite that, but you get the idea. So it's easy to chalk some of her reflections up to typical pet owner's pride. Nonetheless, people traveled from all over the country, and sometimes even overseas, to see Dewey, and dozens of publications ran articles about him. So it's pretty clear that there was, indeed, something special about him. Above all else, Dewey was gregarious, always right in the thick of things, making his presence known to library patrons and brightening the days of cat lovers of all ages, even if they didn't realize they were cat lovers until he turned up.

Dewey is the story of a cat and a community, and of the librarian who dearly loved both. If you've ever wished for a feline companion to help you browse through the bookshelves, chances are you'll find the story of Dewey just purr-fect.

The President's Puppy: Lincoln From a Dog's Eye View

Ever since Barack Obama's Election Day promise to buy his daughters a puppy, there's been a lot of speculation as to what type of pup might have the honor of being First Dog. Presidential pets are nothing new; according to Wikipedia, only Chester A. Arthur had no pets at all during his stay in the White House, and all but ten Presidents had dogs there. That includes Abraham Lincoln, who adopted a dog named Jip after he got to the White House, but he also left a dog behind in Springfield, fearing the journey and change of surroundings would prove too traumatic. That dog was Fido, the subject of The President's Puppy, a level four Hello Reader! written by Linda Oatman High and illustrated by Steve Bjorkman.

This is an easy reader designed for second and third graders, so the sentence structure tends to be pretty basic, and there's quite a bit of repetition along the lines of Fido did this or He did that. This gives the story a slightly truncated feel. The writing is informative but not particularly engrossing. The illustrations, meanwhile, are a cartoonish sort of realistic and remind me of Sucie Stevenson's pictures for the Henry and Mudge series.

The book is written in the third person but lets readers into Fido's head as the author imagines how the dog would respond to his family life in Illinois and the change in his circumstances after Lincoln's election to the presidency. Among the more interesting tidbits are Lincoln's habit of going to Billy the Barber's and Diller's Drugstore (with Fido in tow) and his gift of Fido's favorite sofa to the neighbors who took him in. There's also the fact that the Lincolns had a photograph taken of Fido before they left for Washington, D.C.; the book doesn't mention this, but it was the first known photo of a presidential pet.

Though the book concludes with President Lincoln's assassination, it fails to mention the death of Willie Lincoln, who figures prominently in the first portion of the book. Perhaps High didn't want the book to get too depressing; I certainly don't blame her for leaving out the fact that Fido's life ended in 1866 when he was stabbed by a drunk. Still, there are certain elements that could have been expanded upon, and the title is misleading, as Fido was several years old in 1860.

The President's Puppy is an interesting little slice of history. By describing his dog, which did many of the same things any typical dog would do (chase his tail, have his ears scratched, play in the leaves, steal food off the table), High helps make Lincoln seem more accessible to modern youngsters. For a much more in-depth look at how Lincoln related to animals, I recommend Ellen Jackson's Abe Lincoln Loved Animals, but The President's Puppy is a good starting point.

Abe Lincoln's Stepmother and Others Helped Him to Stand Tall

I'm a big fan of the show LOST, which has always explored the impact that accidental interactions can have upon a life. Events on the island itself are being increasingly revisited, allowing viewers to examine their importance. What were the turning points in these castaways' lives, on the island and off?

Author Judith St. George is very interested in "turning points" as they apply to U.S. Presidents. In Stand Tall, Abe Lincoln, she focuses on the childhood of the sixteenth President, trying to determine what some of his most formative moments may have been. Matt Faulkner furnished the gouache illustrations, which are full two-page spreads in a caricature style similar to that of C. F. Payne, who used to do the back-cover pictures for Reader's Digest.

The book is divided into six chapters of six to eight pages, with about a dozen solid paragraphs for each chapter, taking Lincoln through adolescence. The narrative itself only hints at the accomplishments and attitudes that would mark his adulthood, while a biographical sketch in the back provides a basic outline, leaving out any mention of his wife and sons. By contrast, his childhood family is of the utmost significance here.

I've always been fascinated by Lincoln, and St. George offers details I can't remember coming across before, though they're so noteworthy I'm surprised more books haven't mentioned them. For instance, when he was three, his baby brother Thomas died when he was a only few days old. A couple years later, he had a beloved pet pig that his father slaughtered. Shortly before his mother died of milk sickness, his aunt and uncle, who had recently moved to Indiana, died of the same disease, and their teenage son moved in with the Lincolns. He endured many difficult times.

But more positive events also shaped him. He went to school at the age of six, where he learned to read and made his first friend, who rescued him from potential drowning in a turbulent creek. When he was eleven, though he hadn't had formal schooling in years, he helped his neighbors read and write mail and discovered that most of them had suffered as deeply as he had. Of all the events in his young life, St. George seems to place the most emphasis upon the arrival of his stepmother Sally, who brought books and was tireless in her efforts to provide for his education.

This is one of the wordier picture book biographies of Lincoln I've read, though the illustrations are an integral part of the tale. Faulkner's characters are very expressive, his backgrounds evocative. I especially like his depiction of the Lincolns' arrival in Indiana. I'd recommend Stand Tall, Abe Lincoln for children ten and up because of its length and its fairly stark examination of his boyhood tragedies. It's a fascinating account acknowledging that it takes many steps to reach great heights.

Kay Winters Shows That Literacy Is Power in Abe Lincoln: The Boy Who Loved Books

When I was growing up, I was always reading. I learned how to do it when I was four, and from then on, I carried a book with me wherever I went. This love of literacy is something I have in common with my favorite President, Abraham Lincoln. In Abe Lincoln: The Boy Who Loved Books, Kay Winters explores his lifelong passion for reading, while Nancy Carpenter's oil paintings show how that drive helped him at various stages of his life.

The bulk of the book's focus is on Lincoln's childhood; the first 30 pages take him up to the age of 19, while the next eight carry him through to the Presidency. The back contains a biographical note of several paragraphs touching on the Civil War and Lincoln's death, but the main portion leaves readers with a picture of the President reading a book at his desk by a roaring fireplace and the concluding sentence, "He learned the power of words and used them well." Thus, the book isn't about Lincoln's accomplishments as President, it's about the way his literacy put him on a path to attain the Presidency as he discovered "words could change the way folks thought."

Winters' words are presented in non-rhyming poetic stanzas. There is beauty in the way she chooses to phrase her thoughts. Throughout the book, she includes various intriguing asides - that he lived in little more than a lean-to for a time when he was seven; that he whittled pegs for his mother's coffin; that he once walked miles to return six cents after accidentally overcharging a customer at his general store. But reading or writing come into play on almost every page, as Carpenter sometimes amusingly illustrates, particularly in a two-page spread showing the teenage Lincoln reading while doing a variety of chores.

While there are many aspects of Lincoln's life that The Boy Who Loved Books doesn't mention - even Mary Todd and their sons only pop up in the biographical note - the narrow focus is a nice angle to take and one to which children can relate well. I think perhaps Winters could have spent a bit more time on Lincoln's adult life, particularly since the four pages dealing with his stint at the general store don't fit very firmly with the theme. On the whole, however, it's a very effective tale, lovingly written and designed to help children appreciate not only Lincoln but the value of books, words and letters.

I'd recommend it mostly for children in the 8 to 12 range, though older Lincoln enthusiasts will find value in it, and it might make a good read-aloud for slightly younger children. It deals with dark subjects like the death of Lincoln's mother and his observation of a slave auction without being too grim, and its warm illustrations are a perfect complement to Winter's writing, which aptly demonstrates the power of words.

Grace's Gumption Is Rewarded in Mr. Lincoln's Whiskers

I'm rather fond of writing letters to famous people. I've written to authors, actors, musicians and even a U.S. President. But the President I really would have loved to write predated me by more than a century. I didn't get that chance, but 11-year-old Grace Bedell did, and the brief correspondence between this Westfield, NY, girl and soon-to-be-elected Abraham Lincoln encourages children to express their ideas and not to let anyone convince them their thoughts are of little importance.

In Mr. Lincoln's Whiskers, Karen B. Winnick depicts Grace as a young woman passionate about politics. After her father returns from a trip and brings her a poster of Lincoln, she studies his picture and decides that he would look much better with a beard. Having heard one of her brothers putting Lincoln down, she wants to do what she can to assist with his campaign, so she writes to him suggesting he adopt facial hair. Not only does she receive a response, she has the opportunity to see Lincoln when his train heading from Springfield, IL, to Washington, D.C. stops in Westfield, and he has a surprise in store for her...

Winnick's oil paintings are realistic and full of details of life in 1860. I especially like the painting of Mr. Bedell's horse-drawn carriage standing in the shadow of autumn trees and of Grace snuggling under a patchwork quilt, a little doll on her bed and a big dog underneath it. The best picture, however, is saved for last, when Grace actually meets almost-President Lincoln and savors the feel of his newly grown "whiskers" as he kisses her on the cheek.

This book includes the entire text of Lincoln's response to Grace, most notably the playful and misleading, "As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of silly affection if I were to begin it now?" Grace's letter is slightly abridged, with details that have no relevance to the book omitted. Copies of both letters are included in the back of the book, so readers can puzzle over both Bedell and Lincoln's handwriting.

In subsequent years, Lincoln's beard would become a physical characteristic as striking as his height. Like William Riker, the second-in-command on Star Trek: The Next Generation, Abraham Lincoln gained a much more authoritative look when he had a few whiskers to flesh out his face. They didn't make him a better president, but they did make him seem more distinguished.

Winnick tells her story in short paragraphs set in white text boxes against the full-page illustrations. Most of the tale is told in dialogue as Grace discusses the upcoming election and its aftermath with her parents and brothers. Mr. Lincoln's Whiskers would be a great book to read to a grade school class as part of a study on Lincoln or a letter-writing project. Who knows what impact those children's words might have?

Nancy Hanks: Kentucky Girl Offers Insight Into Lincoln's "Angel Mother"

"All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." So said Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth President of the United States. Though Nancy Hanks Lincoln died when her son was only nine years old, she had a profound impact upon his life, which makes her a fascinating subject of historical study. Though I can't remember a time when I wasn't intrigued by Abraham Lincoln, my knowledge of his mother's life was pretty limited until I recently read Nancy Hanks: Kentucky Girl, written by Augusta Stevenson and illustrated by Gray Morrow.

This 200-page book is part of the series Childhood of Famous Americans, which includes dozens of simple biographies of historical figures. When I checked this book out of the library, the librarian gushed, "Oh, I loved these books when I was growing up! I must have read them all!" Seeing this musty volume which had been tucked away at an outlying branch brought back all sorts of memories for her and encouraged me that this would be an engaging read.

The first thing I noticed about the book was the large print, which reminded me of those kiddie adaptations of classic novels that I used to find at the dollar store. There are 14 chapters, most of which include at least one illustration taking up all or most of the page. These pictures use a color palette of either bronze or crimson; they're not very colorful, but they're effective at dramatizing important scenes.

The book is a fairly breezy read. The chapters are lengthy enough that you could read one at a time and feel as though you'd consumed something substantial but short enough that you could read the whole book in one setting pretty easily. It took me about three hours. Stevenson's primary source of information is Nancy Hanks Lincoln: A Frontier Portrait, written by Harold and Ernestine Briggs. Her book is written with an immediacy that makes it read more like a novel than a biography. The chapters tend to be dialogue-heavy and keep most of the focus on Nancy and her young friends and cousins.

Among the interesting tidbits I picked up about the future Mrs. Lincoln were the following. Nancy lacked formal schooling but was passionate about literacy. She had a gift for storytelling. She loved animals and was especially fond of replicating the calls of birds. She had an eye for details, and her keen observations were sometimes very helpful to others. She demonstrated her commitment to compassion and honesty in sometimes dramatic ways.

There's nothing especially striking about the writing style. It feels a little old-fashioned, particularly in terms of certain word choices Stevenson makes, but by no means is it too antiquated to be accessible to modern-day youngsters - or not-so-youngsters like me who could use a quick overview of the life of a woman who helped shape a legendary leader. A woman who first was a girl who faced a unique set of challenges but whose personality was not so different than many a modern child.

A section in the back relates events in Nancy's life with historical benchmarks. It also suggests relevant activities such as building a cardboard pioneer settlement or learning some songs that Nancy and her friends may have sung when they were growing up. There's a list of other books focusing on Lincoln, his mother and their times, and a glossary of unusual words finishes out the book. This book would fit in wonderfully in an elementary school library or classroom; I can so clearly picture it on the bookshelves in my fifth grade class that I wonder whether it was actually there - though if it had been, I can't imagine that I wouldn't have read it. If I had, I would have gained just a little more insight into my favorite president and a deeper appreciation of the mentors who were so instrumental in shaping his life.

I'm thinking a lot about Abraham Lincoln these days. He's always been a favorite historical figure, and because we happen to share a birthday, whenever mine rolls around I 'm inclined to think about his too. This year is especially significant. February 12, 2009 marks his 200th birthday, and in celebration I'll be spending the month reading up on Lincoln, watching movies about him and doing whatever I can to study this man and contemplate his legacy. I invite my fellow members to join me by submitting one or several reviews on the subject of Lincoln. Books are particularly fertile ground; they number in the hundreds. But that's hardly the only relevant category. I hope to post reviews in Movies, Music, Kids and Family and Travel, and there are all sorts of possibilities. The Lincoln link doesn't have to be overt; there should just be some sort of connection. And I welcome Writer's Corner posts as well. If anyone would like to join in my Lincoln's 200th Birthday Bash, please leave me a comment or drop me an e-mail and I'll link you up. Happy February!

Steve and Me: A Loving Tribute to the Crocodile Hunter

Last year, I awoke the morning of September 4 in a motel room, having attended my cousin's wedding the previous day. Drowsily preparing for the trip home and reflecting on this time of new beginnings, I was jolted from my reverie by the sober words of a news anchor. Steve Irwin, otherwise known as the Crocodile Hunter, was dead. Though I'd long suspected that the seemingly reckless abandon with which Stevo embraced the world's most dangerous creatures might eventually be his undoing, he'd dodged deadly injuries on so many occasions that I had begun to regard him as indestructible. I shook whispers of inevitability from my mind as I stared at the screen in mute shock, devastated at the loss of such a vibrant, passionate individual, a man who crammed more living into each and every day than most of us manage in a lifetime, who committed himself wholeheartedly to preserving the world's wildest places and most misunderstood species. John Denver and Rubeus Hagrid rolled into one. What a guy.

Because I only get basic cable, I never watched as much of Crocodile Hunter as I wanted to, usually only catching it at my grandparents'. I realized after his death that I wasn't really familiar with his wife Terri at all, though she was an integral part of his show. When I watched her interview with Barbara Walters last fall, I was mightily impressed with her warmth and passion, her kindness and intelligence. This year, I caught her again on Good Morning America, and when I learned that the reason for this interview was the publication of a memoir recalling her life with her husband, Steve and Me became a top priority on my reading list.

Terri doesn't put on any airs in her book. She writes from the heart, and a sense of profound conviction pervades each page as she invites readers to share in the exhilaration of her fateful love-at-first-sight meeting with Steve, the wonder of their outback expeditions together, the setbacks they faced and triumphs they achieved in their determination to live as "wildlife warriors". I already had a big soft spot for Steve before I read the book, but within the first few pages, I'd fallen head over heels in love with the guy, utterly enraptured by Terri's dizzying descriptions. As the book progressed, she continually demonstrated what an outstanding individual Steve really was: courageous, driven, emotionally open, hilarious, hard-working, utterly devoted to his family and his cause.

While Terri, aside from some ill-advised reptile wrangling while great with child, seems to have been a bit more level-headed than Steve, her passion for conservation clearly runs just as deep. In fact, their initial meeting came about while she was on a trip to Australia to discuss placing cougars, threatened in her native Oregon, in zoos there. Steve's reptile park was tiny at the time, and it certainly wasn't the sort of place that would house cougars, but Terri believes that destiny drew her that day to the man she would marry. What followed were fifteen years of partnership, of palpable love and respect. Maybe Terri slipped on the rose-colored glasses in the wake of her husband's death, but it certainly seems as though the two were soul mates and enjoyed as successful a marriage as any couple could hope for, an especially impressive feat once The Crocodile Hunter brought the limelight and public scrutiny.

The Irwins certainly had their share of difficulties - financial limitations in the early days, the ever-present danger of Steve's work that led to many injuries, stretches of time away from each other, the particularly painful sudden death of Steve's mother in 2000 and outcry over Steve's decision to include his infant son Bob in one of his crocodile shows - but they faced them together. Back when Terri and Steve first met, she couldn't imagine uprooting herself to relocate in a strange land across the world, but when their whirlwind romance led to a comically casual proposal, she knew there could only be one answer. The epigraph of Ruth 1:16 - the "your people shall be my people" speech - sets the tone for the book perfectly, hinting at Terri's deep faith and her absolute devotion to Steve and willingness to completely change her life for him.

Throughout the 19-chapter book, she repeatedly notes that whenever she and Steve were together, she had a sense that nothing could harm either of them. Apart, there was vulnerability. Every time she reiterates that conviction, it takes readers one step closer to the tragic conclusion, and I got the impression she was working through some guilt over having passed Steve up on his suggestion that she, Bindi and little Bob postpone a planned skiing trip by a couple of days in order to extend their own family vacation together. If they had, they would have been with him the day he died, and perhaps things would have played out differently. He might not have had the encounter with the stingray at all.

But Steve never thought he would pass the age of 40. He was convinced he was going to die young, which was part of the reason he was so determined to squeeze every last bit of living out of his time. It also was one of the reasons he was so anxious to have children; he hoped they could carry on his legacy, just as he had done for his parents. Bindi, only eight at the time of his death, has already taken up the challenge, spreading the conservationist message through her show Bindi the Jungle Girl.

This is a powerful book. I laughed many times as Terri described some of her outlandish adventures with Steve, whose sense of humor kept him always at the ready for a little mischief. I remember one of the moments that stood out in the interview with Barbara Walters was when Terri said what she missed most about her husband was that he was fun. That clearly shines through in this book, and the included photographs illustrate his zest for life. In the acknowledgements, Terri reveals that she cut about 700 pages from her first draft. I can't help but wonder what fantastic stories we're missing out on; maybe she should write a sequel!

In Steve and Me, we get a portrait of a vivacious man who adored his family and who felt called to the purpose of protecting some of the world's most maligned creatures. Steve inspired millions of people with his passion for wildlife. Terri's tireless efforts, including writing this ode to their life together, ensure that his work continues.

For information on how to be a Wildlife Warrior, visit www.wildlifewarriors.org.

When the Princess Dies, The Queen is Thrown Into Crisis

My parents grew up in the turbulent sixties, when tragedies such as the deaths of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. seemed to occur with alarming frequency, riveting a nation whenever they did. By the time I came along in 1981, things had settled down somewhat, so there are few single newsworthy events from the last two decades of the 20th century that stand out in my memory. The death of Princess Diana is one of those. I couldn't ever remember having seen so many people so overwhelmed with anguish, and though I hadn't previously paid that much attention to the affairs of the royals, I found myself very emotionally involved. I suspect that was the case for many.

Now that a decade has passed, a film about the extraordinary events of that week can be viewed with some detachment, though I was flooded with memories as I watched The Queen, the drama about how stodgy Queen Elizabeth II (Helen Mirren) and freshly minted Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen) dealt with the unprecedented outpouring of grief over the terrible accident. The movie utilizes clips of press coverage from the time but mostly focuses on what was happening behind the scenes.

Mirren gives a wonderfully understated performance as the queen who helped bring her country through World War II and has remained a dignified and intelligent figurehead all these decades later. Initially, she comes across as unreasonably stiff, but she soon becomes a laudable figure struggling to remain relevant in a rapidly changing world. And she's not all starch and pomp, either; I was surprised to see her driving a sporty vehicle and tromping around in the countryside with her dogs. In the end, the portrait we get of the queen is a very sympathetic one, despite her sometimes frustrating degree of restraint.

Tony Blair comes off even better, and while Sheen doesn't look all that much like him, he captures his energy and optimism. We watch him try to come to terms with the monarchy's lack of interest in engaging with the public during what he increasingly perceives as a national crisis. Though he desperately wants the queen to acknowledge the mood of the country, he is disgusted by the way the people have turned on their monarch, slamming her in all of the papers. Even his wife (Helen McCrory) rarely has a kind word for her, speaking of her much like Mrs. Cratchit speaks of Ebenezer Scrooge. Indeed, of all the characters featured in prominence, she came across as the least likable, always sniping about something. It was not a flattering portrayal.

Prince Philip (James Cromwell), meanwhile, was presented as a cantankerous old grump, but one can hardly blame him; if the queen feels like an anachronism, poor Prince Philip must feel downright invisible most of the time. While I merely found Cherie Blair obnoxious, the prince was somehow endearing in the midst of all his grumbling, partly because I've loved Cromwell ever since Babe, partly because it's obvious that he cares deeply about his family, even if he has a hard time openly displaying his emotions.

Prince Charles (Alex Jennings), deeply bereaved despite the dissolution of his marriage to Diana a year earlier, seems like a lost little boy attempting, in the midst of his own sorrow, to address the needs of his people and to assert himself to his authoritarian mother, while the queen's advisor, Robert Janvrin (Roger Allam), gradually comes to understand that on this matter, the queen's instincts may not serve her as well as they usually do. Meanwhile, the feisty Queen Mum (Sylvia Sims) observes all the goings-on, and as she complains that no one ever lets her know what's happening, she completes the family dynamic and it's easy to see the Windsors are not so different from the rest of us after all.

This is a beautiful film that offers an intimate look at a private family in the public eye. Long live The Queen!

Miss Potter: Long Before Harry, Beatrix Wove Her Magic

Over the summer, I was chatting with my grandma, and she told me that she had just seen a wonderful movie by the name of Miss Potter and that I really ought to check it out when I got the chance. As it happened, I already had intended to investigate the biopic of Beatrix Potter, who's been a favorite of mine since I was introduced to Peter Rabbit as a tender toddler, but the endorsement of my grandma, who rarely enjoys movies, made me even more intrigued. Now that I've finally watched it, I can emphatically echo her opinion.

Miss Potter, written by Richard Maltby Jr. and directed by Chris Noonan, introduces us to the lively, delightfully eccentric Beatrix (Renee Zellweger) as a woman in her early thirties who still lives with her encouraging father (Bill Patterson) and restrictive mother (Barbara Flynn), who insists she be accompanied constantly by an elderly chaperone. As the film opens, Beatrix's only friends are imaginary, an assortment of charming rabbits, ducks and other domestic farm animals that will look familiar to anyone who ever picked up one of her tiny volumes. We see them as she does, not relegated to the page as she has arranged them but taking on lives of their own, blinking their bright little eyes, twitching their wispy whiskers, waddling across the page with a cheeky flap of the wings. These characters become real to her, and she is determined to let the rest of the world fall in love with them as well.

Her task is not initially an easy one. Though she has honed her skills as an artist and storyteller for years, as we see in flashbacks to a childhood spent blissfully roaming the English countryside and entertaining her brother Bertram (Oliver Jenkins) with fanciful tales, her classic story about Peter Rabbit is met with a sniff and a sneer when she approaches the stuffy Warne brothers, Harold (Anton Lesser) and Fruing (David Bamber), about the possibility of publication. However, timing works to her favor, as their idealistic younger brother Norman (Ewan McGregor) has stated his desire to join the family business and they need a throwaway project to give him, since they doubt he will distinguish himself as a publisher.

Thus, a perfect partnership is born. For Norman sees all the enchantment in Beatrix's work that his brothers miss, and he intends to prove them wrong about the "bunny book" they would have cast aside. As the business relationship blooms into friendship, Norman introduces her to his mother (Phyllida Law), who is startled by Beatrix's spunk but taken with her nonetheless, and his sister Millie (Emily Watson), a free thinker who revels in her lack of romantic attachments and soon becomes Beatrix's closest friend. Meanwhile, Norman enthusiastically encourages Beatrix to write more stories for publication, and in her continued acquaintance with the gentle, exuberant young publisher, Beatrix begins to rethink her staunch stance on the virtues of spinsterhood...

I confess that I'm not always such a fan of Zellweger, but perhaps it's not so much her as the characters she has portrayed. I found whiny, petulant Bridget Jones hard to handle, and I saw nothing lovable about Chicago's dastardly, manipulative Roxy Hart. But I loved her role as the uncouth but hard-working and gutsy Ruby Thewes in Cold Mountain, and she's equally enjoyable here as the much primmer but no less spirited Beatrix.

Funnily enough, her living situation reminds me of that of Shannon Christie in Far and Away, portrayed by Cold Mountain star Nicole Kidman. She's a modern young woman at the turn of the century being held back by the societal expectations of her high-class mother, while her father is more understanding of her dreams. In fact, Mr. Potter once wanted to be an artist himself but never pursued it because it was not deemed respectable, so he appreciates Beatrix's artistry and helps her to nourish it, though he still is none too keen on the idea of her courting a tradesman, especially after she rejected so many upper-class suitors that her mother hand-selected.

McGregor is predictably endearing from the moment we meet Norman, with his eyes twinkling underneath his hat and his mustache extending to his deep-set dimples as he flashes a dazzling grin. Norman, as it happens, has a much better head for the publishing business than his fusty brothers suspect, but otherwise he has little in common with them. While it's hard to imagine them as carefree young lads, Norman obviously has retained his sense of childlike wonder, and what a happy gift that is to the world! I adore him every bit as much as I do Beatrix, particularly in a giddy yet vulnerable Christmastime scene that allows him to make use of his excellent singing voice with a fanciful original tune by Bright Eyes songwriter Mike Batt that is sung more completely by the ethereal Katie Melua over the closing credits.

Yes, Miss Potter is a love story, and a crackin' good one at that. But more than that, it's the story of one marvelously imaginative young woman's insistence upon embracing life's joys and sharing them with others, even in the midst of her own sorrows. Because as heart-warming and exhilarating as the film is, it's also tinged with tragedy. That Beatrix took the trials life handed her and transformed them into opportunities to bestow lasting beauty upon the world, not only through her beloved books but through her tireless conservation efforts in England's Lake District, beautifully preserved on film through Andrew Dunn's shimmery cinematography, is a true testament to her spirit.

Anyone who's ever smiled at the antics of Jemima Puddle-Duck, Jeremy Fisher or especially Peter Rabbit will love this story of how they were born. Wholesome and prickling with the best sort of enchantment, Miss Potter is pure magic.

Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue: A Slice of Musical History That Won't Make You Blue

I have an aunt who is known by many as "the book woman". An elementary school teacher for many years, she works in a hundred-year-old independent bookstore, and an entire room of her house is devoted to a carefully catalogued selection of children's books, many of which have been lent out on a number of occasions. Over the years, she's doled out prime advice on what books to look into. On the strength of her recommendation, I read Holes and got hooked on A Series of Unfortunate Events, and I opened birthday packages containing The Giver and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, which were definitely gifts that kept on giving. At Christmas, my cousins and I are all likely to open a book from her, usually a lavishly illustrated picture book that we can pass around so everybody can enjoy it before we go our separate ways.

This year's was Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, written by Anna Harwell Celenza and JoAnn E. Kitchel. Celenza did a book signing at her store, so this came with the added bonus of an autograph: "To Erin, May your days be filled with lots of 'swell' piano music! Anne H. Celenza." Though I'd never heard of it before - which usually is the case with my aunt's offerings - the book is a great fit for me because it's about a piano player (of which I am one, though certainly nowhere in Gershwin's league), it's about the creation of a work of art (a process with which I am intimately familiar as a writer) and the culminating event occurs on my birthday, February 12th.

This book reminds me of The Night Henry Ford Met Santa, which I read shortly before Christmas. Though that account is more fanciful, delving quite obviously into the realm of fiction, its primary purpose is to get kids excited about a particular historical figure - Henry Ford. This book wants to foster enthusiasm about George Gershwin and his famous concerto. It does so by presenting George as an ordinary guy with a problem. His buddy Paul believes in him so much that he has announced in the newspaper, for all to read, that the centerpiece of his next concert will be a brand-new jazz concerto written by George. Only trouble is that he hasn't starting writing a concerto, and the concert is only a few weeks away!

The book chronicles George's struggles to come up with an appropriate piece, after he has reluctantly agreed to furnish one. Initially, inspiration seems utterly out of reach. Listening to his favorite composers, buying a new pen and fresh paper, taking a leisurely walk through a pristine, snow-covered Central Park... Nothing seems to help. But then a trip on a train lights a spark, and soon George is hearing the music all around him and frantically working to jot it all down and tie it together with the perfect, elusive theme.

Can he finish in time? Will the concerto be a success? The answers are easy to guess at, given that this is one of the most famous pieces of instrumental music of the 20th century. But it's fun to see it all come together, and to watch as Gershwin's audience listens to the masterpiece for the first time. The watercolor illustrations are nice, with a drab sort of feel to most of them, though some effectively convey the kaleidoscope of sights and sounds Gershwin was trying to capture with his composition. A few of the pages feature a border of black with a white design, but most just show a picture without a border, usually depicting lanky, 26-year-old George deep in thought. In the back of the book is a CD containing a performance of Rhapsody in Blue so that readers can hear exactly what Celenza describes.

Because of the book's overt educational intentions, Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue might not appeal to many children right off the bat unless they are musically inclined, but it would be an ideal inclusion in an elementary school course on music, the early twentieth century or writing. In fact, with the potential to inspire so many students, Celenza's book could jazz up just about any classroom.

A Worthy Tribute to Pope John Paul II the Great

A couple years ago, as Catholics around the world were preparing to celebrate Pope John Paul II’s 25th year in the papacy, my dad happened upon Pope John Paul II: A Tribute, published by LIFE magazine on the occasion of the new millennium. He picked it up and brought it home for me, knowing the high esteem in which I held the pontiff. Very soon the magazine racks will be lined with tributes to the third-longest-reigning Pope in the history of Catholicism, and many books will no doubt follow. For the moment, though, I’m glad I have this book to pore over while I reflect on the life of this great man.

The book, which is in the same large format typical of regular issues of the magazine, spans 120 or so pages and five chapters. Its cardstock pages are filled with photographs from the life of Karol Wojtyla; nearly every page features an illustration, and some of these pictures even span two pages. Rather than a detailed account of the most recent Pope’s tenure in the Vatican, the book chronicles his life up to that point, leaving the last two chapters to deal with the most famous portion of his long life.

At the end of every chapter is a two-page spread making note of Popes and other religious figures with special significance in the history of the Church. These aside are a treasure trove for trivia. Some samples: The 20th century’s beloved Pope John XXIII was the second to bear that name, though the original’s reign was not acknowledged, earning him instead the title of antipope, shared by several other pontiffs whose claim to the papacy was disputed. According to legend, the Church was once headed by a woman named Joan, whose femininity was exposed when she went into labor while horseback riding. Pope Leo X had a white elephant that he cherished as a pet and frequently paraded around the city, much to the disgust of contemporary Martin Luther. I found such tidbits fascinating, and the continual reminder of the papacy throughout history gave me more cause to ponder the historical legacy of Pope John Paul II.

The first chapter in the book deals with Wojtyla as a child and young adult. It begins in 1999, chronicling one of the Pope’s last visits to his homeland, including a trip to the house where he grew up in the town of Wadowice. Author Robert Sullivan takes the reader from the Pope’s fond recollection of those bygone days into that time when he was just a little boy known by the nickname Lolek. Even from those early days, it seemed he was special, though few could have predicted just how important he would eventually become. There’s something very encouraging in the realization that this future Pope was a fairly normal child. More gifted and compassionate than most, perhaps, but enjoying a number of activities typical of youngsters. He was especially fond of soccer, skiing and hiking; his passion for the outdoors would endure throughout his life, as would his flair for drama and poetry. In fact, Sullivan tells us he had originally intended to study drama, a plan that would fall through with the advent of the Nazi invasion and the closing of his university. By his early 20s, he’d lost his brother and both parents to illness and countless friends, many of them Jewish, to the Nazis.

The second chapter focuses on his journey from clandestine seminarian to bishop. While he studied for the priesthood, aware that all around him clergy and academics were being hauled off to concentration camps, he worked in a quarry and at a chemical plant. The tragedy and cruelty of World War II cemented his sense of purpose in being a priest; the ensuing decades would find him dealing with another oppression, that of communism. He owed much to the mentorship of several clergy, perhaps most of all Cardinal Sapieha, who had him pegged for the priesthood when he saw Wojtyla present an oration in his honor in high school and continued to groom him for greater things in the Church even after his death, passing responsibility of the young cleric to Archbishop Baziak. During these early years, Wojtyla made a reputation for himself as a teacher and speaker and earned the affection of his parishioners and students, whom he often led on theologically-charged nature hikes.

The third chapter follows Wojtyla’s unlikely path to becoming a Cardinal. While it seems the most dangerous times for Wojtyla were during World War II, he continued to face challenges, and that he was able to rise through the ranks to achieve the title of Cardinal essential to be considered for the papacy is a testament to the notion that his election was providential. Communism was increasingly a threat at this point, but he managed to remain active in his ministry in spite of the oppressive government and somehow eluded their radar as a political force to be reckoned with. It was a time of great change in the Church, and his childhood experiences helped inform his insistence on absolving Jews of responsibility in the death of Jesus. He championed his beliefs passionately, revealing an intriguing mix of progressive ideals, such as ecumenism and taking an active role in aiding Third World countries, and conservative values, such as disapproval of divorce and of any actions that deny the sanctity of life – including abortion and birth control. His stance of these subjects and others would remain steady throughout his papacy.

Chapter four discusses the demise of Pope Paul VI and the strange weeks that followed: first the death of Pope John Paul I after barely a month in office, then the election, after much deliberation, of the first non-Italian Pope in 450 years. Most were surprised by the choice, which is hard to imagine for the millions of us who have grown up knowing only this Pope. Clearly, he quickly adapted to the role, using the influence of his position as well as his natural charisma to win over hordes of devout Catholics and, impressively, world leaders with whom he had fundamental disagreements. It’s generally agreed that the fall of communism owes a great deal to Pope John Paul II. His oratorical skill and common touch also aided in making him perhaps the greatest papal “fisher of men” since Peter and probably the most visible man of the century. Traveling as many miles during his 26 years as would be required for a round trip to the moon, he allowed millions of people in dozens of countries to see him in person, while countless others watched him on television. He reached out to the poor, the sick, the disenfranchised… even to the man who nearly succeeded in murdering him in 1981. He remained a formidable force.

Chapter five stands almost as an afterthought, assessing the Pope’s relevance at the turn of the millennium while acknowledging all he accomplished up to that point. Sullivan notes that as the year 2000 neared, he became more beloved but less obeyed. Particularly those in America objected to his doctrines, often too conservative for such a contemporary country. But he stuck to his principles, always speaking out against injustices he saw in the world. In spite of accumulating ailments, the peripatetic Pope continued to preach throughout the world, while begging forgiveness on behalf of the Church for wrongs done in the name of Catholicism over the past two millennia. Perhaps that passion would be the legacy he would leave history to record.

As is typical of LIFE books, half of this tribute is pictorial. Though the fuzzy quality of many of the early photographs is disappointing, that can hardly be helped, and they allow us a glimpse of a very holy man when he was still trying to figure out his direction in life. My favorite pictures are those portraying Wojtyla enjoying the great outdoors or the company of adoring young people. I was surprised to discover that one of my favorite pictures of the Pope, in which he forms eyeglasses with his fingers, is not included; I’m puzzling now over which book I have that includes that candid moment displaying his sense of humor. I get a kick out of the portrait on page 83 of him smiling in African regalia amongst natives on his first tour of that continent and the captured moment on page 60 of him feeding a kangaroo during a pre-papal expedition to Australia, and the serene shot of him reading while reclining amidst lush greenery recalls his fondness for the outdoors and literature and ends the book on a peaceful note.

This is a fine overview of the life of one of the most important figures of the 20th century and one of the greatest Popes in a 2000-year history. For an in-depth understanding of Pope John Paul II’s significance, it would probably be better to turn to a biography such as George Weigel’s Witness to Hope or, of course, one of the several books written by Pope John Paul II himself. I would not be surprised if LIFE either expands this book or comes out with a new one chronicling the Pope’s last days; it might be worthwhile to wait and see. Standing alone, however, this is a fine tribute to a man whose vast influence is becoming all the more clear this week. I highly recommend it for anyone as charmed and inspired by him as I was.

Clay Aiken's Book Shows What a True American Idol Looks Like

Learning to Sing: Hearing the Music in Your Life, Clay Aiken’s memoir which came out this week, was one of two celebrity autobiographies I eagerly awaited this fall. The first, Sean Astin’s, was enjoyable enough but a bit of a disappointment. Clay’s, however, was everything I hoped it would be. It arrived in the Waldenbooks where I work five days before the release date, and I couldn’t help but read the first couple chapters on breaks in the back room. As it turned out, I didn’t work on Tuesday or the day after, so the book was not mine until Thursday. I came home and read the rest of it in one sitting.

Clay’s book is divided into twenty chapters, each of which is broken up into many easily digestible nuggets. Rarely does an individual section last more than a couple pages, making for very easy stopping points. Each chapter bears a metaphorical title. I suspect co-writer Allison Glock assisted with these; I’m still puzzling over what exactly her contribution was and how she happened to be selected for the job. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that she wrote one of the most lyrical and complimentary articles about Clay during 2003's media blitz summer. It’s frustrating for a Claymate not to know which words are his and which were crafted by a more seasoned writer. But whether most of the words are his or hers, the result is a memoir as witty and endearing as the singer himself.

I first heard of the project in the predictably cynical Entertainment Weekly; a blurb accompanied by a Clay caricature noted that he would soon publish an “inspirational memoir” and concluded with a snide remark. I was thrilled and a bit surprised. I had no doubts that Clay had the ability to write a book, as interviews have consistently revealed him as one of the most articulate musicians in the business, but I couldn't fathom where he could find the time. A friend of mine somewhat concurred with EW's opinion, at least as far as the title was concerned. “Isn’t that title terrible?” he urged me to admit. I’ll concede it’s a title that could have been culled from interior of a Hallmark card, but a sap like me won’t complain about that. The “inspirational memoir” bit does seem a tad over the top; he could have left his readership to draw their own conclusions on that score. But Clay’s book is a triumph, and I can’t help but smile to see copies of it peeking out at me whenever I come in to work. I hope it’s up with the bestsellers as long as The Da Vinci Code and The Five People You Meet in Heaven.

All of this, and I really haven’t said much about the book yet. In the first chapter, Clay reveals his trepidation with writing this volume and his uncertainties as he adjusts to life as one of the most adulated celebrities in recent history. As I pored over the pages in the back of Waldenbooks, I struggled to stifle my laughter as his wit rose to the surface immediately with examples of sentences his mom made him write hundreds of times as a child (“I will not say Granny’s face needs ironing”) and the trials he’s had to face living in California (“avocado on all the food”). Alongside it were reminders of the class and integrity that is every bit as integral to Clay’s success as his glorious voice. The chapter concludes with welcome reassurance that success has not corrupted the gangly geek with a heart of gold; he will always strive to wield his astonishing influence in the most positive manner possible. Part of that ideal must be attributed to his mother, Faye Parker, whose moral fortitude and devotion to her son have won the hearts of Clay’s fans. The second chapter focuses mainly on their relationship, and I could not help but hear the eerily autobiographical strains of Proud of Your Boy every time Clay acknowledged his indebtedness to his mother.

The book proceeds thematically, with each chapter focusing on particular people or a certain aspect of Clay’s life after being introduced with a quote from someone who knows Clay, usually his mother. The next folks to take the spotlight are Clay’s grandparents – not only his mother’s parents, whose last names now make up Clay’s full name, but the couple who sheltered Clay and his mother after they fled the man whose name Clay would eventually forsake. Other relatives score a passing mention here, most amusingly his great-grandfather and his brother. Both were accomplished folk musicians whose repertoires, which included songs as diverse as What a Friend We Have in Jesus and Intoxicated Rat, were recorded in the Library of Congress. But the chapter deals mainly with the differences between the two sets of grandparents and Clay’s desire to balance his love for them equally. It includes what I found to be one of the most moving passages of the book, in which Clay recalls evenings listening to the Grand Ole Opry with his grandfather -- his “papa” -- before flashing forward, revealing that his grandfather now has Alzheimer’s but still knows his grandson. Instead of the Grand Ole Opry, he now listens to Clay’s CD every night. “It’s as if I am still there,” he writes, “like I was as a child, lying beside him and singing him to sleep as the darkness falls.”

Later chapters delve into his notoriously troubled relationship with his biological father, Vernon Grissom. It was painful to read about such a compassionate child being rejected by his own father, but he had already exposed that aspect of his childhood in interviews and articles so it was not a shocking revelation. I think it was more difficult to discover that he and Ray Parker, the step-father of whom Clay had always spoken with such love, did not share the wonderful father-son relationship I had envisioned. It was, in its own way, equally strained, and perhaps more tragically so as Clay seems racked with regret over a closeness they might have shared had he been more open to it. There are several points in the book in which Clay hashes out his guilt, most gut-wrenchingly when he blames his sister’s suicide on his reticence. Such entries are reminders of his humanity, his vulnerability, moments of exposure that left me with the urge to envelop him in a big bear hug until the pain has receded.

While Clay notes with gratitude the devotion of his fans, he seems uncomfortable with descriptions of him that deny the patches of darkness in his soul. “Nobody is a saint,” he writes, “and if I had a halo it would be crooked.” The book is filled with examples of childhood mischief to back this up, but it generally comes across as innocent impishness. We get a glimpse of Clay’s rotten treatment at the hands of classmates, partly because he hadn’t yet developed the self-confidence that has helped him become so successful. He fights for what he believes in, but there was a time when he didn’t like who he was. Reading about his own personal journey of becoming comfortable in his own skin – content with his talents, his ideals, his looks – was far more inspiring than seeing the much-ballyhooed makeover on television. Some producers would have us believe that a new hairdo, a pair of contacts, and some fancy duds made the world fall in love with Clay. I say he would have worked his way into just as many hearts had he continued to look like a grad school librarian. I noted with satisfaction that although the cover shots of Clay are suave and debonair, inside he more often than not looks like the boy next door. My favorite photo in the book shows him, probably in his early teens, sitting in an old-fashioned car with a shy smile and a pair of glasses that would make Rick Moranis proud. Every time he shows up for a performance or interview wearing his glasses, I revel in his willingness to remain dorky. It all helps me to think of him more as a guy I would have palled around with at school that an untouchable celebrity, which is appropriate and comforting as he is the first musician I have admired who was not famous before I was born. It's easy to imagine that we could have been friends.

When I read Sean Astin’s autobiography last month, it was really Samwise Gamgee I wanted to hear about, so while I found the whole of his memoir enjoyable enough, the only part I really cared about involved Lord of the Rings. Clay does not linger very long on his experience with American Idol, and it doesn’t bother me a bit. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Though many of Clay’s detractors still fail to see it, this young man is about so much more than a phenomenally popular television program. I find every aspect of his life fascinating, and if he spends more time diving into less familiar territory, so much the better. I did find it intriguing that Clay associates the song Solitaire with his birth father; though I’ve often read speculation that Clay is thinking of his father when he sings I Survived You, the connection with Solitaire had never occurred to me. I would have been interested to hear just how it was that Clay decided upon Bridge Over Troubled Water as his show-stopping final selection. I was one of many fans praying he would sing that, my favorite song, at some point in the competition. But the limited number of pages focusing on American Idol were no disappointment.

One aspect of Clay’s life that has been evident from the beginning is his commitment to children, especially those with special needs. The book chronicles his involvement with the YMCA, which eventually led to his placement as a teacher in a classroom full of autistic children, which in turn led him to study special education in Charlotte and work with Mike Bubel, whose mother suggested he audition for American Idol and would go on to help found the Bubel/Aiken Foundation. Seeing him fall in love with a disenfranchised portion of the population was one of the most inspiring aspects of the book. The effects of his championing these children are staggering. He has become a catalyst, inspiring thousands – maybe millions – to donate their time and money to worthy causes. As one who spent much of his childhood picked on by his peers, Clay now urges everyone to practice tolerance and inclusion.

Clay has managed to reach fans across a broad demographic. Many of his fans come from a Christian background, and sites such as claytonaiken.com, host of one of the first and largest forums dedicated to Clay, dub his faith one of his most laudable characteristics. Clay documents his struggle to remain a role model when fame has handed him opportunities to toss his integrity out the window. “If I’m going to remain a decent human being,” he writes, “it’s really up to me.” But he freely admits he doesn’t smoke, drink, swear or womanize, and it doesn’t appear he has any desire to. He refused to back down when RCA tried to fill his album with lyrics presenting messages that were less than G-rated. He included an overtly religious song – You Were There – in his set list during his first solo tour. But he doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. In spite of his deep faith in God, he became discouraged with church and stopped attending for a time. He wrestles with some of the methods and messages of his fellow Christians. “To me, God is about love, not condemnation,” he writes, striking the perfect balance between his faith and his desire to embrace all people. “I sincerely hope that people whom I love and care about who might be Jewish or Muslim or have different faiths and structure systems than I do also find peace in heaven. And I don’t think it’s my place to tell them they’re not going to.” Amen.

I left the book with a renewed appreciation for the unique, talented, passionate, compassionate gentleman who is Clay Aiken. I can’t wait to see what he does with the rest of his life. Whatever happens, I know that Clay’s time in the spotlight is far from up and the good ripples he causes will continue to expand. “My goal is to be triumphant in using where I am to do something bigger than what I am,” he writes. May God grant him a long and happy life doing just that.

Astin Stumbles But Still Manages to Shine as Sam

While I am a voracious reader, or was once anyway, the vast majority of my reading falls in the realm of fiction or fantasy, often on the young end of the spectrum. But since my favorite book, Lord of the Rings, gave way to the cultural phenomenon that is the film trilogy, works having to do with Tolkien’s masterful world have popped up in all sorts of sections. I admit I have yet to read many of Tolkien’s own books, but I won’t feel too badly about running out to buy an autobiography of the actor who portrayed my most beloved Samwise Gamgee. I love all things Sam and regret that I didn’t buy the remarkable statue depicting him with the pony Bill before it was sold out – an odd monument, since their relationship was cut almost entirely from the movie. At least we got to see him reluctantly bid Bill farewell outside the mines of Moria, but the scene lacked much in emotional impact since we didn’t even know up until that point that the pony had a name, let alone how much Sam cared about him. But I digress. I was intrigued to see what Sean Astin had to say about playing this character, and I melted when I saw the cover shot of Sam under which was printed, in a regal golden-hued font, the noble title “There And Back Again: An Actor’s Tale.”

The first quarter of the book contains no more than a few passing references to Lord of the Rings. Instead, it concerns itself with Astin’s early career. Though he does later mention some of his work as a child actor, his chronology primarily begins in 1989 with his filming of Memphis Belle. He proceeds from there to the small film Where the Day Takes You, discussing the merits of both movies and the learning experiences the filming afforded him. He recounts the ups and downs of the decade between Memphis Belle and Lord of the Rings in a rambling, nonlinear fashion. To be honest, I found his writing style, or at least his sense of direction, frustrating. He begins a story, goes off on one tangent and then another, and by the time he gets back to the original story you’ve almost forgotten about it entirely. One appealing aspect of Astin is the clear importance family holds to him. He speaks fondly of his own family as well as his in-laws, and he never tires of relaying his love for his wife and daughter. There is also his ambition to receive a full education, act in quality movies, and achieve status as a film-maker. These goals, however, are difficult to realize, especially since it seems Astin often lacked the patience and judgment to make these dreams become a reality.

Less than appealing is the constant psychological conflict that plays itself out in the pages of his autobiography. He constantly betrays a range of negative feelings ranging from worthlessness to entitlement and then gives the reader whiplash by immediately apologizing for his negativity before stating it again. He rants and raves about his hatred for the movie Encino Man, though he acknowledges it was a financially prudent venture. He moans about being used by Warren Beatty while working on the film Bulworth but says that just the fact that Beatty was interested enough in him to approach him made the ordeal worth it. Even while he describes Rudy as a nearly perfect moviemaking experience, he admits to becoming extremely depressed because he couldn’t imagine landing a role that could top it. Once in a great while, he adds, in a footnote, an apology for a remark that may sound self-indulgent or unkind, but this seems entirely superfluous since he so often implants these disclaimers in the text itself. In spite, or sometimes because, of the constant addendums, Astin comes across as extremely insecure and dissatisfied.

I think I had a slight expectation, after reading everything leading up to his involvement with Lord of the Rings, that this project would come along and change everything for him. After all, this was a monumental movie, both in its construction and its final form. And Astin got to play the character who is, in many ways, the emotional heart of the entire trilogy. I’d already heard, on a DVD extra, how Astin’s initial interest in the project stemmed not from the source material but the director. I’ll admit I cringed a little every time I heard one of the main actors say how little familiarity they had with Lord of the Rings beforehand, as if this project was so sacred it should have only been taken on by fans. But they all became fans soon enough, Astin included, though his lack of knowledge was such that he’d never even heard of Tolkien or Lord of the Rings before. It was endearing to watch him fall in love with his character for the first time and become truly passionate about the role he hoped to inhabit, and that enthusiasm never really died for the duration of his involvement. But the feelings of inadequacy and being unappreciated, the depression partly brought on by overeating – in this case required by the role… all the problems that plagued him before surface again in the later part of the book, and it’s sad to realize that he probably prevented himself from enjoying the experience as much as he could have. Of course, he did not hinder himself as much as Stuart Townsend, the original Aragorn, did. It was interesting to hear a bit about the reasons behind Townsend’s dismissal and what he might have brought to the role had he stayed on.

Reading Astin’s descriptions of his fellow actors as well as Peter Jackson and many of the other crewmembers are interesting, though these observations follow his now-established pattern of compliment-insult-disclaimer. The compliments generally outnumber the complaints, though. In spite of concerns that Jackson didn’t know what he was doing and complaints that he didn’t give Sam enough to do in the beginning, Astin continually acknowledges his brilliance, his vision and his decentness. Though he sometimes seems to think “the boys” – Elijah Wood, Dom Monaghan, Billy Boyd and Orlando Bloom – are too vulgar and carefree, he describes Wood as a consummate professional; Monaghan as an incredibly brave and down-to-earth individual; Boyd as a man whose voice is magic and whose acting ability is tremendous; and Bloom as a young actor able to deal gracefully with his sudden teen idol status. While he accuses Ian McKellen of indulging in diva-like behavior, he also has untold admiration for his acting abilities.

One of Astin’s greatest frustrations during the filming was that Sam played such a minor role in Fellowship of the Ring. I agree, though I would have enjoyed more insight into what Sean wanted to see more of and how he wanted his character to develop. He was incensed by the depiction of Sam in Ralph Bakshi’s film, and I can’t say I was all that crazy about it either. I wonder, though, if he saw the Rankin and Bass version; I’ve always found Roddy McDowall’s take on Sam most endearing. Astin didn’t have the confidence to approach Jackson with very many suggestions on how to work the character more to his liking, which may or may not have benefited the production in the end. I don’t know how I would have felt about his ideas, but I can’t say I was very satisfied with Sam as he appeared in the film. I would venture a guess that some of that stems from Astin’s attitude at the time. I was aghast at the fact that Sam spent that bulk of his time in Fellowship angry, petrified, frustrated or depressed. Sam is a person incredibly at peace with himself and willing to shoulder the burdens of others. The Sam in the book never would have complained about a root sticking into his back or quailed at the thought of following Frodo out of the Shire or been too lilly-livered to ask Rosie (in the book a farmer’s daughter and his childhood playmate) for a dance or impudently asked Galadriel if he could have a dagger instead of the rope she had given him. I think Astin’s dissatisfaction with his role during this stage of the project showed on the screen, to the movie’s detriment. When Bilbo grumbles, it’s entirely appropriate to his endearingly curmudgeonly nature. For Sam, however, it’s out of character and most unwelcome. It’s my biggest beef with Fellowship and perhaps one of Astin’s many regrets. When given the chance in the second and third movies, however, Astin shines, to the point that late 2003 disappeared for him in a blur of Oscar buzz. While he didn’t win the Oscar, he won the hearts of millions and the gratitude of those who had already loved Sam for years.

Astin shares some interesting anecdotes about his time in Sam’s shoes (or lack thereof), but for the most part he is very introspective, concentrating more on his own struggles and insecurities than the details of what was happening with the filming of the movie. A lot of the details he did divulge had already been hashed over in magazine articles and on DVD extras, so I didn’t feel as though I got a great deal of new and exciting information. His rambling style continues through the end of the book, making it hard to keep track of what he’s talking about sometimes. In addition, though it hardly happens every page, Astin indulges, unnecessarily I think, in swearing. I guess I’m just a real prude when it comes to this stuff, but I am no fan of profanity. Tolkien, it seems, wasn’t either, and I am most grateful Jackson and his fellow script-writers honored the integrity of his language by keeping the films free of such earsores. But reading it on the page of a book dealing largely with Lord of the Rings was distracting and unpleasant.

I’m curious about the fact that this is a co-authored book. It seems many celebrity autobiographies are written this way, apparently because said celebrities haven’t the talent to write 300 pages of prose worth reading. But what does that mean exactly? It Joe Layden just a glorified editor? What exactly was his contribution? It makes me uncomfortable not knowing who wrote what. There and Back Again is a long, rambling tale, a must-read for devotees of the film and an interesting source of insight into the actor who brought one of the greatest characters in literature to life. It didn’t contain nearly as many revelations as I thought it might, and it left me wondering wistfully what brilliant scenes never made the light of day and never will. Though I would first recommend Andy Serkis’ fascinating book on the creation of Gollum on film, fans of the movies will want to read There and Back Again.

Serkis Shares Precious Secrets of Bringing Gollum to Life

Gollum has always been one of my favorite literary characters. When I read The Hobbit for the first time in first grade – having already been read the book several times by my dad – I struggled through Riddles in the Dark for days; at this point, I still read everything aloud, and I was determined to get Gollum’s voice right. I love the way he talks. The only Tolkien character whose speech patterns can begin to compete is Samwise Gamgee, whose rustic colloquialisms I adore. Trailing at a distant third is the rumbling Treebeard. It was Gollum’s wheezing, jarring means of expressing himself that most drew me to him, but beyond the voice I found myself sympathizing with this lonesome, emaciated creature who traded riddles with Bilbo and later became devoted to the hated hobbit’s nephew Frodo.

I once proclaimed my fondness for Gollum during a viewing of Rankin and Bass’ animated version of The Hobbit, and my mom, apparently concerned by my lack of good character judgment, yelled at me, provoking me into one of my famous stomp-up-the-stairs-and-slam-the-door temper tantrums. But reading the books, you really do get the idea that Tolkien intended his audience to sympathize with Gollum. We see shreds of good in him and want as much as Frodo to believe that he can be redeemed. While Sam’s frustrating inability to see Gollum as anything but a monster leads to one of the book’s most heartbreaking scenes – sadly left out of Jackson’s films and replaced with two defining moments that leave the audience seething with anger and betrayal instead of crying out with the anguish of regret – the mercy, deserved or not, bestowed upon Gollum by Bilbo and Frodo allow the quest to succeed even when the Ringbearer cannot.

When The Two Towers hit theaters, Gollum’s complexity and uniqueness made him the most popular character in the film. Although he was a CGI creation, he was a fully realized character, a tortured soul who’d spent centuries encrusting himself in bitterness and was suddenly beginning to recall feelings of love and joy apart from the obsessive hold of the Ring. And while it took a team of artists to construct his frame and animate his movements, his humanity stemmed largely from the brilliant work of Andy Serkis. As with me, Serkis’ experience of Gollum began with a voice. Jackson called him in to read for Gollum’s voice and was so impressed by Serkis’ convulsive movements that he decided to incorporate them into the character. What started as little more than a voiceover for an animated character led to one of the most difficult acting jobs in the entire film. Serkis had to perform each scene multiple times, both with the other actors so they could react to his movements and on his own so he could be picked up by the motion-capture equipment that would translate his motions to the animated Gollum, all without the aid of any kind of costume beyond his skin-tight motion-capture suit. He also laid down vocal tracks for the film in a recording studio, which required an unconventional microphone setup due to his reliance on the hacking, hunched-over posture in creating his Gollum voice; the initial inspiration for how he would perform Gollum actually came after watching his cat cough up a hairball.

The process of creating this amazing character was so complicated and ground-breaking that Serkis felt compelled to write a book about it. Gollum: How We Made Movie Magic chronicles his character’s evolution as well as how his life and Gollum’s became entwined during the filming process. Its fifteen chapters, spread out over 120 pages, are filled with sketches, models, and photographs, as well as commentary by dozens of people involved in one way or another with Gollum’s creation, but the bulk of the book is Serkis’ own narration of the events in his own life since his involvement with Lord of the Rings and his explanation of the processes used to bring Gollum to life. We learn of the sense of isolation while he was in New Zealand that helped him identify with his character but also left him feeling depressed at times. We are introduced to his family: his partner Lorraine, whom he later married, and infant daughter Ruby, as well as his son Sonny, who came along after Serkis had begun filming. We discover the constant changes the character underwent and how Serkis’ personal revelations contributed to Gollum’s depth. And we absorb his frustration that although he did just as much acting as anyone else in the movie, journalists consistently thought of him as “just a voice.” In truth, Jackson had initially expected Serkis’ work to last about three weeks, but it ended up spanning more than three years.

Serkis’ narrative style is readily accessible, and he manages to convey a sense of the work involved in the technical aspects of constructing Gollum without alienating unscientific readers. The commentaries throughout the book go into more detail, and while I still don’t comprehend all that went into Gollum’s creation, I have a very real sense of the passion and dedication each crew member had for the project. While the stills from the films are very nice, the most interesting illustrations detail Gollum’s gradual transformation from bug-eyed alien to the Gollum that finally made it into the last two films. The process was so lengthy and ongoing that the first brief glimpse of Gollum in Fellowship of the Ring reveals a character that looks little like the star of The Two Towers, and while Gollum looks physically the same in Return of the King as The Two Towers, Serkis took a completely different psychological approach to the duality of Smeagol and Gollum in the third film.

I received this book as a Christmas gift from my brother, but with Gollum’s eyes peering out at me from the cover every time I went to work at Waldenbooks, I suspect I would have succumbed to the slippery fellow’s charm before too long if the book hadn’t been under the tree Christmas morning. At only ten dollars, it’s far less expensive than most of the movie tie-in books and just as engaging. Anyone who loves Gollum, or the films, or even film technology in general should find it a “precious” addition to their bookshelves.