Cool Stuff!

I love it when we get neat stuff into the store. (My wallet, however, doesn't fare too well.)

We just got in a pop-up version of We're Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury. I love, love, love this book, but can never tell it well. The kids always love it anyway.

I wouldn't recommend getting the pop-up instead of the original (in any format) because they had to cut stuff to make it fit. Plus, pop-ups and toddlers don't mix well, no matter how much they love them. But it's absolutely adorable and the pop-ups are well done. So it's a nice treat for older kids (preschool-age, at least) or adults who love the book.

(btw, someone gave the board book a one star review on Amazon. I think the review itself is hilarious. And sad.)

We got in book 2 of Judson Robert's Strongbow Saga: Dragons From the Sea a few weeks ago. I haven't had a chance to read the second book yet, but I liked the first, Viking Warrior. More importantly, it was an engaging and well written non-magical adventure story that should appeal to teen boys - and is marketed to them, and not to adults. A rare occurrence indeed.

But of course, what I'm really waiting for is Eclipse, which is due out next week, and Baby Bear, Baby Bear, What Do You See?, which is due out a few weeks after that.

And this has nothing to do with cool new stuff, but having stumbled across the one star review of We're Going on a Bear Hunt, I was curious about whether or not other classics had gotten one star reviews on amazon as well. And sure enough, there are one star reviews for Brown Bear, Brown Bear, Goodnight Moon, and Where the Wild Things Are. Of course, the best ones are for kid's novels.

I don't expect everyone to love every classic, but some of these reviews just crack me up.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory:

"I hate this book SOOOO much. I was seven when I read it for the first time. It scarred me to irrevocable fear and forced its malicious, acrid depiction of the murder of four innocent children down my vulnerable throat. Many have argued with me and have said that the children didn't die. However, I argue intensely. First of all, Willy Wonka is a liar and anything that expels from his horrid monstrous mouth can be regarded only for the sake of malevolence and remain at that..."

Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing:

"Subversive. I swear kids like this book because it is their first introduction to sexuality. The persistent thread of "oh no, this forbidden thing can't be happening" makes for a sort of naughty thrill ride, a sort of prepubescent fantasy about acts of social misbehavior. Covertly sensual acts (like the eating of the turtle, the ultimate "oh no!") and bathroom allusions help charge kids up in ways they can't even grasp themselves."

A Wrinkle in Time:

"...is an extremely terrible book. Its attempt at science fiction is out of place and corny to the extreme. I read this book expecting it to be a decent novel, but instead I encountered garbage. Oh, and don't pay attention to the Newbery Medal Award that they awarded. They probably awarded it to A Wrinkle in Time because there were no other books published that year, so it won by default. Even then, it was more than likely that the people who gave the award were reluctant to do so. It only says that I gave it one star because there was no choice for 0 stars or lower. This book would be much more entertaining...if it were burnt. "

Bridge to Terabithia:

"My daughter was assigned Bridge to Terabithia as summer reading for 5th grade. Whenever I suggested she read it, she would groan and reply, 'Mom, its SOOOO boring.' Thinking she was stalling and complaining about nothing, I picked it up one night after she had gone to bed. She was right - it was boring. Really boring. The characters are not developed, the plot is superficial, and, in the end, none of the questions that are raised are really answered. I realize that it was an 'award winning book', but the competition must have been truly awful for this book to have been the best. If I may, I would recommend 'A Wrinkle in Time' instead (also on my daughter's reading list and a story we both have found much more enjoyable.)"

(snort)

So, dear readers, which classic book(s) that everyone loves, did you hate with every fiber of your being?

I have to admit that I can't think of any myself at the moment. Once upon a time I might have said Goodnight Moon (not that I hated it, just that I didn't get The Big Deal), but having studied it in kid lit classes, I know understand why babies and toddlers love it.

Part 2: The Power of Myth

A review/analysis of Into the Wild by Sarah Beth Durst

(Go here for the Intro and links to Part I and beyond.)

As the back of the books says: "Beware the Wild - it bites..."

So, you know how I said in the last post that it would contain spoilers? That goes double for these next two. Seriously. I'm going to give away the two big twists, so DO NOT READ THIS UNTIL YOU'VE READ THE BOOK!

"You can't resist it," the fairy godmother said. "If you find a bear's house, you must eat their porridge. If you go to a ball, you must lose a slipper...."

The Wild that lives under Julie's bed is not just a fairy tale monster, it is the fairy tales - or rather the force that keeps them going. When a wish allows the Wild to escape and grow once more, the people that wander into it - or are swallowed up by it - act out the plots of various tales - over and over again. As Julie travels deeper into the Wild, various helpers explain to her that her mother managed to defeat the Wild before by somehow stopping this unending cycle. That is Julie's task - to follow in her mother's footsteps.

As I mentioned in Part 1, one of the main themes of Into the Wild is free will. The scariest thing that the Wild does is manipulate everyone's memory and personality, bit by bit, until they no longer know who they once were or even that they are repeating the same story over and over again.

"This is crazy," [Julie] said. "You're destroying people."

"On the contrary," it said. "I am giving them meaning."

One goes through most of the story not needing an answer as to why the Wild is doing this. It would be like asking why Julie's bicycle came alive; that's just the sort of thing that happens in fairy tales. Except, not. Because fairy tales and their cousins are full of symbolic meaning, so there must be some reason why the Wild is doing this particular thing.

The Wild acts the way it does because it's not only a metaphor for the stories themselves, it's also an allegory for how stories affect can us.

"Stay clear of stories. Especially Endings," Grandma hugged her quickly, and Julie tried to cling to her.

In the Wild, fairy tales are traps that Julie must avoid, for if she does she will forget herself and her mission. It took hundreds of cycles for the fairy tale characters to break free of the Wild the last time, and they did so at great cost. In order to do this they left clues for themselves so that when the next cycle started, they would remember what had happened before. As a general rule, the Wild does take away people's memories of the previous cycles. But it's not all-powerful, and Zel found a way to break free and encourage others to do the same. It was a chaotic and dangerous time.

Cindy gave [Julie] a sad smile. "Not many people know this, but my stepsisters didn't need the Wild to force them to be cruel. Every time they regained their memories, they hated me anew for their blinding. And I took it, all the work and all the hatred, because how could I blame them? After hundreds and thousands of cycles, there's no way to know what came first: how they treated me or how my birds pecked out their eyes."

In explaining itself to Julie, the Wild argues that "I give rewards to the good and punishment to the bad. I give order and sense to an otherwise arbitrary existence."

But Cinderella's confession, which comes only a handful of pages after the Wild's attempt to persuade Julie, reminds us that there is a dark side to all this order. Stories do give us meaning and order and sense, but they can also trap us into roles we'd be better off not fulfilling. Sisters pushed to violent jealousy. Brides married to men who only care that they are beautiful and silent. Wives desperate to give their husbands heirs. Stepmothers forced to compete with their own children for power and affection. Grandmothers left bitter by a world that does not value their power and wisdom.

In the chapters leading up to the Wild's escape, a large number of former fairy tale characters are presented. The personalities of each have some correlation to the tales they come from, but in many ways they no longer fit the role they once played. In taking parts of their memory and personality, the newly returned Wild transforms them into, at best, caricatures of themselves. The least lucky, such as Julie's grandmother, are consumed by their worst traits and doomed to constantly hurt the ones they love.

The why of the Wild is not the only important part of the metaphor, the how is vital as well. Not just the loss of free will, but the repetition of the stories - each time exactly like the last. For it is the lack of variation that turns real stories into traps, makes archetypes become stereotypes, and messes with our ability to make choices with our eyes wide open.

"Mom's not a hero," Julie said automatically. "She's Rapunzel."

Thankfully, there is another type of story being re-enacted in the Wild, and that is the story of how Julie's mother trapped it under her bed.

Before she ventures into the Wild, Julie not only arms herself with magical talismans from the linen closet, she also heads to the folklore section of the local library. Knowing that fairy tales are real, and knowing that her mother defeated the Wild once before, but having no idea how, Julie logically assumes the tale must be written down somewhere. But alas, having only happened once before, it is a rare tale - the librarian informs Julie that the tome she needs is out on interlibrary loan. So, in the end, Julie's quest is not just to defeat the Wild, but to uncover the other story about her mother.

Julie realized her mouth was hanging open. She shut it. Her mother was in a battle? She pictured Mom with scissors in one hand and a curl brush in the other riding a griffin. "You're joking."

At first glance, Into the Wild appears to be another fractured fairy tale. But not long into the story, one realizes that is is also a story about fractured fairy tales.

Stories do not just give us order and meaning, they also give us hope. Julie willingly braves the danger of the Wild for the sake of the people she loves, but like any new hero, she's often reluctant and uncertain. But unlike Luke or Frodo, Julie has no Obi Wan or Gandalf urging her on and giving her advice. Instead, she has stories of her mother. Throughout her journey in the Wild, Julie slowly learns more and more about her mother's bravery, determination, and cleverness. Whenever she despairs of defeating the Wild, the knowledge that it must be possible gives Julie the strength she needs to carry on.

It's no coincidence that the wide old man archetype most often becomes the narrator in theatrical versions of stories. In many ways that is their true role in myths, to make sure that the new heroes know the tales of the previous heroes. This is the positive power of stories, to give us hope and show us possibilities.

Her eyes flew open, wide awake, as the idea came to her. Instead of trying to escape the stories, she should be trying to live them.

Yes, that was the way to win: follow the tales to the happily ever after of her mother's rescue tale - and avoid the role of evil step-sister who spits toads and has her eyelids pecked out by talking birds. She may not be able to avoid being in the tales altogether, but she could try to be in the right one.

At one point, after seeing her nemesis from school acting out a role in the tale of the Swan Princes, she comes to the realization that she is in a unique position to avoid being captured. Unlike her classmate, she knows the stories and is able to recognize them before they can capture her. And while her mother, grandmother, and their friends are quickly trapped into the same roles they had before, Julie does not belong to a particular story yet.

Julie, in fact, gets to write her own story, just as her mother learned to do.

"Oh, I don't blame them.,"The first dwarf said. "In fact, I envy them. To have always known who you are, to be able to change who you are, to shape your fate, to make your own story...." He nodded at Julie in reference.

The stories themselves become Julie's guide. Rather than becoming trapped by them, she is able to choose among them. But in order to do this she needs to realize that she has the ability to do so and she needs to have a variety of stories to choose from.

The librarian knows this, and this is why she made the wish that set the Wild free. When we first meet Linda she comes across as opinionated and narrow-minded. She lectures Zel on the importance of stories and Zel ignores her because she knows how harmful stories can be. The identity of the wish-maker is kept a secret until the epilogue (although clever readers will guess the answer earlier) and it is assumed that whoever did so was foolish and reckless. But Linda is neither, and though outspoken, she is most definitely not narrow-minded. It's important to remember that when she extols the virtues of the fairy tales, she concludes with "I tell, you, a fresh influx of stories could solve most of the world's problems."

Linda the librarian at first comes across as a traditional gatekeeper, a defender of the status quo - or worse, someone who yearns to turn back the clock. But again she is neither. Linda does not accidentally set the Wild free, nor does she wish to return to the Dark Ages. Instead she wishes for, and gets, an influx of new stories to guide her young charges. Linda knows exactly what she is doing, she trusts Julie to find her way out of the Wild and back into the outside world. Yet another story metaphor, this time about trusting children to both understand the difference between fact and fiction and to be clever enough to take meaning and hope from stories, while avoiding the pitfalls of harmful stereotypes.

In the end, Julie accomplishes what she sets out to do, and, in doing so, she gives the librarian - and her other charges - the inspiration they so desperately need.

Part I: Mothers and Daughters

A review/analysis of Into the Wild by Sarah Beth Durst

(Go here for the Intro and links to Part II and beyond.)

One of the things I've noticed lately is that when movies and TV shows want to depict a meaningful but complex relationship between a parent and an adult/older child, the parent is almost always a father. At least outside of "chick flicks," anyway. (In fact, that rather seems to be the definition of a "chick flick" - a movie that is about the relationships between women, rather than the relationships that men have.)

I think that part of the reason that a lot of girls and women are drawn to fairy tales is because the opposite is true. While the characters in traditional fairy tales are often one dimensional and not always the best representations of women, the relationships in fairy tales tend to include a lot of mothers. Cinderella, Hansel and Gretal, Snow White, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty...while the mother figure is often an evil one, at least she is there, making the stories usually about girls with mommy issues, not boys with daddy issues.

Sometimes there are even other adult women - good and bad - who figure prominently in the story. And they aren't all bad; in Little Red Riding Hood, it is Red's positive relationships with the adult women in her life that provides the catalyst needed for the story to start. (Despite the paternalistic tone of the version most of us grew up with.)

WARNING - massive spoilers below the cut!

Her mom smiled, and Julie grinned back. And for an instant, everything was ok.

The same is true of Into the Wild. Julie's story begins with Julie having to deal with being her mother's daughter and how that isn't always easy. Julie also accepts the call to adventure solely because of her emotional ties to her mother, Rapunzel, and her grandmother. And as we all know, it was Rapunzel's mother who provided the conflict needed for her story to begin as well . While not important to the plot of the story, this tidbit makes it clear that Julie's relationship with Zel, although special, is not unique. Julie's story is part of a larger pattern, and this connection to the cycle of mothers and daughters makes her journey more meaningful, not less so.

So it's no surprise that Sarah Beth Durst dedicated the story to her mother and her daughter. In interviews, Durst has talked about free will being one of the main themes of the book, and it is. The relationships between women is another one. Throughout the story, female friends of Julie and Zel act as helpers and guides, and the relationship between Julie and her mother is central to the action that takes place.

Zel sighed. Sometimes she understood why her own adoptive mother had locked her in a tower. It was hard to watch the person she loved more than her own life grow distant. Each time her daughter rolled her eyes at her, Zel felt her heart twist. She didn't want to wait nine or ten years for Julie to like her again.

Durst does a very good job of not only showing the conflict between Julie, who just wants to fit in, and Rapunzel, who is afraid of losing her daughter to the abyss of teenager's inner turnoil, but also of depicting it in such a way as to make both characters sympathetic to readers of all ages. While most of the story is shown from Julie's point of view, the entire second chapter is spent shadowing Rapunzel instead as she goes about her daily routine at the Salon. This not only provides some necessary world building, as Julie's understanding of the Wild and the past is patchy at best, it also allows kids to step into Rapunzel's shoes and see her as a person and not just a mother archetype.

When Zel and Julie fight, we feel for both. When Julie wonders if she is the cause of her mother's capture by The Wild, we can all empathize with having wished our parents gone at some point, despite the fact that such a wish would mean our deepest fears as well. And even if we haven't been a mother ourselves, we can see that Zel's situation is no easier than Julie's. The stories she refuses to share are do not belong to just her, and intention is obviously to protect Julie, not dismiss her.

Mom went in? In the Wild? In that Thing that ate a police helicopter? Her mom was in that?

When Julie sets off to defeat the Wild, she does so for the sake of her mother and grandmother. Throughout the story she also learns that, in doing so, she is following in her mother's footsteps. Julie learns a lot about her mother during her journey, and she consequently learns a lot about herself, as well. Many fairy and folk tales - and myths and the like - are about the younger generation replacing the older. In very old versions of Little Red Riding Hood, the grandmother stays dead, symbolizing that Red's entry into adulthood is part of a cycle of life and death, of new life replacing old. While neither the grandmother nor the mother die in Durst's book, the story is still very much about Rapunzel having taken on the role of protective mother that her own mother once held - and about Julie beginning her own path towards adulthood.

She looked up at her mother with a fierce expression on her face, an expression that Zel had never seen her wear. For an instant, Julie reminded her of herself. Was that how she'd looked when she'd fought against the Wild?

Into the Wild is an incredibly feminist fairy tale not only because it features a brave and likable female protagonist, but because it recaptures the original spirit of many old fairy tales: the wisdom of old wives and the importance of mothers passing on such wisdom to their daughters.

Wow! An Actual Book Review!

So, in case I hadn't mentioned it yet, Into the Wild just plain rocks.

Like the best books for young readers, it works on many levels. It's fun and the characters are believable and engaging. It's also very original. As much as I love retold fairy tales, this isn't one of them. This is fairy tale land completely re-imagined - but with a great number of familiar characters. On top of all that you get all the nice layers that make for the kinds of "oh. oh! OH!" moments that come only when you re-read at age sixteen the book you loved at age eleven. (Or when you are an adult obsessed with kids books.)

It's one of those books that's both enjoyable and easy to read, but still makes you want to pick it apart into tiny pieces and then put in back together again. Which I'm going to do, so don't read any of the posts that I will be magically appearing below if you haven't read it already, but plan on doing so anytime in the remotely near future. WHICH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY BE DOING.

update: I have the first two parts of the actual review finished, but they have so many spoilers that I don't want to post them until I can figure out how to hide/show posts. Which I had done at one point, but have now forgotten. Plus blogger layouts is making things weird. : P

update II hide/show now working! detailed review linked to below.

Part i: Mothers and Daughters

Part 2: The Power of Myth