Kensington Gardens is not Peter Pan’s origin story

 

When I was quite a bit younger than I am now, I came across a book called Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. And it was a confusing discovery. It was by J.M. Barrie, the same guy who wrote Peter Pan. And I checked the copy write dates (I didn’t have the internet but I was at a library and Peter Pan was next to it on the shelf) and saw the Kensington Gardens was first published in 1906, five years before the Wendy-Neverland-Hook version. And the two versions are radically different.

I now know that Barrie first wrote about Peter Pan as part of an adult novel called The Little White Bird. He then wrote the stage play, which introduced the familiar version of Peter Pan. Then the chapters that featured Peter Pan from The Little White Bird got published as Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. And THEN Barrie wrote the novelization of the stage play.

Whew.

And, seriously, the Kensington Peter is radically different than Peter Pan. He’s an eternally seven-day-old baby. He lives in London. The book reads more like Charles Kingsley’s Water Babies. Seriously, it’s twee to the point of being creepy. (Which, given that the Little White Bird is about parenting, may have been the intent)

I’m not going to spoil the book because, in all honestly, I feel it comes across as more about tone and setting than actual plot. For me at least, Peter Pan at Kensington Gardens is less about what Peter does and more about who he is and what his version of Kensington Gardens is like.

Kensington Peter is definitely not an origin story for Peter Pan. It’s not even a beta version of the character. It is a completely different character in a different genre, despite a few similarities. Yes, there are fairies in Kensington Gardens but they make any version of Tinker Bell look like Dirty Harry.

I do agree with history. The right version of Peter Pan won. Be it an innocent adventurer or a disturbing view of eternal youth or a creepy child kidnapper, the Neverland Peter Pan is a vibrant creation open to a lot of interpretation and storytelling. Kensington Peter has his dark elements but is, at most, a deconstruction of Victorian cherubs.

I also want to note that the first version of the book on Project Gutenberg had a chapter I didn’t remember, a fascinating description of Kensington Gardens. Looking further, I found versions on Project Gutenberg that had fewer chapters than the book I found in the library. Clearly, Peter Pan at Kensington Gardens has an interesting publishing history. 

Even by Roald Dahl standards, the Witches is disconcerting

Since my son was reading Roald Dahl’s The Witches, I decided to read it too. While I have read a lot of his books for children, some of them when I was a kid, and his stories for older audiences, that was a book that I had never read.

That was a weird read.

 

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First of all, let’s be honest. Roald Dahl’s work has always had elements of the grotesque and the macabre and the really bizarre. Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator reads like it was written during a severe fever where opiates were part of the treatment plan. But his other kids books balance out that with happy endings.

(No, I haven’t seen any of the movie adaptations of the Witches but I did l know they were out there)

An orphaned boy learns from his grandmother that witches are real and among us. They look like humans, other than their hands, feet, and their saliva. Oh, and they’re bald but being bald as a qualifier as being inhuman feels kind of extreme. And their whole deal is killing children.

When the unnamed boy and his grandmother end up at a resort where all the witches of England just happen to be meeting, they manage to wipe the witches out by using the witch’s’ own transformation potion against them. But the boy also gets hit by the potion and will be a mouse for the rest of his life.

While the topic of The Witches is probably the darkest of any Dahl book I’ve read, the tone isn’t. The witches are serial killers with genocidal plans, which puts the people-eating giants in the BFG to shame. However, their behavior is incredibly childish with the Grand High Witch in particular coming across as a petulant brat.

Even by Dahl standards, the contrasts are jarring.

Then there’s the boy’s final fate. Permanently transformed into a mouse with a significantly reduced lifespan. And he plans on dying with his grandmother since they now have about the same life expectancy. The boy views this as a happy ending but I’m not sure how many readers will agree with him.

Really, what the Witches lacks that so many of his works have is whimsy.

And I was unsurprised to learn that the book has been accused of being misogynistic. In fact, the first draft of this blog entry was twice as long discussing that. And that was just too distracting. What I will say is, regardless of authorial intent, the book is very easy to give a misogynistic reading of. Which is definitely not to say don’t read it. Just keep that in consideration, particularly when discussing it with children.

How Bruce Coville went from Scooby Doo to Spider Robinson

Many moons ago (checks copywrite dates… Whoa, a whole lot of moons ago!), I read a book called My Teacher is an Alien by Bruce Coville. So long ago, in fact, that I was actually the target age group for the book.

Earlier this year, I learned that it was, in fact, only the first book in a series of four books. After My Teacher is an Alien, we got My Teacher Fried My Brain, My Teacher Glows in the Dark and My Teacher Flunked the Planet

And, boy, did the series not go where I was expecting it to go. In fact, if I had kept on reading it, I probably would have been strongly affected by it at that age.

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Seriously, I’m going to even talk about the resolution for the whole series

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The first book has three kids, discover that one of their teachers is, yeah, you guessed it, an alien from outer space. He is there to abduct a group of children. Fortunately, he has a great sensitivity to music, and the school band is able to drive him away, although one child is so unhappy here on earth that he goes with him.

So we have an alien invasion/abduction theme with a definite Scooby Doo vibe. And honestly, at the time, it didn’t make that big an impression on me. Particularly because the alien teacher didn’t seem that scary. And I assumed that the rest of the series would continue with the whole Scooby-Doo, meddling kids thwart alien invasion theme.

Instead, the series tackles, a different, science-fiction, trope, one that’s actually more interesting. The aliens are actually trying to figure out what to do with us. Because the series taps into two ideas that show up a lot in science-fiction. One, humans are dangerous. Two, humans are special. 

In fact, it pushes both ideas further than a lot of science fictions works. It doesn’t just talk about how the human race commits war. It also talks about environmental abuse and other forms of abuse and negligence. The Ethiopian famine of 1983 - 85 was specifically mentioned and the political elements of it were even alluded to (but not spelled out because this was a series for middle schoolers)

And the series takes up the old (and disproven) saw that we use only 10% of our brains. So the human brain is the most potentially brilliant brain in the universe, which actually kind of annoys the aliens.

So, instead of an alien invasion plot, the kids find out that what is really going on is that the aliens are trying to figure out if they have to wipe out the human race before we get off the planet and really start breaking stuff. Coville actually does a really good job of both showing that the aliens really don’t like the idea of genocide but also how we aren’t giving them much choice.

The explanation for everything turns out to be that the human race is actually a hive mind, but one that fractured because feeling everyone was just too painful. So we do have magical brains, but the fact that we are incomplete makes us unhappy and lash out. (And this was when I checked to make sure Bruce Coville wasn’t a pseudonym for Spider Robinson)

Not going to lie, I found that to be a cop out. Coville actually does a very interesting job discussing human flaws but then comes up with a fantastic solution. He talks about real problems, but then gives us a magical solution that I’m confident isn’t actually real.

I did like how aliens gave us television to make us more stupid. And then were upset because it worked too well.

While I wasn’t pleased with the destination, I did enjoy the journey. The series definitely encourages you to think and it would have made me think pretty hard if I had read it back when I was in middle school or high school.

I also like the character development. In particular, Duncan’s arc is good. A thoughtless bully, he goes through a Flowers for Algernon brain enhancement. However, instead of it being a tragedy because it isn’t permanent, he gets to keep the emotional growth that he got from it.

My Teacher is an Alien series starts off as a juvenile thriller but segue ways into a young adult examination of human nature. And perhaps Coville’s goal wasn’t to tie everything up with a happy ending  but make his readers think about all the problems along the way.

John Bellairs: gothic horror for kids

Every time I reread The Face in the Frost, I mourn the fact that John Bellairs gave up writing adult fiction for young adult fiction. (Not that there’s anything inappropriate in the Face in the Frost. In fact, I read it as a kid)

However, when I actually read his young adult works, I have to admit I’m also grateful they exist.  And, while I think the House With A Clock In It’s Walls is wonderful, I think his Johnny Dixon stories could be his most gothically horrifying. In particular, the first one, The Curse of the Blie Figurine. 

(This comes with the caveat that I’ve never read any of his Anthony Monday books. Which I only know exist thanks to Wikipedia. Say what you will but it does help you find more books than a card catalog drawer. Oddly enough, I remember hearing a description of The Treasure of Alpheus Winterborn but had no idea it was by Bellairs until earlier today)

And it comes down to this. The characters in The House et al and its sequels start off knowing magic is real. Indeed, some of them have one foot in the door from the get go. Frankly, that makes things less mysterious and scary.

Johnny, on the other hand, is just an ordinary little boy. He’s a lot more defenseless against the forces of darkness. His chief ally, the wonderfully grumpy Professor Childermass, may be learned and brave and cranky but is no wizard.

Indeed, in the Curse of the Blue Figurine, the characters struggle to even believe that they really are beset by the forces of darkness and magic. Even accepting that ghosts and curses are real is part of their journey. There is a profound sense of helplessness.

Of course, in later books, with the characters gaining more experience, the sense of horror receded. I remember finishing the Eyes of the Killer Robit as a child as deciding that I was done with the books. A murderous golem who also plays baseball is a neat idea but it’s no Castle of Otfanto.

Rereading The Curse of the Blue Figurine for the first time in decades, I was impressed by the slow burn creepiness. When o first read it, I missed the humor of the House et al but I can kw see how it does its own thing.

(And, yes, I know Edward Gorey illustrated many of Bellairs books. And that’s just awesome )

Stone Fox - it’s like Hemingway wrote childrens lit

 In my search for ‘books high schoolers pick for bill reports’, I found out about Stone Fox by John Reynolds Gardiner. I thought it was a Newberry award winner (but it’s not) and it’s really more of a fifth grade or middle school book. But I read it anyway.

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Okay. It’s a famous childrens book with a dog on cover. It’s better than even money that the dog is going to die. And she does. So, since you can automatically guess how it ends, is it worth reading?

Short answer, more than I expected.

Synopsis: Willy and his grandfather will lose the farm if they don’t pay off the back taxes. The only way Willy can earn the money is by winning a dogsled race. His beloved dog Search Light dies right at the finish line. However, the titular Stone Fox, legend of dog sled races, holds off the other racers so Willy can carry the late Search Light over the finish line.

First of all, this is a short and Hemingway minimalist book. It is 90% show and only 10% tell. It is impressively razer focused. While there are things Willy struggles to understand, it doesn’t talk down to the readers. 

Second, it is very grounded. The story lays out the situation so we can actually buy an 11-year-old boy winning a dog-sled race with one dog. It’s not a thosand mile Iditarod. It’s ten-mile race and one Willy and Search Ligjt ran on a daily basis and already knew well. And Willy’s big trick of crossing a frozen pond as a short cut is believable and something he cleared with the officials first.

Third, man, does Gardiner develop the relationship between boy and dog well. And almost entirely through showing. He describes Willy and Search Light working and playing together constantly.

So, the ending hits hard. And there’s no falling action. The last sentence is Willy carrying Search Light over the finish line. Razer thin minimalism.

The question I kept asking is why the book isn’t named Search Light? Stone Fox is Willy’s main competition, a neigh mythic sled dog driver- oh. That’s the answer.

Stone Fox, a Native American who is using prize money from races to buy back land treaties took away and is undefeated, is a legendary figure. He is larger than life, outside the scope of Willy and Search Light’s world. And he can be mean, punching Willy hard enough to close his eye for getting too close to his dogs.

So, when this mythic figure not only helps Willy but also honors Search Light’s sacrifice, it elevates both of them. Stone Fox is the gate keeper who lets them become legends as well. Cool trick when the book is so grounded.

Stone Fox is a tiny little book that has an old chestnut for a plot. But it is written so well that it works. 

In search of chapter books

We’ve been looking for a series of chapter books to help supplement The Magic Treehouse books. Yeah, there are a lot of them but some variety won’t hurt. So, we’ve been looking at Ron Roy’s A-Z Mysteries.

Okay, his school librarian handed me a random handful at the end of the school year, plus some Gary Paulsen and other books. They were battered surplus that she couldn’t keep. 

It did include the first book and that was enough to get us started. And it’s about what you’d expect. Elementary age Dink, Ruth Rose and Josh stumble on a different mystery in each book. 

Seriously, kid detective stories as a genre are over a century old. Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys didn’t even get the ball rolling. So it’s a well established and well loved idea.

The A-Z Mysteries are a stark contrast to the Magic Treehouse books and not just because of the difference between fantasy and mystery. Jack and Annie have very little personality beyond Annie making life-threatening decisions and somehow surviving. Two thirds of the dialogue is didactic. (Which, to be fair, is the point) 

On the other hand, the A-Z Mysteries are much more character driven with a lot more dialogue. The kids aren’t that complex but they are still distinct.  Dink is the analytical one who comes up with investigation plans. Ruth Rose, the token girl, makes the actual conclusions. Josh eats a lot. (At least Shaggy stumbled on clues and drew monster agro)

And, in at least the first couple books, the kids investigations are pretty believable. They might go over the top by the letter Z but they start off reasonable. 

Post Script

And in one of the books, corrupt businessmen in suits were compared to penguins. Our son loves penguins and now the A-Z mysteries are dead to him for the foreseeable future.

Time to buy ten more Magic Tteehouse books.

Magical tree houses and child endangerment

For the past several months, The Magic Tree House book series has been my go for reading to our son and occasionally having him read back. I’ve written about the series before but I’ve got some more thoughts.

The series describes the adventures of a brother and sister who discover a treehouse that can travel through time and space (but it is _smaller_ on the inside than on the outside)

The books are formulaic as all get out, down to the dialogue. That said, I have read Stratemeyer Syndicate from the start of the 20th century so I have read much more formulaic and much worse children's literature.

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The series is broken down into four book story arcs. At the end of the first arc, they learn that the treehouse is owned by Morgan Le Fay, the librarian of Camelot.

Morgan or Morgana Le Fay is often portrayed as one of the big bads of King Arthur stories, although she’s apparently okay in the very earliest stories. Still, it’s a little surprising to see her as the benevolent patron of a eight and seven year old.

Except, as we hit the fourth arc, I’m starting to question how benevolent she really is. 

In the third arc, Jack and Annie go through the process of becoming Master Librarians. Which doesn’t involve much in the way of literacy or archival studies or the Dewey Decimal system but does seem to feature a willingness to risk life and limb across time and space. They become Morgan Le Fay’s gofers in the fourth arc.

First thing Morgan Le Fay does? Send them to Pompeii to get a book the day Mount Vesuvius erupts. 

While there are time travel story arguments for why that was the only way (the book had to be taken from the time stream right before it was destroyed,  you can only travel to specific points in history, etc), those aren’t presented. And they don’t excuse the fact that she sends young children into mortal danger and the only warning she gives them is a book about Ancient Rome.

The eruption of Mount Vesuvius is a high point but she keeps sending the kids into serious danger. Yeah, it’s in the name of education and entertainment (readers learn stuff by it happening rather than lecutures) but it’s still hard to swallow as a grown up. 

Kids in danger is a genre staple but there’s usually some attempt at justification. Adults are out of the equation or the kids are trapped or they are the only ones who can pilot the Eva units. After the Jack and Annie get home safely, Morgan just sends them out again.

Of course, what really matters is that our son loves the series and just eats it up like popcorn. He might even be learning some facts from it (but I count on Mystery Science videos more for his random facts) When I first wrote about the Magic Tree House, it was wondering if he’d like them. That question has been definitively answered.

Post Script: I won’t  be surprised if the kids are actually Morgan’s descendants. Annie displays supernatural intuition on a regular basis. That doesn’t make sending them into danger any better, of course.

The Dragonbreath books k ow kids are genre savvy

 My brother and sister-in-law introduced us to the Dragonbreath series by Ursula Vernon to show to our son. They are still a bit beyond his reading level but I’ve been reading him a chapter or three a night. We are on book eight and he’s still not bored.

Danny Dragonbreath is a dragon and a fifth grader in a modern suburban town. Mind you, his world is one of anthropomorphic lizards and amphibians which makes him a little less unusual but he’s still a mythological creature in a mundane setting.

Each book has him and his friends go on some kind of adventure that has some kind of supernatural element. Occasionally Danny goes out of his way to find the adventure but the adventure usually find him. 

The tone of the books nicely balanced between comedy and action-drama. Living potato salad, frog ninjas, were-hotdogs and jackalopes are all pretty silly but the situations are still dangerous. There are stakes.

While the books almost never lean on the fourth wall, the characters, particularly Danny are very genre aware. This isn’t because Danny is a mythological creature. It’s because he and his friends have watched a lot of movies and played a lot of video games.

I’m a daddy and I’ve started being a substitute teacher recently. Danny, in particular, talks like a fifth grader. He’s snarky and overly enthusiastic and a bit of an otaku, as well as basically a sweet kid. Ursula Vernon gives kids a character who they can relate to and see in themselves. (Well, okay, Danny is more reckless than most kids I’ve dealt with)

A key element to Danny and the books is that he is a liminal character. He belongs to the mundane world and the mythological world. Being mythological gives him access to some interesting resources (particularly the ability to use the bus system to go to fantastic places) but his pop culture junky tendencies from the mundane world are just as important.

Like I said, our son has really been engaged by these books. He’s familiar with genre archetypes so characters are are very relatable. 

I need to find more books like Dragonbreath.

Judging the Magic Tree House books

 I have been looking for reading material to encourage our son to read and one series that was recommended to me by multiple sources was the Magic Tree House books by Mary Pope Osborne. So I’ve read the first few books by the power of my library card.

Here’s the elevator pitch. Brother and sister Jack and Annie Smith discover a tree house full of books. By using pictures in the books, they can travel through time and space via the tree house. And, since I read the Wikipedia page, I know they get powerful magical patrons as the series goes on.

I haven’t done a comprehensive study of chapter books for the young but the Magic Treehouse books seem a cut above what I remember reading back when Fred Flintstone lived down the street. The sentence structure is solid. The books don’t talk down to kids. And they are theoretically educational, particularly if your kids read the supplemental non-fiction books.

Of course, reading it as an adult, the plots are remarkably simple and simplistic. The characterization consists of a motivation and a couple quirks. Indeed, both kids show what would be suicidally poor judgement in what would be even slightly more serious setting. Judy Bloom herself couldn’t justify the kids surviving. But all of that is par for the course for this genre.

What has actually struck me as both a pro and a con is that the books are broken down into arcs. And, after the taken the half hour to read the first arc (thanks again, library), it felt particularly like one book had been sliced into four pieces.

Now, if I am able to get our son to try the books, having them come in bite-sized chunks will make them a lot more approachable for him. The books being less intimidating may be a big deal. But, if I’m not getting them from the library, that means the books will cost four times as much :D

While I do enjoy reading young adult literature, and even some juvenile literature, these books aren’t enough to interest me. However, I’d be happy if our son has read a shelf of them by this time next year.

Winnie the Pooh is authentic

Reading Winnie the Pooh by A. E. Milne for the first time since becoming a parent was a fascinating experience.

The book, far more than the animated adaptation, is a remarkably faithful depiction of a child in imaginary play. So many times while I was reading, I found myself rememering times I had seen our son doing variations of what Christopher Robbins does.

First and foremost, Christopher Robbins is the natural leader of the gang. He is the smartest person in the room and everyone admires him. Yeah, I didn’t see that kind of play when our son was five. No, not at all :P

More than that, certain traits are assigned to the animals so that Christopher Robins doesn’t have to have then. Timid Piglet is probably the best example of this, a projection of a child’s insecurities. Piglet let’s Christopher Robins be brave.

Even Rabbit’s plan to kidnap Roo because Kanga makes him nervous is a great example of how little kids are sociopaths.

In short, now that I have a little Christopher Robbins of my own, I can appreciate the observational skills Milne demonstrated. For a story about a talking teddy bear, Winnie the Pooh is surprisingly true to life.

(And, yes, if our child, who has never shown any interest in any version of Winnie the Pooh, prefers the Disney version, that’s cool. Disney Tigger rocks)

The Three Investigators- debunking ghosts from a junk yard

 It’s really more Halloween adjacent at best but I have gone back to the Three Investigators series for the last few months got decompression reading. The reason that I can even try and tie the books to Halloween is because, man, these teens run into a lot of Scooby Doo hoaxes.

The Three Investigators is a series of juvenile mysteries that ran from 1964 to 1987. Except in Germany. If Wikipedia is to be believed, it never stopped in Germany. 

The protagonists form a classic Super Ego-Ego-Id trio. Jupiter Jones is the chubby super ego and the actual detective of the group. Bob Andrews is the ego. While Jupiter is the intuitive genius, Pete is the other side of the smart guy coin, the methodical researcher. And Pete Crenshaw is the big guy, the id, and I always picture him as Shaggy from Scooby Doo since he’s the first to believe in the supernatural.

In some ways, the stories are more grounded than other kid detectives I’ve looked at. They live in a defined town that is fictional but set in a specific location in California. They have to work and scrounge for money and supplies. And grownups, either negatively or positively, are never useless.

On the other hand, they do have an elaborate hidden secret headquarters in a junkyard and they have access to a Rolls Royce. Which, admittedly, does explain how they can get around California. So there is some definite wish fulfillment going on.

Originally, part of the spin of the series was that the boys were associated with Alfred Hitchcock. In reality, of course, all Alfred Hitchcock did was accept a check for the use of his name. But, honestly, from an entertainment and literary standpoint, that’s the least interesting part of the  books. 

The plots are surprisingly intricate puzzles. Not realistic, oh no, but they are intricate. I did appreciate when part of a solution was glare jolt obvious in one book, Jupiter immediately pointed out. The plots are ridiculous puzzles built on people trying to live like Professor Layton but they don’t talk down to their readers.

One thing I can’t do really is compare these books to either the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew, even though they fit the same niche. That’s because those two series have been pretty much adding content for ninety years and adjusting as the times change. I’d have to find books written at the same time as the Three Investigators to make a fair comparison.

I have only read nine of the original forty-three books but I have enjoyed them and I’ll keep on going. The Three Investigators isn’t high literature but it also isn’t junk.

Target made me underestimate Patrick Troughton

As I’ve written in the past, I come from the generation of Doctor Who fans whose primary source of Doctor Who was the Target novelizations. It was certainly a different experience from a world where so much can be streamed at the touch of a button! That said, if I hadn’t had those books as a source of Doctor Who, I never could have become the fan that I continue to be today. 

However, there is absolutely no denying that the books simplified the stories. They were aimed at younger readers. Which was okay since I was a younger reader at the time! I have even read that Terrance Dicks, who wrote over sixty of the books, may have helped British kids learn to love reading more than any other author. (I would love to see an actual study that claims that. Still, better him than Enid Blyton)

So, when I actually got to see stories that I only knew through the books, I was often amazed at how much depth and nuance there was.  And, yes, a lot of that had to do with the actors and their acting.

I was underwhelmed by the novelization of the Three Doctors, which was a major milestone by its concept alone. And the actual episode wasn’t meaningfully different. (I am convinced that Terrence Dick often worked with the original script in one hand and a typewriter in the other) But Stephen Thorne as Omega hammed it up to eleven, chewing the scenery to the point where you’d think he was trying to eat the TARDIS console. It was over the top and kind of ludicrous but darn if it wasn’t entertaining.

And while the books never undersold the Master, you actually have to see Roger Delgado to appreciate his charm and lovely creepiness. There have been many fun interpretations of the Master but the character would have never gotten off the ground without Mister Delgado.

But I think Patrick Troughton is the one who got the worst of it. The books portrayed him as a clown, a cosmic hobo. Sight unseen, he was my least favorite Doctor.

However, actually seeing Patrick Troughton act, there is a presence and gravitas that I had no idea was there. More so than any of the Doctors who followed him (except maybe Sylvester McCoy), there is a thin layer of silliness over a core of steel. Troughton’s Doctor would see things to the bitter end and he would make them right. 

The more exposure I have to Troughton’s Doctor, the more impressed I am and the more I like him. William Hartnel was where the Doctor got started but Troughton is the one who has informed every portrayal afterwards. 

Yeah, didn’t get that from the books.

I am very glad that I had the Target books. In a world before the internet and streaming, they were essential. But, yeah, getting to actually watch the show is better :D 

Beverly Cleary. She wrote some good books.

 Beverly Cleary died on Thursday, March 25, 2021. Which, from the perspective of when I’m writing this was yesterday. She was 104 so the sad aspect is really fighting the impressive aspect.

I’m not sure if I’ve read any of her books since the 1980s. However, I did read a nice chunk of her books back in the day. You know, back when I was the primary audience. And since it’s been decades since I actually read Beverly Cleary, I am not in a position to make any analysis or commentary about her body of work.

However, her Ramona books did leave a lasting impression on me. I remember finding impossible to believe that the same author who had created Henry Huggins, who I found terribly bland, also created Ramona Quimbly who I remember being a much more nuanced and believable character. Ramona was basically a good kid but full of all the flaws and anxieties that are a part of being a kid. 

In fact, I remember being convinced that Beverly Cleary was setting up having Beezus and Ramona’s parents getting divorced. Which, according to Wikipedia, never happened. The fact that I believed that could have happened, though, speaks of the emotional weight Beverly Cleary could convey

I’m a little scared of rereading any of her books because it might be disillusioning. I’ve had decades to develop rose colored glasses. However, she wrote works that have stayed with me and made it to 104. That’s awesome.

Sometimes great authors write mediocre kids books

 Sometimes when I was reading The Undersea Trilogy by Frederik Pohl and Jack Williamson it felt like I was reading one of Heinlein’s juveniles. And then I’d read a section that reminded me that I wasn’t.

I actually picked up used copies of the three books ages ago but my recent interest in Pohl made me decide to read them. The three books describe the adventures of Jim Eden, a cadet in the sub-sea academy.

The books are written a very boy’s own adventure style and the plots are very by-the-numbers. I have read much, much worse books in the genre (I’ve read Stratemeyer syndicate books, for crying out loud) but the Undersea Trilogy still only rose to being okay in it’s best moments.

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Of the three books, the first one, Undersea Quest, was the strongest. Jim gets caught up in a conspiracy to steal one of his uncle’s inventions that gets him kicked out of the academy. He has to save his uncle and keep the bad guys from making a profit. (Okay, they die but it’s not his fault) It all makes sense and the rules of the setting are consistent. 

The second book, Undersea Fleet, inexplicably introduces sea serpents and merfolk that don’t work with what I thought was the educational, hard science point of the series. More than that, these world shaking discoveries get one line in the last book. For me, this is where the bottom dropped out of the series. 

The last book, Undersea City, wasn’t as bad. However, its plot about a benign conspiracy to mitigate undersea earthquakes only holds together by a perverse lack of communication. One decent conversation could have ended a lot of the conflict.

In short, Pohl and Williamson, both very solid authors, feel like they totally phoned it in. If they had stopped with the first book, it would have been better.

I came out of the experiences with two takeaways:

Robert E. Heinlein really was amazing for his ability to write juveniles.

Juveniles and Young Adult are two different genres and I like Young Adult better.

The Reckoners Trilogy is the end of world by super powers

 I was about a third of the way through the third book in Brandon Sanderson’s Reckoners trilogy when I finally realized that they were  young adult books. That was when I noticed that while there was graphic violence and a lot of examinations of ethics and morality, there wasn’t any swearing or sex scenes. 

Let me say before anyting else that I won’t be discussing the plots of any of the books because there would just be too many spoilers.

The books in the trilogy are Steelheart, Firefight and Calamity. In theory, they are super hero fiction but (not in a remotely bad way) they didn’t read like super hero fiction but post apocalyptic science fiction.

Ten years before the start of series, a red star appeared in the sky. Some people became epics, gaining eclectic mixes of super powers. And every last one of them became corrupt and destructive murderers. By the time the first book starts, the entire world is a devastated ruin that makes the Mad Max movies seem like a happier place to live.

Our hero is David Charleston, who has become an expert on Epics after one killed his father. He basically forces the Reckoners, the underground resistance dedicated to killing Epics, to recruit him. From there, we follow his journey into becoming an action hero and growing up. It’s actually more subtle than most young adult coming of age stories. Oh and one of his best characteristics is that David is hilariously bad at similes. 

Seriously, I read digital copies from the library  so I could see how many of his terribly similes other folks had underlined.

While I don’t want to discuss the plot, I do want to discuss the setting. I can’t say it isn’t comic book-like since The Walking Dead and Uber are comic books. But despite having super powers, it does not feel like the superhero genre.

Super powers in this setting are a literal curse. Not a Spider-Man everything goes wrong curse but a curse that drives you insane. And there are quirky elements to them. Oddball weaknesses (they all have them) and mishmashes of powers. It’s a plot point that one epic has ‘conventional’ powers.

More than that, power epics have geographic effects. In addition to the collapse of society, each book features a city that has been warped by Epic powers. Chicago is enshrouded in night and changed to steel, including part of Lake Michigan. New York is flooded with sky skraper top islands with glowing plants. Atlanta is a creeping mass of salt. (That last one is really weird)

Much of my super hero reading has been real world + super heroes. The Reckoners trilogy is its own crazy thing in a pretty realized setting. Which is what made it worth reading.

Wow, the Monster at the End of This Book is turning fifty!

 Last week, a friend told me that 2021 is the fiftieth anniversary of The Monster at the End of This Book. My reply to that was that we wouldn’t have Deadpool if it wasn’t for that book. 

While I was just trying to sound clever, that might be true.

The Monster at the End of This Book has been a best-selling classic for generations so I probably don’t have to describe it. But, just like in case, it is a Sesame Street book where Grover sees the title of the book and desperately tries to keep the reader from finishing the book. He’s scared of monsters, you see. Of course, since loveable old Grover is a monster, he is the monster in the title.

According to Wikipedia, the book was designed to encourage kids to finish books. Since that idea terrifies Grover, the author is clearly relying on children’s innate sadism. However, the book’s significance is how much it explores the meta space.

The Monster et al is the not the first work to break the fourth wall and play with the meta. However, it is baby”s first metafictional book and it is a darn tooting good example of metafiction. Reread it now, I realize that it is not just a book about being a book. It also perfectly captures Grover’s voice. The different elements create a dynamic between two characters and one of them is you, the reader.

There is literally nothing that I can’t say about The Monster et al that hasn’t already been said. I have seen learned papers written about this book. The book is so profoundly about being a book.

I have had We Are In A Book! by Mo Willlems recommended to me as an even more meta children’s book. Which it is. And I know a sequel was written to The Monster et al that adds Elmo to the mix. (I don’t think it’s as good, by the way) However, none of that could have existed without The Monster et al and the legacy that it created fifty years ago.

The bizarre but gentle world of Daniel Pinkwater

 Daniel Pinkwater was one of my favorite childhood authors, if not my flat out favorite. While I sometimes wonder if the world has forgotten him but he’s not just still kicking but writing so maybe I just hang out with the wrong crowd. 

I’ve found his books to be gently bizarre with insights into isolation and figuring out who you are. Which is pretty important when you’re writing books for kids and young adults. He also has the weirdest titles. His books are strange but the titles are even crazier. 

Case in point, I decided to reread The Snarkoit Boys and the Avocado of Death. While the book features a mad scientist who specializes in avocados, a master criminal obsessed with orangutans and the triumphant return of the chicken man from Lizard Music, the story is still more grounded than the title would suggest. Pinkwater’s fantastic elements have a dingy quality, like Star Wars’ used future look.

Mind you, reading the book as an adult is a different experience. For one thing, I now realize the title is a tribute to the b-movies the characters watch :D

There are some elements that wouldn’t do too well these days. An anti-Semite English teacher being played for laughs definitely stands out. (Although I understand that Pinkwater, himself Jewish, revisits the idea in a more serious book, making me wonder if it’s autobiographical) Not to mention the core concept of teenagers sneaking out of the house to go to an all night movie house. That isn’t as cool as it was in the early 80s.

The other thing that struck me is how urban the book is. While that isn’t uncommon now, it seems like we had decades of children’s books that were set in the country-side during the first chunk of the 20th century. I blame Mark Twain, personally. But a big theme of the book is the characters learning about the eccentric parts of their city, which is based on Chicago.

It is obvious is retrospect but just about every book Daniel Pinkwater wrote that I can think of is about self-discovery. He’s very gentle and exceedingly bizarre in how he goes about it so I’m not surprised I did t always get it when I was young.

Revisiting Daniel Pinkwater with his insight into being a social outcast and how to learn to belong, not to mention the quirkiness of people in general, I can’t help but wonder if he’s always been ahead of his time.

As I mentioned at the start, I’m not sure how much Daniel Pinkwater is still read. (Probably a lot more than I know) However, I think he was and still is very relevant.

Why the Kane Chronicles made me a Riordan fan

 Every year or so, I reread one of Rick Riordan’s young adult series. This year, I reread his Egyptian mythology trilogy,  The Kane Chonicles. (Now that it’s all published, I’ll read the Trials of Apollo sometime soonish) 

Rick Riordan has become one of my favorite young adult authors and I really hope our son likes his works when he gets old enough to read them. And the Kane Chronicles was the series that turned me into a fan. 

I had read Percy Jackson and the Olympians when it came out. I felt like it was better than a lot of the books that flooded the shelves post-Harry Potter (Indeed, I described The Lightning Thief as Harry Potter as an American jock to friends) However, I felt like it was also pretty uneven. There were a lot of silly, even juvenile touches. And I don’t mind silly. I love silly. But it felt out of place with the more serious stuff.

In the Kane Chronicles, Riordan had a much more consistent tone. He did a much better job with character development. And there was a stronger sense of mythic, vastness of the setting. Riordan had ironed out how to write for middle schoolers and showed his chops as a writer.

I can’t honestly say that the Kane Chronicles are darker and edgier than the earlier series. The serious elements are just as serious. The funny elements are just blended in better. And that also lets Riordan write about more serious topics more effectively. 

And that tendency carried on to the Heroes of Olympus and Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard series. The latter is actually a strangely effective blend of grim and absurd. Riordan grew into a young adult writer. A bit like comparing The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe with The Magician’s Nephew.

It’s been six or seven years since I first read the Kane Chronicles. Rereading it reaffirmed my faith in Riordan. His books are action movies but they are kind where you care about the characters so the stakes work.

Hey, Neil Patrick Harris wrote a kid’s book!

 The Magical Misfits by Neil Patrick Harris is the third series (at the very least) I’ve read that uses a Lemony Snicket-style narrator. Which seems incredibly fitting since NPH played Count Olaf in the most recent adaptation of A Series of Unfortunate Events.

The book itself was a light, breezy read and I did enjoy it. A group of kids come together by a mutual interest in magic tricks and generally helping people out. Each kid is fairly distinct and has room for character growth.

All or almost all of the magic in the book is the smoke-and-mirrors, slight-of-hand, stage magician magic. Instructions on magic tricks can be found throughout the book (including one I hadn’t heard of, which says more about NPH’s choices in tricks than my knowledge of stage magic) I’m not authority on Neil Patrick Harris but I have heard he is trained in stage magic so the inclusions made sense.

There is wiggle room for NPH to add more Merlin/Dumbledore magic in later books. A fortune teller gives the kids some remarkably prescient advice so the series could be edging into magical realism. I’m good either way. 

Daniel Handler didn’t create snarky and unreliable narrators with Lemony Snicket. In fact, I have always assumed he was parodying 19th century authors. However, he did create a loopy, over-the-top voice that I’ve seen echoed in works like The Secret Series and The Mysterious Benedict Society. The Magical Misfits fits in with them.  (But none of them touch the Kafkaesque bleakness of Handler)

NPH actually has the most grounded use of this style of narration. I can’t say the book is realistic but it is more realistic than any of the others :D And I enjoyed it enough that I am reserving judgement until I read the second book.

What did Enid Blyton just do to my brain?

I decided to read The Enchanted Forest by Enid Blyton just because Noel Fielding and a home baker mentioned it in the Great British Bake-Off.

Enid Blyton is an interesting author. She was a one-woman writing machine who wrote literally hundreds of children’s books that have been cultural touchstones in England and other countries for generations. She has also been accused of being classist, sexist, racist to the point of xenophobic and having a writing style that is simplistic drivel. 

I’ve only read a couple of her books but, from the tiny representation I’ve read, yeah, that sounds about right.

Her work honestly reads like Victorian kiddy books but they were written and published in a post-Edwardian world. Heck, most of it was written after World War II so it doesn’t have the ‘fair for its day’ excuse. As for the writing style, I have read far more than any healthy human should of the Stratemeyer Syndicate’s books. They are the epitome of literary extruded matter and the writing is still better. (I don’t have a problem believing Blyton did all the writing herself without any ghost writers, though)

And, yes, I understand that a big part of her appeal is a yearning for a simpler, more innocent time that never actually existed. She’s also easy to read for very young readers. But those aren’t necessarily good things.

Okay. Enough bashing Enid Blyton in general. The Enchanted Forest.

Three kids move to the countryside and just happen to end up next to a magical forest. The highlight of the forest is the Faraway Tree, which is an interdimensional portal. Basically, the top of the tree pokes into other worlds. So the kids wander into other worlds and have silly adventures. That’s pretty much the book in a nutshell.

All right. A few years ago, I decided to read every fantasy work that L. Frank Baum wrote. Which mean that I read Dot and Tot of Merryland, which was one of the most twee things I had ever read. At that time. It made The Waterbabies look like Paradise Lost. I could literally write an essay making a point by point comparison how Dot and Tot has better characterization, plot structure and world building than The Enchanted Forest.

I don’t expect deep characters in a book for the young but not only are the three kids virtually interchangeable, they have a disturbing lack of any sense of self-preservation even for free-range kids in a nursery tale fantasy land. But the mom letting them go off with an inhabitant of the tree, even though he’s a stranger who she openly doesn’t trust, takes the cake. That crossed the line from ‘it was a different time’ to ‘wow, that’s horrible parenting.’

If there was a story arc, I couldn’t find it. After the kids find the Faraway Tree and understand how it works, it’s like Enid Blyton used a random encounter chart to write the rest of the book. If the book had been published in installments, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.

The one-note magical lands don’t actually bother me as far as world building is coming concerned. The answer to any questions I have is ‘magic did it’ and that works perfectly fine. They still push the one-note element father than I think I have ever seen. Each world is literally one thing, as well as apparently only a few acres big.

The Enchanted Forest is so vapid that I actually wondered if that was the point, that the book was a parody of the genre. Unfortunately, from what I can tell, that wasn’t the case. I was hoping for light distraction but got morbid fascination instead. 

And, yes, I will probably read the next book.