See, Flint Can Be Funny!

The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 by Christopher Paul Curtis. 1995.

One I read in college and several times since, plus heard the author reading at graduation this past July. This is the story of Kenny and his wacky family who, on a trip from their home in Flint, MI, are in Birmingham, AL at the time of a racially motivated church bombing.

The voice is funny, prone to hyperbole, which one might think makes the narrator unreliable, but the boy’s character is drawn solidly as a child we can trust. Curtis shows emotion throughout by using action, dialogue, setting rather than stating it bluntly. His climax scenes are intense: “All the hair on my head jumped up to attention,” he writes instead of saying something like, Kenny was startled. Vivid, totally in voice. The plot is understated and organic. Too much so, I wonder? I recall on the first read wondering for a long time what the point would be, if there would be one. Something to look at more closely later, perhaps.

A Chair for My Mother: Contemporary Fable

A Chair for my Mother by Vera B. Williams. Greenwillow Books, 1982.

First person narration and vibrant illustrations combine to build a believable story that is charmingly told. It’s the story of an urban family of Mother, Grandmother and daughter whose home is destroyed by fire. As they work to rebuild their home, their family bonds both with one another and with their broader community. It’s a contemporary story, but with an allusion to Goldilocks, it has a fable-like feel.

Dirty Dogs

Harry the Dirty Dog by Gene Zion, illus. by Bloy Graham. HarperCollins, 1956.

Such a sweet story!

Harry the dog doesn’t like baths so he runs off and gets dirtier and dirtier until he’s no longer a white dog with black spots, but a black dog with white spots. His own family doesn’t even recognize him until he races inside, up the stairs and jumps into, of all places, the bathtub.

The text is simple, the illustrations childlike and happy and the twist at the end—Harry has his scrub brush hidden again—gives a smile. Children will see themselves in Harry and will enjoy his escapades while finding comfort in his finally coming home.

A Secret Worth Sharing: The Secret Garden

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. 1911.

A book ahead of its times! The ending is so oddly in tune with contemporary thought on happiness and depression, Burnett could have written Burns’ classic self-help tome, Feeling Good. That aside, the timeless story is one of survival and friendship -- two little wretches who grow into healthy, strong, loving young people. Interesting isn’t it that research shows those who live close to nature are happier than city-dwellers? Burnett didn’t need a study to know it. More thoughts of note:

• The writing is decidedly lovely. So Thomas Hardy but with more joy, less romanticism and angst (though not without a touch of angst!). You could open it to almost any page and get a passage like this: “Fair fresh leaves, and buds—and buds—tiny at first but swelling and working Magic until they burst and uncurled into cups of scent delicately spilling themselves over their brims and filling the garden air” (283). The narrator voice is close to characters and reader and though seldom addresses the reader directly, involves him or her in the telling of the story.
• A rare story in which none of the central characters are at all likeable. Mary is cross and sullen and ugly. Colin is a wretched brat. And Colin’s father is depressed and self-absorbed. Yet the narrator gives us reason for the children’s flaws such that we forgive them long enough to allow change. And change they do. Masterful, worthy of status of classic.

Silly Old Bear!

Winnie The Pooh by AA Milne. 1926.

Bump, bump, bump on the back of his head. Winnie Ther Pooh. Haycornes and Heffalumps.

How many times have I read these charming stories to my own kids, skipping whole pages so bedtime doesn’t stretch on until 10pm?

The tone is gentle, paternal (without being didactic). And there’s a lesson to writers here: if you write about your own kids, change the names. Apparently Christopher Robin (the real boy) was quite harassed by classmates for having a popular book out about his playtime imaginings. Moral #2: modern authors might not want to mimic the Pooh style too closely. Timeless sensibilities to appreciate: repetition, delightful characters (very Toot & Puddle—rather they are very Pooh), nostalgic prose. But please add a little of today’s characteristics like brevity for a more parent-friendly read.

Lizzie Bordon had an Ax, not a Hatchet

Hatchet by Gary Paulsen. Aladdin, 1987.

Simple, straightforward prose and a moving tale of survival.

The prose is almost poetic in its stripped-down simplicity; it mirrors the thoughts (as I imagine them) of a young boy, yet hints at depth in his character that make me willing to spend almost 200pgs with him and no one else.

Very little dialogue, but Paulsen’s quick, easy, evocative prose makes the pace dance.

Details are fabulous. I was surprised to read in the author bio that Paulsen actually tasted turtle eggs as part of his “research” for the book. His background as a survivalist and naturalist show in the intimacy with which he writes about Brian’s struggles.

A GREAT Book about a Great Girl

The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson. HarperCollins, 1978.

(One of my all-time favorite Paterson novels.) Distance brings you nearer.

Paterson uses the third person in this and most of her novels, first person being too egotistical, in her view (some essay/lecture of hers). But the voices of the characters are so vivid, so alive, it could be written in crayon and I’d still forget the words existed. It’s the story of a little girl tossed from foster home to foster home, a girl who decided long ago that if nobody’s going to want her, there’s no point trying to be want-able. Yet, suddenly she’s stuck with someone who is willing to love her unconditionally. Why? Love, grace, hope. Paterson’s trademarks. Beautiful and authentic.