Nancy and Plum

I am very fortunate to live within a pleasant five-minute stroll from our local library. In addition to it being a lovely old building, it has a great children's room with lots of toys and activities for our little boy, and an interlibrary loan system that Ickie and I can't live without. Another great perk is the free advance reader copies of children's books and novels. The library simply asks that if you take one home, write a brief review and return it to the library. I've had some winners and losers, but the other week I stumbled upon a gem: an updated edition of Betty MacDonald's Nancy and Plum.

Originally published in 1952, Nancy and Plum is the story of two precocious orphan sisters, inspired by the bedtime tales MacDonald used to make up for her sister when they were children. Nancy and Plum's parents died when they were little, and their careless uncle abandoned them in a wretched orphanage run by the horrid, heartless, stingy headmistress, Mrs. Monday. Nancy and Plum have enough intelligence and humor to make the best of any situation, whether it is being locked up without any food on Christmas Day or being tormented and tattled on by Mrs. Monday's spoiled niece. It's the sort of plot my sister and I used to invent with our dolls. The orphans are charming and hilarious, the sympathetic neighbors are wise and sweet, and the villains are tremendous fun to hate. I read the book from start to finish within 24 hours, laughing and crying simultaneously and often.

It's not just a great story with memorable characters, for MacDonald has a gift with prose. She describes the countryside with beauty and also describes people and situations with memorable detail and poignancy. Jeanne Birdsall, author of The Penderwicks, wrote the introduction to this new edition, and MacDonald's novel is certainly reminiscent of Penderwicks, as well as the novels of L.M. Montgomery.

Here's an excerpt.

After Mrs. Campbell had gone with the lamp, Nancy said, "Doesn't Mrs. Campbell smell good. Like cinnamon and fresh bread."

Plum said, "She's beautiful."

Nancy said, "And Mr. Campbell is very handsome."

Of course they weren't at all. Mrs. Campbell was round and cozy with sparkling brown eyes, curly brown hair and rosy cheeks but she wasn't beautiful. Mr. Campbell was tall and thin with merry blue eyes and stiff sandy hair but he wasn't handsome. They were good and kind however, and oftentimes goodness and kindness cast a glow over people that passes very well for beauty.

Through the Cupboards

N.D. Wilson's 100 Cupboards trilogy is reminiscent of a whole bunch of stuff I love. The protagonist, 12-year-old Henry, is an over-protected single child sent to stay with his aunt's family of precocious girls in small town Kansas. Henry is given an attic room, and he discovers a wall of mysterious cupboards leading to other worlds. That's all you need to know, as you'll want the exciting tale to be a surprise.

Henry is an interesting kid, and I told Ickie that even if this weren't a fantasy novel, I'd be interested in Henry's character--how he embraces eating meat and playing baseball (two activities forbidden by his parents), and how his relationships develop with his extended family, especially his understated and wise Uncle Frank. The fantasy worlds Henry enters are in turn appealing and horrible, and Wilson does a good job of balancing competing plot lines and a large cast.

Compared to other young adult fantasy novels, this series is superior to many. The allure of the mysterious cupboards can't help but remind one of Lewis's wonderful wardrobe, and the world-hopping provides a dizzying experience similar to Wynne-Jones's Chrestomanci books. One character reminded me strongly of Gollum, and there were several scenes with terror akin to that found in The Lord of the Rings. Henry's personal growth and sense of "lost and found-ness" resemble Harry Potter. Whereas the books are lacking any religious symbolism, they do have a positive focus on familial devotion and honor. Wilson's fantasy world is fairly complex and well-realized, but the main characteristic that sets this novel apart from others in its genre is Wilson's gift for descriptive prose. Here's a little sample:

"The soft applause of a thousand rustling trees surrounded him, and he ached to see them, to shake off his blindness and watch the silver-bellied leaves flick and twist on the wind's wake."

My only criticisms: I'm still mulling over how I feel about the epilogue. I'm not completely satisfied with it. Also, a map of the secondary world where Henry spends much of his time would help me visualize its vast geography. The sketchy map of the cupboards at the start of each book is excellent, though. I'm trying to imagine all those cupboards on my own bedroom wall.

School Chums

Sheesh, I know, it's been forever. I haven't had much to comment on or the time in which to do so. However, this week I read two very different books worth sharing.

The Strange Case of Origami Yoga, by Tom Angleberger: This light-hearted "mystery" is recorded as a set of case files (with doodles) by multiple sixth graders regarding Dwight, the weirdest kid they know, and his origami Yoda, who is surprisingly adept at giving advice and/or predicting the future. I thought it perfectly captured the sensation of being a sixth grader--still innocent and imaginative as children, yet aware and befuddled by society and the opposite sex. Many of the kids are funny, but Dwight is one in a million. Ickie and I both read it in a day and laughed a great deal. The chapter about the Cheeto Hog completely slayed me.

A Clock without Hands, by Guy Burt: Jackamo insisted that I read this so that we could discuss our opinions about it, and it merits more detail than I'll go into here. Alex, an artist in his 50s, narrates episodes in his life out of chronological order. His flashbacks and his artwork help him to make sense of his poignant relationships with his two close childhood friends, Jamie and Anna. The story shifts among critical events from childhood summers together in Italy, teen years at a boarding school in England, and a reunion as young adults in Italy. You see the plot twists coming far in advance, so the tension really stems from the emotional heft of the relationships and Alex's mental struggle to piece things together in a significant way. Alex's naivete comes across never as annoying ignorance; his mental process is redolent of his childhood learning disability and of his role as a tormented artist, though I believe it is most influenced by his innocent, childlike, and unconditional love for Anna (who I don't like) and Jamie (who I really feel for). It's a unique and moving story that demonstrates how complicated relationships and unhappy endings can be stunningly beautiful.

I'm the pefect heroine!

Last night I read this brief introduction by Connie Willis to one of her short stories in the collection Fire Watch. I'm seriously so excited about this idea that I have goosebumps after reading this for the fourth time, and I don't know if one short story (which I haven't read yet) can live up to it. I've been wondering for the past 12 hours how I can justify stealing this idea.

"Nobody knows what housewives do all day. Nobody cares either, and this places the housewife in the same position as Miss Marple, whom people are continually underestimating, and gives the housewife a certain freedom and power that make her the perfect heroine.

"I've used the housewife in several stories, and she appears in this one in her guise as Young Mother. The role of Young Mother is a little more constraining in that when something important happens, she is likely to miss it because she is wiping somebody's runny nose or putting on somebody's boots. On the other hand, while she is pushing somebody on a swing or waiting for somebody to finish their Coke, she has a lot of time to think. And sometimes, taking somebody to the bathroom, she sees something everyone else has missed."

Epiphany

I wish I had written a post about Bellwether by Connie Willis last night at 10:30 when I finished it. I am still loving it in retrospect, but last night I was so hopped up on happy juice from its ending (and really just the whole thing was a joy to read) that I ran downstairs and interrupted Ickie at work to gush about it, and then when I went back to bed, I was too excited to sleep, my brain just zipping around happily.

Bellwether is an ideal quick, witty, and just-thought-provoking-enough summer read. It's the story of Sandy, a statistician studying fads (specifically, the origins of hair bobbing in the 20s), who works for the bureaucratic HiTek corporation in Boulder, Colorado. Colorado is the perfect setting to poke fun at quirky trends in the 90s--all themed restaurants and surly GenXers--and HiTek is a hilarious nightmare of mock-worthy management trends. Sandy meets Bennett, a chaos theorist seemingly immune to fads. It's a pleasure to follow Sandy and Ben's burgeoning partnership, as they have a deep intellectual connection as well as a shared sense of humor (and familiarity with the poetry of Robert Browning--Willis always gives literature a nod, which goes to show you that even scientists & mathematicians need it). Sandy and Ben's research misadventures are a hoot, and their exasperating coworkers make them even more likable by comparison.

Many of Willis's common themes appear in Bellwether; among them are chaos theory (with life events reflecting mental confusion), tip-of-the-tongue (or mind) sensation, a combination of sociological and scientific perspectives, and historical anecdotes that enrich the story. Each chapter begins with an excerpt about the life and death of a particular fad (most of them are quite amusing), and Sandy and Bennett spend much of their time making references to the circumstances in which famous scientists made discoveries/had epiphanies. There are several great "A-ha!" moments, and at least one pleasing final revelation I didn't see coming.

Writing a novel about fads and chaos theory is inspired. It's so completely original, don't you think? And writing it so well is even more impressive! The fads provide just enough low-brow appeal whereas the discussion of chaos theory is just enough physics to excite my ignorant brain. The resolution of the themes and characters is positively giddy-making! Thus far I have yet to be disappointed by my new favorite author, and I'm delving right into her short story collection, Fire Watch.

On Marriage

I'm posting a selection from Dietrich Bonhoeffer's "A Wedding Sermon from Prison" here which Ickie's parents read at our wedding, 10 years ago. I never fail to grow misty-eyed and choked up when I come to the last sentence. I am married to the man I most admire and have the most fun with, and I have every confidence that our marriage will be just as happy 40+ years from now (unless there's a zombie apocalypse, and even then, I think we'd make a nigh unbeatable team).

"God is guiding your marriage. Marriage is more than your love for each other. It has a higher dignity and power, for it is God’s holy ordinance, through which He wills to perpetuate the human race till the end of time. In your love you see only your two selves in the world, but in marriage you are a link in the chain of the generations, which God causes to come and to pass away to His glory, and calls into His kingdom. In your love you see only the heaven of your own happiness, but in marriage you are placed at a post of responsibility towards the world and mankind. Your love is your own private possession, but marriage is more than something personal—it is a status, an office. Just as it is the crown, and not merely the will to rule, that makes the king, so it is marriage, and not merely your love for each other, that joins you together in the sight of God and man.… As high as God is above man, so high are the sanctity, the rights, and the promise of marriage above the sanctity, the rights, and the promise of love. It is not your love that sustains the marriage, but from now on, the marriage that sustains your love.

"God makes your marriage indissoluble. ‘What therefore God has joined together, let no man put asunder’ (Matthew 19:6). God joins you together in marriage; it is His act, not yours. Do not confound your love for one another with God. God makes your marriage indissoluble, and protects it from every danger that may threaten it from within and without; He wills to be the guarantor of its indissolubility. It is a blessed thing to know that no power on earth, no temptation, no human frailty can dissolve what God holds together; indeed, anyone who knows that may say confidently: What God has joined together, can no man put asunder. Free from all anxiety that is always a characteristic of love, you can now say to each other with complete and confident assurance: We can never lose each other now; by the will of God we belong to each other till death."

Incomplete

This is the post wherein I seem to be referring to a common theme/experience among three books but in actuality I'm cramming three book reviews into one bloated post to catch up. But there is a similarity: I'm left with a feeling of unfulfillment at the close of each of these books, although not in a bad way, and for three different reasons. (Yes, I'm aware that "unfulfillment" is not a word, but I can't think of an appropriate synonym. Suggestions?)

Blackout, Connie Willis: Although Blackout has a cliffhanger ending, it's also an appropriate intermission in a two-volume series. Blackout is back in Willis's Oxford time traveling universe, of which you know I'm a fan from my posts on To Say Nothing of the Dog and Doomsday Book. Blackout follows three young "historians" who've been sent to World War II to observe refugee children in the countryside, London during the Blitz, and the evacuation of Dunkirk. Of course, everything is all muddled and perilous, and then the "net" mysteriously closes and the protagonists are stuck. In her other time travel works, the Oxford theory is that "slippage" (ending up in a time different from one's coordinates) is the time continuum's way of self correcting and a sign that it's functioning properly. However, a new theory has emerged that slippage is a symptom of the time continuum breaking down--perhaps the historians will be trapped for good? Willis immerses this fast-paced adventure in fascinating historical detail, while considering its implications as a scientist and philosopher.

Lincoln's Dreams, Connie Willis: This book, published in the '80s, is a thematic precursor to Passage. Lincoln's Dreams is about a Civil War researcher who gets involved with a traumatized woman dreaming Robert E. Lee's dreams (FYI, I don't get the title either). Willis was mulling over similar ideas (the spiritual, psychological, and scientific meaning of dreams and near death experiences) in Lincoln but really succeeded in a well-rounded story and hypothesis in Passage. Lincoln is a shorter, slower, bleaker work, and though its conclusion is not poorly devised, it does leave the reader in the dark (both in mood and in information). Willis's SciFi spends more time in the social sciences than other works of the genre, and this one has it in spades: psychologists with varying dream theories, unhealthy romantic attachments, obsessive-compulsiveness, and unusual suicidal tendencies. The characters' experiences rang true, but I felt deeply sad at the close, not only on behalf of the protagonists but from learning so much about Robert E. Lee, Lincoln, and the misery of the Civil War.

The Boy Who Couldn't Sleep and Never Had To, DC Pierson: This one is set in high school, so you clearly have all the psychological issues present, albeit less sophisticated. It's a story about social outcast Darren, who draws, and his best friend Eric, who doesn't sleep. It's one of a few stories that I feel genuinely portrays life in high school, minus the weird stuff--and it does get weird. If I split the book into thirds, the first part made me laugh very hard, the second part was agonizing and poignant, and the last part was positively nuts, with a sudden and (once again) indefinite conclusion. But if you were a nerd or a geek about anything in high school and were afraid the other kids would find out and mock you for it, I think you'll relate to these boys as much as I did (in spite of the sex, drugs, profanity, and poor parenting).

Okay, I've got a ton of extracted material below, but I promise they're worthwhile. Extract 1 describes Darren and Eric's work on their "movie trilogy and series of novels"; extract 2 describes the boys plotting revenge on Halloween; and extract 3 describes Darren's conflicting emotions when Eric confides to him that he doesn't sleep. I think, as a teenager, I spent most of my life feeling the way Darren does in extract 3.

"By October we have three notebooks full of concept art for TimeBlaze. By this time Dr. Praetoreous, instead of being the main character, is just another player in a universe of characters, including the Praetoreous family (each of whom is actually another version of Dr. Praetoreous in a different timestream, so there's cowboy Praetoreous and postapocalyptic Praetoreous and two-dimensional Praetoreous in a universe rendered in 2D), the Time Squad (the Temporal Ranger's extended posse of villains, rogues, and scoundrels from the outskirts of time), and an entire pantheon of gods drawn from the Greek, Aztec, Indian, and Chinese mythologies who have been summoned by The Man using Dr. Praetoreous's invention known as The Mortalizer....
I am proud of the way, in this one drawing, the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl seems to be almost 3D, his feathered tail way off in the distance in the bottom right corner of the page and his semi-reptilian head roaring toward you in the top left as The Man stands passively at the top of an ancient South American ruin, directing the newly Mortalized god to go out and f*ck sh*t up."

"What we have on the kitchen counter five minutes later makes it pretty clear we've never gotten revenge on anybody. Half a dozen eggs leftover from two weeks ago when my dad made breakfast for a woman who stayed over on a Saturday night. Processed, individually wrapped yellow cheese slices because I feel like I remember seeing or reading about a prank involving cheese slices somewhere, but maybe it was an art project, not a prank. Some rope from the garage, just in case we have to rappel up or down something. Neither of us knows how to rappel, in fact I've always counted myself lucky that our school doesn't have that rope-climbing thing as part of PE like you see in movies. But rappelling seems like something you do as part of getting really excellent revenge. We could also use the rope to hang somebody in effigy, if we decide to go that way. But again, that's straying into art-project territory.
It also seems like a good time to spray-paint somebody's house or car, but we don't have any spray paint. We have a can of wood-staining stuff from the time my dad painted our deck. It's not even technically paint, and it's heavy as hell. Also, we have some flashlights.
'It looks like we're going to make an omelet,' Eric says, 'rappel in through somebody's window, and serve it to them.'
'You read my mind,' I say. Eric laughs.
We go out the door without much of a plan and everything in a paper grocery bag, becoming two of a ton of kids out tonight with some rotten eggs and bad intentions but probably the only ones with a can of Home Depot store brand chestnut wood stain."

"For a second I let myself live in a world where what Eric's said is the truth, where all the evidence that it's true isn't a pack of lies to be debunked. In this world my betrayal and confusion about how to feel about this kid is replaced with relief, and my heart swells and my brain practically explodes out of the front of my head at the idea that this is actually happening to me. Then I put one mental foot back into the mundane world of Eric being crazy or a liar or both, where we say 'yeah, sure, okay' even in response to the smallest stuff it's easy and low-stakes to believe. I go back and forth feeling my heart get either huge and kid-like or small and full of poison."