Saturday, April 26, 2008
Foursome the Spider, Larry Nestor
Foursome the Spider was a silly book. It is about a spider that moves into a nature center with other bugs. Foursome knows how to play golf and he teaches the other bugs to play golf. Through the game they learn how to interact with each other and still be nice to one another. It is an interesting book because it is a picture book, but there are a lot more words than other picture books I have read. It kind of bothers me really. When I first opened it, I thought, "Wow, this looks really long. I don't want to read this." In fact, there are so many words, the pictures don't really add much. You'd have the same story without them. I think the book is a very didactic book, and it is intended to teach a lesson on playing together and being kind to one another. On various occasions, Foursome knocks his seed golf ball into the territory of others and he must apologize, saying he did not intend to harm them. Many times Foursome is complimented on his kindness. Overall, the point is to teach children how to play nice. Honestly, I thought it was a little overdone, and I don't see how I would have liked it when I was a child.
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Cat's Meow, Gary Soto
The Cat's Meow is a strange story. I've never read one so strange. It is about a little girl who hears her cat talk in Spanish. When she asks the cat how she learned to speak, she tells her that a man on another street taught her. The weirdest part about it is it's all true. It just seems weird to me.
It does seem to parody parents and the way kids see their parents. In the story Graciela, the main character, thinks her parents are so weird. She sees them smear ice cream all over themselves and say funny things (her dad keeps saying, "When I was a little girl"). Her parents never seem to listen to Graciela. When she asks them questions they respond with answers that have nothing to do with the question. They also don't notice when she is gone. She just hangs her sweater on the bush in their front yard and they think she is there. It seems like the story is told through the little girl's eyes, so everything that happens is according to her imagination. Perhaps the talking cat, the weird answers, and all the other crazy things that happen in the story are just part of Graciela's imagination and her perspective on the world. At any rate, this book was quite strange.
It does seem to parody parents and the way kids see their parents. In the story Graciela, the main character, thinks her parents are so weird. She sees them smear ice cream all over themselves and say funny things (her dad keeps saying, "When I was a little girl"). Her parents never seem to listen to Graciela. When she asks them questions they respond with answers that have nothing to do with the question. They also don't notice when she is gone. She just hangs her sweater on the bush in their front yard and they think she is there. It seems like the story is told through the little girl's eyes, so everything that happens is according to her imagination. Perhaps the talking cat, the weird answers, and all the other crazy things that happen in the story are just part of Graciela's imagination and her perspective on the world. At any rate, this book was quite strange.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Sarah, Plain and Tall, Patricia MacLachlan
I read Sarah, Plain and Tall when I was little, but I barely remembered it. Now that I have read it again, I see it as a growing up story. It is written through the eyes of a young girl who hopes that a new woman can join her family and become her and her brother's mother after her biological mother passed away. But it seems to me that Anna, the main character, is watching Sarah (the woman) grow up and learning that she will have to grow up as well. Anna says, after knowing that Sarah misses much of the place where she came from, "'I would miss you Nick'", referring to her dog. She seems to be saying that one day, when she must leave her home and marry someone, she would miss much of what she had as a young girl. In the end, Sarah is happy and they are a family, indicating that she has found herself, and she belongs with Anna and her father and her brother. The story is about growing up, finding yourself, and having relationships.
There are also some feminist undertones in the story. For instance, Sarah demands to learn how to ride and drive the cart so that she can go into town by herself. She also says that she can work hard and demands that she be allowed to help Jacob (the father) patch the roof before the storm comes. She is very stubborn and independent. It seems like MacLachlan was promoting these characteristics in women.
There are also some feminist undertones in the story. For instance, Sarah demands to learn how to ride and drive the cart so that she can go into town by herself. She also says that she can work hard and demands that she be allowed to help Jacob (the father) patch the roof before the storm comes. She is very stubborn and independent. It seems like MacLachlan was promoting these characteristics in women.
Clifford the Small Red Puppy, Norman Bridwell
Clifford the Small Red Puppy was one of my favorite books when I was little. I love the Clifford books! My sister really loves them too. She would always get me to point to each little character in the illustrations and make a voice for them. We would giggle so hard. What I find interesting in the Clifford books is the humor. Clifford is always getting into trouble by only trying to help. Then in the end, he always saves the day. But Clifford the Small Red Puppy is a little different. Clifford doesn't try to help anyone in the story; it's just a growing up tale. But I think it does have a little lesson in it too. Even though Clifford was a runt to begin with, he grows up bigger and stronger than any other dog. Perhaps Norman Bridwell wants children to know that they will eventually grow up no matter how small they seem now.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J. K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was an amazing read. It's interesting though, because sometimes I wonder if it should really be considered children's literature. I suppose it is more for adolescents. It seems like when J. K. Rowling wrote her series, she intended the level of the book to grow with the age of the child reading it. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone is quite appropriate for a child in the fourth grade, but this one is not. It's more on the level of someone in junior high or even high school. Perhaps that is why I enjoyed it so much as an adult.
I have met many people who do not think Harry Potter is a good series for children because it involves witchcraft. They say that it is anti-Christian, and children should not read the series because it will cause them to turn away from their faith or want to become Wiccan. I completely disagree. Sure, there are some things about Harry Potter that are not exactly good; he has a terrible temper; he desperately wants revenge; he is not forgiving at all. But I see in Harry a Christ-figure. At the end of this book, he sacrifices himself for everyone else. He, as a young man, faces Voldemort, the king of evil, and defeats him. But the amazing thing is: he dies. Voldemort kills him, and he is resurrected. Now if that isn't a Christ-figure, then I don't know what is. When Harry is killed by Voldemort, he goes to King's Cross, which seems to be a passing between Earth and Heaven, and meets Dumbledore. He is given the choice to stay or to go back to Earth, and he chooses to save his friends and family. Sure, Harry is not perfect, but in a lot of ways, that makes him a better example for children. They see that even though they have their faults, they can still make the right choices. They can still be Christ-like.
I have met many people who do not think Harry Potter is a good series for children because it involves witchcraft. They say that it is anti-Christian, and children should not read the series because it will cause them to turn away from their faith or want to become Wiccan. I completely disagree. Sure, there are some things about Harry Potter that are not exactly good; he has a terrible temper; he desperately wants revenge; he is not forgiving at all. But I see in Harry a Christ-figure. At the end of this book, he sacrifices himself for everyone else. He, as a young man, faces Voldemort, the king of evil, and defeats him. But the amazing thing is: he dies. Voldemort kills him, and he is resurrected. Now if that isn't a Christ-figure, then I don't know what is. When Harry is killed by Voldemort, he goes to King's Cross, which seems to be a passing between Earth and Heaven, and meets Dumbledore. He is given the choice to stay or to go back to Earth, and he chooses to save his friends and family. Sure, Harry is not perfect, but in a lot of ways, that makes him a better example for children. They see that even though they have their faults, they can still make the right choices. They can still be Christ-like.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Would you rather be a Bullfrog? Theo. LeSieg
Would you rather be a Bullfrog? I remember this book from when I was little. It's one of those silly little rhyming books that has a sing-song rhythm. It's a series of questions to the reader about what they would rather be or have. It mimics children quite a bit. I remember the "Would you rather?" questions from when I was little. My favorite was, "Would you rather be freezing cold or boiling hot?" They were great topics of conversation for a child. But this book is great because of its pictures. The pictures are what makes the book fun. It's a really random book, and the drawings go along with the randomness. On one page there is a tiny minnow and a giant whale, and then it the bottom right corner you see a very small hammer and nail. On another page there is drawn "THIS Thing... or THAT or the Thing that's in between". It's quite a goofy picture. Without the pictures the poem would be quite boring.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
I, Freddy by Dietlof Reiche: Hamster Religion?
My sister gave me this book, I, Freddy, by Dietlof Reiche. It's hilarious. It tells the story of a hamster personified, who tries to be a hero and escape from captivity. He is much more intelligent than the other hamsters and encounters many funny adventures. It has so much humor in it; I laugh every time I read a little bit. For example, the hamster writes the story from first person as if he has never written anything before. He tries to justify how he writes things by explaining that this is his first time being an author. For example, he says, "There, and I'd really meant to write about the Golden Hamster Saga at this point. Still, as an author (okay, a budding author), I can imagine that my readers would prefer an action sequence first." (4). This is a great way of allowing children to relate to the story even better. He doesn't claim to be some far off, intelligent writer, but he puts himself on the level of the children: someone who has never written anything that's been published before, just someone who wants to tell a story.
There is one thing that really bothers me about the book though. It seems to parody religion quite a bit. In one chapter, it tells the story of the The Saga, which parodies the Creation story of the Bible. In it the Golden Trinity, three golden hamsters, were abducted from the Promised Land of Assyria. They were held captive, but they multiplied into the race of hamsters that is still held in captivity today by the humans. Every golden hamster on earth is descended from them. Someday, there will be the Golden Hamster Liberation Day (parodying the Second Coming) when all the golden hamsters will be released from their cage and led back to the Promised Land of Assyria.
This story seems funny, right? Hamster religion. It made me laugh at first. But then Freddy, the main character in the story, started questioning the teller of the story (his grandmother) about it because it doesn't make sense to him. He doesn't see how Liberation Day could be organized and questions the existence of the Promised Land at all. Grandmother agrees. She says that it's really just a fairy tale and the only reason it is passed down through the generations and hamsters are told to stand in readiness for Liberation Day is to keep them in check. Hamsters are greedy creatures, she says, and the only way to protect from themselves is to tell them to believe in a fairy tale.
I don't know about you, but it sounds like Deitlof Reiche doesn't have a religion, doesn't it? Perhaps he thinks religion is a good thing for society, but it seems to be a fairy tale to him.
I don't really like the book much anymore.
There is one thing that really bothers me about the book though. It seems to parody religion quite a bit. In one chapter, it tells the story of the The Saga, which parodies the Creation story of the Bible. In it the Golden Trinity, three golden hamsters, were abducted from the Promised Land of Assyria. They were held captive, but they multiplied into the race of hamsters that is still held in captivity today by the humans. Every golden hamster on earth is descended from them. Someday, there will be the Golden Hamster Liberation Day (parodying the Second Coming) when all the golden hamsters will be released from their cage and led back to the Promised Land of Assyria.
This story seems funny, right? Hamster religion. It made me laugh at first. But then Freddy, the main character in the story, started questioning the teller of the story (his grandmother) about it because it doesn't make sense to him. He doesn't see how Liberation Day could be organized and questions the existence of the Promised Land at all. Grandmother agrees. She says that it's really just a fairy tale and the only reason it is passed down through the generations and hamsters are told to stand in readiness for Liberation Day is to keep them in check. Hamsters are greedy creatures, she says, and the only way to protect from themselves is to tell them to believe in a fairy tale.
I don't know about you, but it sounds like Deitlof Reiche doesn't have a religion, doesn't it? Perhaps he thinks religion is a good thing for society, but it seems to be a fairy tale to him.
I don't really like the book much anymore.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Red is a Rose
A bit of poetry. It's about the way we see the world. If we'd only stop to look or listen, we mights see things differently.
Red is a rose
Normally
Or so it goes...
But pink, yellow, orange, white
Are roses too
And beautiful
Blue is water
Most often
When we think of it
But teal and green and purple
Are deeper waters
Lovely to see
The sky is blue
They say
When someone asks
But orange, red, and yellow
Are seen every morning and evening
If you watch
A poem rhymes
Usually
Or so the world thinks...
But words without rhyme
Are poems too
And colorful
Red is a rose
Normally
Or so it goes...
But pink, yellow, orange, white
Are roses too
And beautiful
Blue is water
Most often
When we think of it
But teal and green and purple
Are deeper waters
Lovely to see
The sky is blue
They say
When someone asks
But orange, red, and yellow
Are seen every morning and evening
If you watch
A poem rhymes
Usually
Or so the world thinks...
But words without rhyme
Are poems too
And colorful
Monday, April 14, 2008
The Little House, Virginia Lee Burton
The Little House was one of my favorite books when I was little. I'm not really sure why. It tells the story of a house that is built, lived-in, abandoned, and adopted again. All around the house the landscape goes from beautiful country to dirty, thriving city until she finally is moved to the country again. I think I always loved it because it is about history and the permanence of the house even though the world around her is changing so rapidly. It tells a lesson about technology too, explaining that in the city "Everyone seemed to be very busy and everyone seemed to be in a hurry." Is all this technology really worth it if our lives are just a racing mess? The house is only happy when she is surrounded by nature and is able to watch the slow changing of seasons. The city is dirty and grimy, loud and noisy, and ignores the charm of the little house. I want a little house, and I want it out in the country.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
The Cat in the Hat, Dr. Seuss
How many people do you know who have not read The Cat in the Hat at some point in their lives? Not many, I'm sure. It's a classic. I've probably read it at least five times and maybe more like ten. I just finished it now. It's funny though, because when I was little I didn't like it very much. I thought it was too long, a little boring, and didn't rhyme exactly right. I think I was one of those children who liked things to be consistent. I wanted a pattern in the rhyme that was easy to follow. This book certainly rhymes, but Dr. Seuss changes it up a little within each stanza. To me, it is a little irritating because I have a certain thought in my head about what comes next and Dr. Seuss is always surprising me. It is sort of like he mirrors the randomness and nonsense of the events in the story with the way he rhymes the words.
I realize now, after reading it as an adult, that is has some funny parodies. The fish, for instance, parodies adults that are always telling you what to do, or even those kids that are such goody-goodies and never want to do anything that is even a little outside of the rules. It also has a moral: always clean up. Who would have thought that a crazy cat such as the Cat in the Hat would have the decency to pick up after himself? I also enjoy the ending, "What would you do if your mother asked you?" Dr. Seuss never really tells the ending, but leaves it up to the reader. I think this last line is one of the major appeals to the book. It is an original sort of punch line.
I realize now, after reading it as an adult, that is has some funny parodies. The fish, for instance, parodies adults that are always telling you what to do, or even those kids that are such goody-goodies and never want to do anything that is even a little outside of the rules. It also has a moral: always clean up. Who would have thought that a crazy cat such as the Cat in the Hat would have the decency to pick up after himself? I also enjoy the ending, "What would you do if your mother asked you?" Dr. Seuss never really tells the ending, but leaves it up to the reader. I think this last line is one of the major appeals to the book. It is an original sort of punch line.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Guess How Much I Love You
I just finished reading Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney. The book was actually given to my sister when she was born, but I adopted it because I love it so much. It tells the story of a little rabbit that is trying to tell his father how much he loves him, but his father keeps responding with an amount of love that is far greater than the little rabbit can think of. The best line of the book is, "I love you right up to the moon--and back." My ex-boyfriend and I used to say that to each other. It was kind of a silly little thing, but it meant something. What is so great about this story and its illustrations is that it is cute, funny, and entertaining, but it teaches children about the love of their parents. It's sort of like a subtle lesson, but not really. I don't know if learning about your parents' love is really a lesson, but it is something that we all deserve to feel. This story is such a wonderful way of putting love into a concept that children can understand. It takes the cliche of saying "I love you this much" while spreading your arms out wide, and turns it into something more. You can't really quantify love, but that is the best way that kids can understand it. The hares in the story also add to the child appeal. It's such a lovely little book. And I am proof that it not only touches the hearts of children, but adults as well.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Undertones
The Lord of the Rings came on today. It was kind of ironic since we were just learning about the Hobbit. My friends and I were talking about the movies and commenting on how they were and were not like the book and what they should and should not have done. Then we started getting into the Christian undertones of the story and, finally, whether or not it is appropriate for children. We were talking about that story The Golden Compass and whether or not children should be allowed to read it since it has strong atheist undertones. Many people say that they would not have even realized that it was a story written by an atheist if the media hadn't blown it in everyone's faces. Of course, in my opinion, even if something isn't obvious, it can still have a subconscious effect on a child's mind. But I am definitely not like those people who won't let their children read Harry Potter because it has magic in it. Harry Potter teaches a lot of people about the struggle between good and evil, and it certainly doesn't force witchcraft on children as if it is real and true, and a religion to be practiced. I won't deny that there is a certain age that children should be allowed to read the books, but they shouldn't be banned forever. When you say something like that, you are putting very little faith in your child's faith, will, and moral code. We can't be afraid to expose ourselves to everything that is just a little different than what we believe. If we did, we wouldn't be able to read much at all. It is in looking at those things that our faith becomes stronger and we are able to better ascertain the truths that we already know.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Interpretation
My friends made fun of the title to the children's book I am reading. It is called Foursome the Spider. It's kind of sad that they made fun of it. Just because it had the word "foursome". The idea hadn't even crossed my mind until they said something. Now I am going to think about that every time I read it. Sometimes I wish we could go back to the innocent days of being a child when things like that didn't even enter our mind. Nowadays we have to worry about everything we say because it might get interpreted the wrong way. No wonder Christ says that we must be like little children to enter His kingdom. Kids are genuine and sweet.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis
I am about to finish The Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle, by C.S. Lewis. It is incredible. I read the entire series when I was in fourth and fifth grades and I loved it, but I don’t think I even caught the (incredibly obvious) Christian undertones. This one is about the end times. The image that struck me the most was when Aslan calls the beasts to him and each looks into his face. If they are good, they go to his right and enter through the gates of Paradise. If they are bad, they go to his left and disappear into his shadow never to be seen again. I also enjoyed the end of the world. Father Time awakens and blows his horn, and everything begins to melt away. The stars fall out of the sky to stand behind Aslan; the dragons and giant lizards destroy the forest and the lands; a massive ocean swallows up the earth. If freezes, and the world ends. Powerful. C. S. Lewis is a mastermind. I love his books.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Child is Us
I am at a racquetball tournament this weekend. The lady at the front desk was really funny. She was probably in her forties, but she acted like a young girl. The funniest thing she said was, "They have this Italian restaurant there and it is, like, so yum." It made me laugh. It makes me wonder how much adults want to be like children. How often do adults try to make themselves look younger, sound cool, or hang out with a younger crowd? I wonder how many of these people really love children's literature. It's not just literature for children because there is a child in each and every one of us. That sounds so cliche but it is so true. (Cliches have to come from somewhere don't they...) We know that A Child's Garden of Verses is a collection of poems written by an adult but from a child's perspective. They reminisce about life as a child, the good times. Everyone wants to always be a kid. It's fun, imaginative, innocent. Everything in the world is playtime.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Bunnies and Eggs?
Goodness, this has been a long week and I haven't written nearly enough. It seems like I had just gotten back to school when I was leaving for home again for the Easter Holidays. Not only that, but I have a big project due next week and I have been working on that endlessly it seems for the past few days. Oh well.
Speaking of Easter, I wonder where the Easter Bunny came from. I heard someone say recently that it is related to the pagan sign of fertility (as is the egg), but why do we have an Easter bunny that carries around a basket of eggs? That doesn't make much sense. Is there a children's story about the Easter Bunny? You know, something like the one about ol' Saint Nick. Of course, the story of St. Nick makes a lot more sense than an Easter bunny that likes to hide eggs. I don't know if anyone even could make a great story out of that. It seems kind of wrong, really. Easter is supposed to be about the Resurrection and new life. And yet, the eggs this Easter Bunny hides are unfertilized, boiled, painted, and eaten (sometimes). What kind of new life is that? And still, why on earth would a bunny have anything to do with eggs, or baskets, or candy. It doesn't make sense.
Speaking of Easter, I wonder where the Easter Bunny came from. I heard someone say recently that it is related to the pagan sign of fertility (as is the egg), but why do we have an Easter bunny that carries around a basket of eggs? That doesn't make much sense. Is there a children's story about the Easter Bunny? You know, something like the one about ol' Saint Nick. Of course, the story of St. Nick makes a lot more sense than an Easter bunny that likes to hide eggs. I don't know if anyone even could make a great story out of that. It seems kind of wrong, really. Easter is supposed to be about the Resurrection and new life. And yet, the eggs this Easter Bunny hides are unfertilized, boiled, painted, and eaten (sometimes). What kind of new life is that? And still, why on earth would a bunny have anything to do with eggs, or baskets, or candy. It doesn't make sense.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Art of Expression in Poetry
I love poetry. It is a beautiful art. It is one of the most free-form expressions a writer can have. A poet doesn't have to follow the conventions of language but can manipulate language, punctuation, and even the way the words are written on the page in order to convey a certain message. It is a lovely freedom. I sometimes like to write poetry myself; it is one of the easiest ways to express how I am feeling. In fact, I know a good many people who I would not consider writers, but who write poetry when they are feeling particularly emotional. It is almost like a release, a way of uncorking the emotion bottled up inside. The funny thing is: a good piece of poetry not only shows the reader how the writer was feeling, but can also speak to the reader in a way that is different from everyone else's experience. A good piece of poetry expresses something but also sparks more emotion and thus more expression. Ah, poetry; what a beautiful piece of art.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Princesses
I like MacDonald's idea that we are all princes and princesses. Daughters of the King. Isn't that a beautiful concept? There is certainly something to be said in it. Princesses must be honest, keep their promises, treat others kindly. But some princesses, as it can be seen throughout history and in many other stories, do not act so wonderfully. They are pompous and rude, and see others as beneath them. This is hardly the kind of princess that MacDonald intended to portray. It's too bad that this is the way we most often see royalty. It seems that power corrupts people and makes them, in a sense, less than what they are. But from a Christian perspective, it is only through being humble and kind that you even become true royalty. This is not to say that only good people are God's children--we all are--but it is those who accept what it means to be the King's child who will make it to His final palace.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Messages
I wrote something for the writing contest today. I wrote it on a spur of the moment. I was suddenly inspired with a story, and I sat down to compose it, and it seemed finished in no time. Well, I guess that is a bit of a lie. I was interrupted the evening I started to write it and didn't finish it until the next morning, but each time I sat at my computer the words flowed out of me like water, steadily spreading across the page. The crisp white page soaked them up quite nicely. The interesting thing is, the contest is about Christian writing, and I certainly wrote from a Christian perspective. It is quite obvious. I wonder if that will be a downfall for me. It seems nowadays the trend is to have less obvious connections: analogies that are difficult to see when viewed from the surface. Sometimes I understand this; I really enjoy trying to dive into works of literature and discover the hidden messages. But at the same time, most people don't like diving into a sea of words to see what treasures may be uncovered, only to find that one's lungs can only hold so much air. Then, under the weight of the words, it is a struggle to come up for breath. Unwilling to search: what they see is what they read is what they get. There is something to be said for obvious connections, so that people get the point on the first pass, and do not mistake what they are reading.
That being said, I would venture to say that many people are affected by unobvious connections whether they know it or not. Nearly everyone who reads a fantasy knows that it is not real and could never happen, but many, as they read it, have a secret hope that it really could happen, or find some glimmer of reality in it. Perhaps that is because much fantasy is teeming with underlying themes, theories, and analogies to real life. There is a yearning in the reader for something in life that is like what is in the story. Only the something in life is real, and the story is only a metaphor.
Anyway, back to the point. Sometimes clear connections are important, too. There are a good number of people in this world who don't like to beat around the bush. They want it plain and simple. We are real, physical beings, and we like things to be seen and touched. That includes the reality of words. In many of the world religions, we use physical actions and verbal prayers that are signs of the spiritual, analogies of the supernatural. These analogies are very real and very direct, such as breaking bread or calling upon the Holy Spirit. Why can't the analogies of our literature do the same? I suppose we need a little bit of both. We need the direct messages to catch our attention, to remind us to keep on the lookout; but we also need the hidden messages to call us deeper, to lure us into the depths of language, where life lessons are trapped in the ocean. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why literature is so important in life.
That being said, I would venture to say that many people are affected by unobvious connections whether they know it or not. Nearly everyone who reads a fantasy knows that it is not real and could never happen, but many, as they read it, have a secret hope that it really could happen, or find some glimmer of reality in it. Perhaps that is because much fantasy is teeming with underlying themes, theories, and analogies to real life. There is a yearning in the reader for something in life that is like what is in the story. Only the something in life is real, and the story is only a metaphor.
Anyway, back to the point. Sometimes clear connections are important, too. There are a good number of people in this world who don't like to beat around the bush. They want it plain and simple. We are real, physical beings, and we like things to be seen and touched. That includes the reality of words. In many of the world religions, we use physical actions and verbal prayers that are signs of the spiritual, analogies of the supernatural. These analogies are very real and very direct, such as breaking bread or calling upon the Holy Spirit. Why can't the analogies of our literature do the same? I suppose we need a little bit of both. We need the direct messages to catch our attention, to remind us to keep on the lookout; but we also need the hidden messages to call us deeper, to lure us into the depths of language, where life lessons are trapped in the ocean. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why literature is so important in life.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
They Would Soar
I hope no one gets tired of my story updates... Although it has been a while.
Adon was barely tall enough to see over the stall wall. But then he heard a snort, and movement, and before he was ready, a large head peered over the door. Adon faltered, taking a step back. He was huge.
“Well, let’s go!” Marion said, and he reached for the door latch. Before Adon had time to comprehend what was going on, Marion had led the animal out of the stall and into the dim morning. He was pulling himself up on the massive animal’s back as he struggled to keep the creature from walking forward. “This is Veridus,” Marion said. “Now get on.”
Adon hesitated. Where had this creature come from and why were they allowed to use him.
“Come on!” Marion shouted. “We don’t have much time. I promise you; we are allowed to borrow him.”
Having no other choice, Adon did at he was told and pulled himself up behind Marion. He heard Marion say a word that he did not understand, and with a jolt, they were soaring on the air. Adon clutched at Marion’s back, almost reeling backward off the horse. “Oh my God!” he shouted. “What the hell is this?”
“Watch your language!” Marion grunted over his shoulder. Veridus tossed his head wildly as if understanding the boy’s words. “This, is a flying horse.”
Adon only gripped Marion’s back tighter and leaned into his shoulders. He could feel Marion waver a moment with Adon’s weight and then heard his voice.
“Can’t you keep your own balance, boy?” His voice quavered, and there was a sense of unease in it.
“What have I got to hold on to? You’ve got a mane.”
“This is going to take some getting used to,” Marion mumbled, crouching closer to Veridus’s neck. He was careful not to wrap his arms around it.
It didn’t take long for Marion to realize that he wasn’t exactly sure where he was going. He had been so caught up in the idea of leaving that he hadn’t given much thought to his actual direction. He glanced below. Everything looked so different from above. Landmarks were not as distinguishable; roads were obscured by the tops of trees; clouds and mists veiled the landscape; even the sun appeared differently from the sky. He scanned the terrain searching for some sign: a large road, lights of a city, the river. Ah, the river. Marion found it. He tugged Veridus slightly to the right and judged that they were about on the right path. They were on their way. For now, they would soar.
Adon was barely tall enough to see over the stall wall. But then he heard a snort, and movement, and before he was ready, a large head peered over the door. Adon faltered, taking a step back. He was huge.
“Well, let’s go!” Marion said, and he reached for the door latch. Before Adon had time to comprehend what was going on, Marion had led the animal out of the stall and into the dim morning. He was pulling himself up on the massive animal’s back as he struggled to keep the creature from walking forward. “This is Veridus,” Marion said. “Now get on.”
Adon hesitated. Where had this creature come from and why were they allowed to use him.
“Come on!” Marion shouted. “We don’t have much time. I promise you; we are allowed to borrow him.”
Having no other choice, Adon did at he was told and pulled himself up behind Marion. He heard Marion say a word that he did not understand, and with a jolt, they were soaring on the air. Adon clutched at Marion’s back, almost reeling backward off the horse. “Oh my God!” he shouted. “What the hell is this?”
“Watch your language!” Marion grunted over his shoulder. Veridus tossed his head wildly as if understanding the boy’s words. “This, is a flying horse.”
Adon only gripped Marion’s back tighter and leaned into his shoulders. He could feel Marion waver a moment with Adon’s weight and then heard his voice.
“Can’t you keep your own balance, boy?” His voice quavered, and there was a sense of unease in it.
“What have I got to hold on to? You’ve got a mane.”
“This is going to take some getting used to,” Marion mumbled, crouching closer to Veridus’s neck. He was careful not to wrap his arms around it.
It didn’t take long for Marion to realize that he wasn’t exactly sure where he was going. He had been so caught up in the idea of leaving that he hadn’t given much thought to his actual direction. He glanced below. Everything looked so different from above. Landmarks were not as distinguishable; roads were obscured by the tops of trees; clouds and mists veiled the landscape; even the sun appeared differently from the sky. He scanned the terrain searching for some sign: a large road, lights of a city, the river. Ah, the river. Marion found it. He tugged Veridus slightly to the right and judged that they were about on the right path. They were on their way. For now, they would soar.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Prohibition
I watched Footloose yesterday. Yes, it does have something to do with children's literature. Or maybe it is just literature in general. In the movie, they talk a lot about prohibition, and one recurring theme is the idea of censorship. Some people of the town wanted to rid the libraries of certain books that they deemed unholy and unfit for children's reading. How terrible is that! There was even one scene where they had a book burning rally and destroyed many of the stories. However, the minister of the church in the town finally came to realize that prohibition and censorship was not the answer. What people needed was not an avoidance of temptation, but a complete change of heart that made that temptation undesirable, or at least recognizable. In other words, with the right heart, someone can read a book and know the wrong things that happen in the story, understand why they are wrong, and realize that they will have to encounter sin and wrong-doing in their everyday lives. With a change of heart, people can turn dancing into something that is holy and joyful, and not sinful. Fairytales can be fun and entertaining, and not have an anti-feminism agenda.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Sense of Nonsense
Alice and Wonderland is full of nonsense, but it has a strange logic to it. I mean, there is something to be said in the Hatter's remark that saying what you mean is not the same as meaning what you say, just like seeing what you eat is not the same as eating what you see. When you eat, you grow; if you have white flowers but need red ones there's no reason not to paint them; and morals can be found in almost anything (though it may not be worth trying to find them). The puns throughout the book are quite interesting as well. It is as if Carroll was only pointing out what people recognize but are too embarrassed to talk about. People don't mention these sorts of things because they think that others will think them crazy, or silly, or nonsensical. In reality, a little bit of sense can be found in most of the book. Maybe that is what is so entertaining about it. It's like a silly game; you have to make sense out of what is seemingly absolutely insane.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Under the Influence
Sometimes it is hard to write in a blog everyday. Sometimes you don't feel inspired, or you just can't seem to get your fingers to want to type. But sometimes when you feel this way, if you just go ahead and write, the craziest things will come out of your head. Tonight is one of those nights.
I can't wait until we start reading Alice and Wonderland. I have never read it before, but I have heard stories that the author wrote it while he was on opium. It is intereting how many of the most famous classic stories were written under the influence of something. I don't promote illegal drugs in any way, but a lot of the time, they seem to really bring out the creativity in people. It is also interesting how they can cause adult people to create masterful pieces for children. It is as if finding that high (by using drugs) is really just finding the child in yourself, and that is what makes you feel so happy. It's too bad that people resort to using substances to get to that point. It should be something that is found naturally. If we all could just keep in touch with the child within, then life would be just a little bit better. Maybe that is why so many adults love to read children's stories. They are great sources of a natural high.
I can't wait until we start reading Alice and Wonderland. I have never read it before, but I have heard stories that the author wrote it while he was on opium. It is intereting how many of the most famous classic stories were written under the influence of something. I don't promote illegal drugs in any way, but a lot of the time, they seem to really bring out the creativity in people. It is also interesting how they can cause adult people to create masterful pieces for children. It is as if finding that high (by using drugs) is really just finding the child in yourself, and that is what makes you feel so happy. It's too bad that people resort to using substances to get to that point. It should be something that is found naturally. If we all could just keep in touch with the child within, then life would be just a little bit better. Maybe that is why so many adults love to read children's stories. They are great sources of a natural high.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Life and Fantasy and "What do you think?"
February 16, 2008—“What do you think?”
I promise it is Saturday as I write this. I’m still at the retreat. Anyway, here is an update on Marion’s world:
When Marion returned to the room, Adon was still snoring soundly. It was still dark outside, and Marion guessed it was about four in the morning. He would have another good hour of sleep before he would have to embark on his journey again.
He next awoke to Adon shoving his shoulder. “Marion, get up. Get up! I thought you wanted to leave early!”
Marion bolted upright. He could see a faint glow of light in the sky. Damn. The sun was already rising. He threw off the blankets and began to gather his things. “Are you ready to go?” he said gruffly. “Grab whatever you can get to eat downstairs and some for me. We’re in a hurry.”
Adon did as he was told, and left the room. Marion gather his cloak, his bow and arrows, and whatever money they had left. After one last look out towards the valley, he left the room and descended the stairs.
Hessa was waiting for him at the door with a freshly baked oat cake in hand. “You know where to find him?” she said.
Marion nodded, taking her cake. It was warm and smelled wonderfully of cinnamon. She smiled at him, and Marion had a curious sense of regret at not being able to see her smile again for a long time. Then he was out the door with Adon at his tail.
Marion was lucky he had a keen sense of direction. It didn’t take them long to find the start of the path to the barn again. But the path was quite different in the day than at night. The trees seemed less dense, the shadows less sinister. The barn itself could be seen from between the trees, and it appeared like just another cottage in the woods.
“Where are we going?” Adon asked when Marion took a sharp turn down into the woods.
“You’ll see,” Marion answered. The less that was said, the better. Fortunately, Adon didn’t ask again until they were upon the gate in front of the barn. Marion pushed it open and passed through. Adon frowned. “This is private property.”
“I have permission.” He pushed on the door to the barn. Adon followed as he crossed the aisle, placed a hand on the door of the stall, and peered over the edge. “What do you think?” Marion asked, more admiration in his voice than he intended to reveal.
February 15, 2008—Life and Fantasy
I know this is being posted late, but I am at a retreat where there is no internet service, so I am forced to write it now and post it later. Really, honestly, it is Friday evening. I am at what is called an Engaged Encounter retreat. It is for Catholic couples who want to be married, and it is a way to prepare yourself for marriage, through prayer, Mass, discussions, talks, and writing. So far it sounds like it will be amazing but a little tiring. It’s funny now when I look back at the fairy tales we have been learning about in class. In many of them, there was love at first site and the prince and princess were married soon afterward, and they live happily ever after. Today, that is so rare that the Catholic Church, which believes that that the marriage bond lasts forever, will not even marry a couple unless they have been engaged for at least six months and have gone through sufficient marriage preparation. I think that is wonderful. As much as we would all like to believe it, there is no such thing as love at first sight, and no one should marry on a whim. Now, I do believe in romance, and I do believe in happy endings, and I will marry my prince. We just have to prepare ourselves for it, that’s all.
I promise it is Saturday as I write this. I’m still at the retreat. Anyway, here is an update on Marion’s world:
When Marion returned to the room, Adon was still snoring soundly. It was still dark outside, and Marion guessed it was about four in the morning. He would have another good hour of sleep before he would have to embark on his journey again.
He next awoke to Adon shoving his shoulder. “Marion, get up. Get up! I thought you wanted to leave early!”
Marion bolted upright. He could see a faint glow of light in the sky. Damn. The sun was already rising. He threw off the blankets and began to gather his things. “Are you ready to go?” he said gruffly. “Grab whatever you can get to eat downstairs and some for me. We’re in a hurry.”
Adon did as he was told, and left the room. Marion gather his cloak, his bow and arrows, and whatever money they had left. After one last look out towards the valley, he left the room and descended the stairs.
Hessa was waiting for him at the door with a freshly baked oat cake in hand. “You know where to find him?” she said.
Marion nodded, taking her cake. It was warm and smelled wonderfully of cinnamon. She smiled at him, and Marion had a curious sense of regret at not being able to see her smile again for a long time. Then he was out the door with Adon at his tail.
Marion was lucky he had a keen sense of direction. It didn’t take them long to find the start of the path to the barn again. But the path was quite different in the day than at night. The trees seemed less dense, the shadows less sinister. The barn itself could be seen from between the trees, and it appeared like just another cottage in the woods.
“Where are we going?” Adon asked when Marion took a sharp turn down into the woods.
“You’ll see,” Marion answered. The less that was said, the better. Fortunately, Adon didn’t ask again until they were upon the gate in front of the barn. Marion pushed it open and passed through. Adon frowned. “This is private property.”
“I have permission.” He pushed on the door to the barn. Adon followed as he crossed the aisle, placed a hand on the door of the stall, and peered over the edge. “What do you think?” Marion asked, more admiration in his voice than he intended to reveal.
February 15, 2008—Life and Fantasy
I know this is being posted late, but I am at a retreat where there is no internet service, so I am forced to write it now and post it later. Really, honestly, it is Friday evening. I am at what is called an Engaged Encounter retreat. It is for Catholic couples who want to be married, and it is a way to prepare yourself for marriage, through prayer, Mass, discussions, talks, and writing. So far it sounds like it will be amazing but a little tiring. It’s funny now when I look back at the fairy tales we have been learning about in class. In many of them, there was love at first site and the prince and princess were married soon afterward, and they live happily ever after. Today, that is so rare that the Catholic Church, which believes that that the marriage bond lasts forever, will not even marry a couple unless they have been engaged for at least six months and have gone through sufficient marriage preparation. I think that is wonderful. As much as we would all like to believe it, there is no such thing as love at first sight, and no one should marry on a whim. Now, I do believe in romance, and I do believe in happy endings, and I will marry my prince. We just have to prepare ourselves for it, that’s all.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Contradiction
Danielle intrigues me. She is very strong-willed and a little bit of a feminist, but she is not rebellious. She is somewhat contradictory. She defies the prince and almost seems to scold him, but lets her stepmother walk all over her. She even comments on how she stays up late and tries to think of ways to please her stepmother. This seems contradictory to a strong-willed, self-confident woman who would know if she was doing more work than her keep. I suppose Danielle doesn't mind the work, respects the position of a servant, and is very loyal to her family, but she doesn't seem to recognize the injustice she endures. Yet she always recognizes the injustice that inhibits others.
It seems to me that Danielle has two characters: the one who stands up for what she believes in, tricks the court (even royalty), and gets what she wants; and the one who allows herself to be pushed down and walked upon without even crying out. Then again, I suppose she does become a little more defiant with her stepmother once she starts seeing the prince. Perhaps the prince brings out what is best in her.
It seems to me that Danielle has two characters: the one who stands up for what she believes in, tricks the court (even royalty), and gets what she wants; and the one who allows herself to be pushed down and walked upon without even crying out. Then again, I suppose she does become a little more defiant with her stepmother once she starts seeing the prince. Perhaps the prince brings out what is best in her.
Monday, February 11, 2008
A Myth
It occurred to me today that many of our beliefs are based on myths. I would venture to say that many of the stories in the Old Testament are myths. And the funny thing is, we believe wholeheartedly in them. I'm not saying that they aren't true. I certainly am a Catholic Christian and I believe in God's Truth; I'm just saying that it is striking how so many of the world religions have religious texts that hold very similar myths. I wonder if it is because these myths are so close to the truth that they all have the same origin. Or is it because God has chosen to reveal himself differently to different people? I'm not saying that there are different "true" religions--there can only be one Truth--but all good comes from God, so there can certainly be certain smaller truths found in differing faiths. And these truths come alive in the myths.
Many Christians believe the Bible to be completely factual, a history book. I, on the other hand, though I believe the Bible is entirely true, don't take it as a factual history book. I guess it can be compared to what many people say about folktales: they are not exactly how something happened, but they are very true. I understand that while the Bible was inspired by God, it was written by human hands, and certain things were emphasized or elaborated according to the audience and the specific understanding of the culture of the time. A myth. Except that this collection of myths carried meaning much more powerful than even the most magical fairytale.
The Bible is the greatest love story, fantasy, adventure tale ever written.
Many Christians believe the Bible to be completely factual, a history book. I, on the other hand, though I believe the Bible is entirely true, don't take it as a factual history book. I guess it can be compared to what many people say about folktales: they are not exactly how something happened, but they are very true. I understand that while the Bible was inspired by God, it was written by human hands, and certain things were emphasized or elaborated according to the audience and the specific understanding of the culture of the time. A myth. Except that this collection of myths carried meaning much more powerful than even the most magical fairytale.
The Bible is the greatest love story, fantasy, adventure tale ever written.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Avolo!
Perhaps I am writing too many excerpts from my story. But I like seeing what is going to happen next just as much as a reader. :)
Marion gaped. It was beautiful. The horse soared elegantly through the night sky like an exotic bird dancing on the wind. He appeared to be running in the air with no ground to meet his feet, and hi legs pounded the sky with powerful grace. It occurred to Marion that although his name meant “winged horse”, he had no wings. Effortlessly he sailed the skies, with no apparent source of his flight. It was magical. As Veridus passed beyond the trees and into the open sky, the silver moonlight glistened on his back, shimmering faintly against the clouds. Magnificent.
Hessa flew Veridus for only a short while before she alighted in front of Marion. “Your turn.” She grinned, sliding off his tall back. Her feet landed with a faint thud on the ground. “Just grab hold of his mane at his withers and swing yourself up."
"I know how to mount a horse,” Marion grunted. He did as he was told. Veridus stepped forward at the pressure of Marion’s mount, and Marion almost slipped of his back, but he held on tight. Soon he was sitting high atop the creature. Marion felt a sudden sense of uneasiness. It had been a long time since he had been on a horse’s back, and certainly never one that was this tall. He gulped. This was going to be intense.
“Okay, if you cluck at him and kick, he just walks like a normal horse.” Hessa nodded, ncourage Marion to try. He did so, and Veridus stepped forward reluctantly with a toss of his head. “To fly, you say, ‘Avolo!’”
Marion bent forward over the horse’s neck and clutched his mane. Then he whispered, “Avolo.” They were off!
Instantly Marion felt as if he were falling backward. For a moment he thought he had slipped off the back of the horse. He grasped for his mane. Then, swiftly, Veridus stopped his ascent and pitched forward, balancing in the air. He grunted, as if waiting for Marion’s next command.
Marion glanced around him. They were floating in midair! It was incredibly dark; the trees were merely black spots on the ground below. Occasionally he got a glimpse of a rooftop or street in the shimmering moonlight, but Hessa and the barn below were impossible to see. He searched for some sort of marker of where he had left. Then he saw the lantern. Hessa had stepped out from beneath the canopy of a tree and waved it at him. He breathed more freely.
Marion tugged Veridus’s mane to the right, and the horse turned on the spot. Marion’s stomach did a somersault as the wind crashed into him and almost knocked him off to the left. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around Veridus’s neck. Veridus tossed his head in protest, but Marion hung on. Then the horse began to dive. Wind crashed into Marion’s face and his long hair was lifted off his neck. The rush of air was cold, and his eyes began to water. They were headed straight for the ground! Then Marion heard Hessa’s faint voice below. “Sit up, Marion! He dives when you do that!”
Shaking his head, Marion struggled to push himself into an upright position while maintaining his balance. Though the horse was steady, the wind was harsh, and he felt gusts coming at him from every angle. But as soon as he had relinquished his grip on Veridus’s neck, the horse righted himself. Then they were gliding smoothly through the air again.
That was enough for tonight, Marion thought. This was going to take some getting used to. Lightly he tugged Veridus back to the left and toward the light of the lantern. “Expono, Marion, expono,” Hessa was saying.
It took a moment for Marion to understand. Then, comprehending, he whispered, “Expono.” Veridus began his descent, and moments later, they were back on solid earth.
Marion slid off his back as soon as he felt the ground beneath the horse’s feet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention that about the diving,” Hessa said, “I didn’t think you would hold on so tightly.”
Marion glared at her so harshly, he was glad she could barely see his face in the dark. “You didn’t explain how to land either.”
“Sorry. It’s my fault, really. I can only hope no one heard me shouting after you.”
“Well, what’s done is done.” Marion struggled to grin at her. “It was fun. He is going to be very valuable on my trip.”
She nodded. “Now let’s get him put away and you back in bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”
Marion gaped. It was beautiful. The horse soared elegantly through the night sky like an exotic bird dancing on the wind. He appeared to be running in the air with no ground to meet his feet, and hi legs pounded the sky with powerful grace. It occurred to Marion that although his name meant “winged horse”, he had no wings. Effortlessly he sailed the skies, with no apparent source of his flight. It was magical. As Veridus passed beyond the trees and into the open sky, the silver moonlight glistened on his back, shimmering faintly against the clouds. Magnificent.
Hessa flew Veridus for only a short while before she alighted in front of Marion. “Your turn.” She grinned, sliding off his tall back. Her feet landed with a faint thud on the ground. “Just grab hold of his mane at his withers and swing yourself up."
"I know how to mount a horse,” Marion grunted. He did as he was told. Veridus stepped forward at the pressure of Marion’s mount, and Marion almost slipped of his back, but he held on tight. Soon he was sitting high atop the creature. Marion felt a sudden sense of uneasiness. It had been a long time since he had been on a horse’s back, and certainly never one that was this tall. He gulped. This was going to be intense.
“Okay, if you cluck at him and kick, he just walks like a normal horse.” Hessa nodded, ncourage Marion to try. He did so, and Veridus stepped forward reluctantly with a toss of his head. “To fly, you say, ‘Avolo!’”
Marion bent forward over the horse’s neck and clutched his mane. Then he whispered, “Avolo.” They were off!
Instantly Marion felt as if he were falling backward. For a moment he thought he had slipped off the back of the horse. He grasped for his mane. Then, swiftly, Veridus stopped his ascent and pitched forward, balancing in the air. He grunted, as if waiting for Marion’s next command.
Marion glanced around him. They were floating in midair! It was incredibly dark; the trees were merely black spots on the ground below. Occasionally he got a glimpse of a rooftop or street in the shimmering moonlight, but Hessa and the barn below were impossible to see. He searched for some sort of marker of where he had left. Then he saw the lantern. Hessa had stepped out from beneath the canopy of a tree and waved it at him. He breathed more freely.
Marion tugged Veridus’s mane to the right, and the horse turned on the spot. Marion’s stomach did a somersault as the wind crashed into him and almost knocked him off to the left. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around Veridus’s neck. Veridus tossed his head in protest, but Marion hung on. Then the horse began to dive. Wind crashed into Marion’s face and his long hair was lifted off his neck. The rush of air was cold, and his eyes began to water. They were headed straight for the ground! Then Marion heard Hessa’s faint voice below. “Sit up, Marion! He dives when you do that!”
Shaking his head, Marion struggled to push himself into an upright position while maintaining his balance. Though the horse was steady, the wind was harsh, and he felt gusts coming at him from every angle. But as soon as he had relinquished his grip on Veridus’s neck, the horse righted himself. Then they were gliding smoothly through the air again.
That was enough for tonight, Marion thought. This was going to take some getting used to. Lightly he tugged Veridus back to the left and toward the light of the lantern. “Expono, Marion, expono,” Hessa was saying.
It took a moment for Marion to understand. Then, comprehending, he whispered, “Expono.” Veridus began his descent, and moments later, they were back on solid earth.
Marion slid off his back as soon as he felt the ground beneath the horse’s feet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention that about the diving,” Hessa said, “I didn’t think you would hold on so tightly.”
Marion glared at her so harshly, he was glad she could barely see his face in the dark. “You didn’t explain how to land either.”
“Sorry. It’s my fault, really. I can only hope no one heard me shouting after you.”
“Well, what’s done is done.” Marion struggled to grin at her. “It was fun. He is going to be very valuable on my trip.”
She nodded. “Now let’s get him put away and you back in bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Happily Ever EVER After
I wish that life was a fairytale. You know, the kind when everything seems to turn out well for the good people in the end. The man and the woman always love each other; they never seem to get into arguments; they never make each other sad. And no matter what the heroine suffers in the story, everything is perfect in the end. Wouldn't that be amazing? But, sadly, life is not a fairytale. But, then again, if you count getting to Heaven, maybe it is? Perhaps I should look at Jesus as my shining Prince; all I have to do is get through the tortures of this life before I can reach the happily ever ever after.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
True Love
Sometimes I wish I were in a fairytale. I was thinking about Ella again. I began to think about how wonderful it must be to know someone loves you for exactly who you are and nothing else. The prince loved her because she made him laugh, because of her conversation, because of her spirit. They didn't even kiss each other until he had proposed marriage. How beautiful! In today's world, everything is dominated by outward appearance. How we dress flatters our figures; the jewelry we wear shows how wealthy we are; every woman must wear makeup everyday to be normal. Many men base their attraction to a woman on how "hot" she is. Ella Enchanted, however, is a perfect example of true love rooted in deep admiration of one's character. That is so rare! I hardly ever wear makeup, honestly because I never have time to put it on, but sometimes I am glad I don't. This is me; this is who I am. I will be loved because of my character, and nothing else. Then again, I guess I better go work on that character. Part of being loved is being able to love in return, and that says a lot about character.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Real Women
Ella makes me laugh. She is certainly a character. Although, I couldn't help but feel that she was a little bit younger than fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen in the book. Perhaps that is because the book is written for children.
Another thing that bothered me about Ella is her somewhat revengeful nature. I mean, the things she did to characters they certainly deserved, but that didn't mean she had to do them. She was definitely selfless with people that she loved, but not with those she disliked. For example, she stole Hattie's wig; she stamped on Hattie's foot; she made fun of the tall girl at finishing school. She seemed to easily want to hurt those that took advantage of her. This may be something that feminists adore about Ella--the fact that she is able to take care of herself and do her very best to not be pushed around. However, I find this trait undesirable. Once again, I am probably being too old fashioned, but I think there is something to be said for someone who is able to take suffering without complaint, or at least to be kind even in the face of unkindness. I'm not saying we should all just let people tramp over us. We just shouldn't lower ourselves to their level. I really enjoyed Areida in the story, who seemed very competent and had a mind of her own, but took the jests of others without trying to get revenge. She even took care of the mean tall girl when she was sick.
There are people in this world who always even the score--people who take back what was stolen, return what harm was given, and make known their suffering by serving it to others. Ella was certainly not this revengeful, though she did have small bouts. I'm just saying there is a lot to be said for someone who can handle suffering quietly. That to me is a real woman; or even a real man.
Another thing that bothered me about Ella is her somewhat revengeful nature. I mean, the things she did to characters they certainly deserved, but that didn't mean she had to do them. She was definitely selfless with people that she loved, but not with those she disliked. For example, she stole Hattie's wig; she stamped on Hattie's foot; she made fun of the tall girl at finishing school. She seemed to easily want to hurt those that took advantage of her. This may be something that feminists adore about Ella--the fact that she is able to take care of herself and do her very best to not be pushed around. However, I find this trait undesirable. Once again, I am probably being too old fashioned, but I think there is something to be said for someone who is able to take suffering without complaint, or at least to be kind even in the face of unkindness. I'm not saying we should all just let people tramp over us. We just shouldn't lower ourselves to their level. I really enjoyed Areida in the story, who seemed very competent and had a mind of her own, but took the jests of others without trying to get revenge. She even took care of the mean tall girl when she was sick.
There are people in this world who always even the score--people who take back what was stolen, return what harm was given, and make known their suffering by serving it to others. Ella was certainly not this revengeful, though she did have small bouts. I'm just saying there is a lot to be said for someone who can handle suffering quietly. That to me is a real woman; or even a real man.
Fly?
An update on what is going on in my fairytale:
Marion was taken aback. Fly? He had heard of these so called winged horses before, but he thought that they were only legends, or at least creatures of the long ago past. This was impossible. And if he really could fly, why was Hessa entrusting him to Marion?
“I believe in your quest,” Hessa said, as if she could read his mind. She was grinning at him and the light from her lantern caused shadows to dance across her face. It twinkled in her eyes, and he found a deep sense of trust resting in them. Both trust of her in him, and trust of him in her. It had been a long time since he had really trusted someone.
He nodded. “I appreciate your trust. And I am very grateful of your confidence in me as well as this amazing gift.”
“Oh it’s not a gift,” Hessa laughed. “I’m letting you borrow him. He belongs to me.” She began to unlatch the door to the stall as she reached for a halter hanging on a hook nearby. She pushed the door into the stall, stepping through the narrow gap and reaching underneath Veridus’s neck. Steadily the slipped the halter over his narrow face and latched it behind his ears. He grunted and nuzzled her in the shoulder. Then she swung the door open farther and began to lead him into the barn corridor.
The creature was even bigger up close. Marion, tall though he was, could barely see over Veridus’s whithers, and his chest was almost twice as wide as Marion’s. The horse snorted and glared at Marion, as if offended by his shocked expression.
“Come, I’ll show you how to ride him.” Hessa began to lead Veridus toward the door to the barn and out into the dim moonlight. The gate creaked again. Marion followed quickly behind, but it seemed he had barely passed through the gate before Hessa has swiftly mounted the horse and was off, sailing smoothly and silently through the night sky.
Marion was taken aback. Fly? He had heard of these so called winged horses before, but he thought that they were only legends, or at least creatures of the long ago past. This was impossible. And if he really could fly, why was Hessa entrusting him to Marion?
“I believe in your quest,” Hessa said, as if she could read his mind. She was grinning at him and the light from her lantern caused shadows to dance across her face. It twinkled in her eyes, and he found a deep sense of trust resting in them. Both trust of her in him, and trust of him in her. It had been a long time since he had really trusted someone.
He nodded. “I appreciate your trust. And I am very grateful of your confidence in me as well as this amazing gift.”
“Oh it’s not a gift,” Hessa laughed. “I’m letting you borrow him. He belongs to me.” She began to unlatch the door to the stall as she reached for a halter hanging on a hook nearby. She pushed the door into the stall, stepping through the narrow gap and reaching underneath Veridus’s neck. Steadily the slipped the halter over his narrow face and latched it behind his ears. He grunted and nuzzled her in the shoulder. Then she swung the door open farther and began to lead him into the barn corridor.
The creature was even bigger up close. Marion, tall though he was, could barely see over Veridus’s whithers, and his chest was almost twice as wide as Marion’s. The horse snorted and glared at Marion, as if offended by his shocked expression.
“Come, I’ll show you how to ride him.” Hessa began to lead Veridus toward the door to the barn and out into the dim moonlight. The gate creaked again. Marion followed quickly behind, but it seemed he had barely passed through the gate before Hessa has swiftly mounted the horse and was off, sailing smoothly and silently through the night sky.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Sleeping
There once was a little girl who was very tired. She had a lot to do all the time, and she would just go and go until the day was done, and then she would lay down her little head on the pillow and fall fast asleep. But it seemed like her head had barely hit the pillow when she was up and going again. She always felt like she needed more sleep, but then she felt like she had things she needed to do even more than she needed sleep. So she would get up and go again. She became so good at running on adrenaline during the day that when she would sit down to watch a movie or even to hang out with her friends, she would fall asleep right her in chair. Sometimes she really wished that she was Sleeping Beauty and she could just sleep until her prince charming came to take her away and take care of her so that she never had to do anything really productive again. But then she decided that that would be boring.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Career Fairs and Fairytales
I went to career fair today and yesterday. It was insane. There were firms everywhere, people in suits and ties and shiny shoes; people offering rigid smiles and a firm shake of the hand; interviews, pamphlets, portfolios, resumes. Crazy. But right in the middle of it, I went to learn about children’s literature. What a break. And yet, the funny thing is, I could see a lot of these people right smack in the middle of a fairytale. There was a woman who interviewed me today who I swear was the evil stepmother of Cinderella in disguise. She was nice enough at first impression, but rigid, serious, powerful, and downright intimidating. Then there was the man that definitely came right out of Snow White. Grumpy was his name, and I’m sure that he booked the hotel with the lumpy bed last night; he was not in a good mood. But one girl was certainly the mischievous Red Riding Hood, short and thin, she peered at me beneath her glasses with quizzical, childlike eyes. I wish that I was Cinderella and stepping into that career fair in my beautiful, elaborate, magical business suit, all eyes on me, and all future employers utterly captivated.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
The Horse
I love fairytales and fantasy novels. In fact, I'm writing my own:
Shutting the door softly behind him, Marion followed her as she slipped between the shadows of the building and quickly moved down the road. The town roads gradually began to slope downhill and the once closely spaced stone buildings became sparser. They passed underneath a stone archway and exited the main city. The road began to double back on itself as the land became steeper, and soon they were walking on a gravel road amid densely spaced trees at the base of the hill. Marion struggled to keep his eye on Hessa as they marched; he could only catch glimpses of her figure darting between shafts of moonlight. Then, barely seen in the shadows ahead, Hessa turned off the gravel road and disappeared beyond two trees. Marion hurried to follow, finding a worn path where her silhouette had gone. The worn path turned to merely heavily trodden ground, to barely a separation in the brush, and then disappeared altogether. Hessa turned sharply once again and ducked under an old large oak that was leaning heavily to one side; its branches sprawled toward the ground like long arms with grasping fingers. It looked as if it could be a hundred years old.
“In here!” Marion heard her urgent whisper and the unmistakable sound of a squeaking gate. He ducked underneath the oak branches that clawed at his cloak. It took a moment after he stood upright for him to realize what he was looking at. It was a barn. Dilapidated and ugly, its wood siding was gray and moldy, the roof had gaping holes, the door hung crookedly on its hinges and no longer spanned the full distance across the doorway. Marion wondered what Hessa could possibly have to show him in a place so deserted and desolate as this.
Hessa disappeared behind the barn door and beckoned for Marion to follow. He crept into the shadows. He heard Hessa fumbling around for something in the corner; a match lit, and soon she was lifting a lantern. She stepped across the aisle of the barn and toward one of the stalls. Laying one hand on the wooden wall of the stall, she began to cluck softly.
Marion stepped toward the stall. His eyes were barely starting to adjust to the light. He peered into the darkness and a heavy shadow moved. Hessa lifted the lantern and the creature in the stall stepped toward them. Marion drew in a breath. It was huge. A shaft of moonlight passed over the back of the creature, revealing, narrow withers, a curving back, and strong haunches. It was a magnificent horse, unlike any Marion had ever seen. Its coat glittered golden in the moonlight, as if tiny stars were scattered it its fur. It moved smoothly and with power; before Marion had time to take it all in, it reached its head over the stall door and nudged Hessa.
“There, Boy, you’ve come to greet me.” She rubbed his nose along the pure white blaze that ran from between his eyes past his nostrils. He tossed his head in response and a yellow golden mane fluttered lightly on his neck.
The horse seemed to suddenly noticed Marion standing there and turned toward him, his blue eyes staring. Marion froze. It was almost as if human eyes were piercing into him.
“His name is Veridus,” Hessa said.
“Interesting name,” Marion grunted.
“He’s magnificent.”
Marion nodded in response. There was certainly something wonderful about this horse, but he didn’t know what. It would certainly be useful, however, magnificent or not. Riding horseback was much more enjoyable than walking.
“Come on, introduce yourself,” Hessa said, backing away from the animal.
Tentatively, Marion stepped forward to place a hand on his face. Veridus jerked his head away. Startled, Marion reached for his neck instead. “Thank you,” he said. “I mean, I’m assuming you are allowing me to borrow him.”
Hessa nodded. “Only if you take good care of him.”
“I certainly will,” Marion answered. “Horses can walk much faster than humans.”
Hessa gave him a small grin. “Oh you won’t be walking. His name is Veridus.”
Marion eyed her. “What does that mean?”
“It means winged horse. He can fly.”
Shutting the door softly behind him, Marion followed her as she slipped between the shadows of the building and quickly moved down the road. The town roads gradually began to slope downhill and the once closely spaced stone buildings became sparser. They passed underneath a stone archway and exited the main city. The road began to double back on itself as the land became steeper, and soon they were walking on a gravel road amid densely spaced trees at the base of the hill. Marion struggled to keep his eye on Hessa as they marched; he could only catch glimpses of her figure darting between shafts of moonlight. Then, barely seen in the shadows ahead, Hessa turned off the gravel road and disappeared beyond two trees. Marion hurried to follow, finding a worn path where her silhouette had gone. The worn path turned to merely heavily trodden ground, to barely a separation in the brush, and then disappeared altogether. Hessa turned sharply once again and ducked under an old large oak that was leaning heavily to one side; its branches sprawled toward the ground like long arms with grasping fingers. It looked as if it could be a hundred years old.
“In here!” Marion heard her urgent whisper and the unmistakable sound of a squeaking gate. He ducked underneath the oak branches that clawed at his cloak. It took a moment after he stood upright for him to realize what he was looking at. It was a barn. Dilapidated and ugly, its wood siding was gray and moldy, the roof had gaping holes, the door hung crookedly on its hinges and no longer spanned the full distance across the doorway. Marion wondered what Hessa could possibly have to show him in a place so deserted and desolate as this.
Hessa disappeared behind the barn door and beckoned for Marion to follow. He crept into the shadows. He heard Hessa fumbling around for something in the corner; a match lit, and soon she was lifting a lantern. She stepped across the aisle of the barn and toward one of the stalls. Laying one hand on the wooden wall of the stall, she began to cluck softly.
Marion stepped toward the stall. His eyes were barely starting to adjust to the light. He peered into the darkness and a heavy shadow moved. Hessa lifted the lantern and the creature in the stall stepped toward them. Marion drew in a breath. It was huge. A shaft of moonlight passed over the back of the creature, revealing, narrow withers, a curving back, and strong haunches. It was a magnificent horse, unlike any Marion had ever seen. Its coat glittered golden in the moonlight, as if tiny stars were scattered it its fur. It moved smoothly and with power; before Marion had time to take it all in, it reached its head over the stall door and nudged Hessa.
“There, Boy, you’ve come to greet me.” She rubbed his nose along the pure white blaze that ran from between his eyes past his nostrils. He tossed his head in response and a yellow golden mane fluttered lightly on his neck.
The horse seemed to suddenly noticed Marion standing there and turned toward him, his blue eyes staring. Marion froze. It was almost as if human eyes were piercing into him.
“His name is Veridus,” Hessa said.
“Interesting name,” Marion grunted.
“He’s magnificent.”
Marion nodded in response. There was certainly something wonderful about this horse, but he didn’t know what. It would certainly be useful, however, magnificent or not. Riding horseback was much more enjoyable than walking.
“Come on, introduce yourself,” Hessa said, backing away from the animal.
Tentatively, Marion stepped forward to place a hand on his face. Veridus jerked his head away. Startled, Marion reached for his neck instead. “Thank you,” he said. “I mean, I’m assuming you are allowing me to borrow him.”
Hessa nodded. “Only if you take good care of him.”
“I certainly will,” Marion answered. “Horses can walk much faster than humans.”
Hessa gave him a small grin. “Oh you won’t be walking. His name is Veridus.”
Marion eyed her. “What does that mean?”
“It means winged horse. He can fly.”
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Modern Beauty and the Beast
My sixth grade sister had an assignment for school: take a classic fairytale and retell the story in modern times. She hasn't written the story yet, but this is something I came up with from our general idea.
Beauty and the Beast.
There is a man who is very into his job. He works for the FBI and is trained as a spy and hitman. He is so involved with his career that it becomes his life. He eats, sleeps and breathes the FBI, thinking that other people and other matters are unimportant. His neighbors think he is anti-social and he is often rude to his family. He introduces himself as simply Q. He has to change his appearance very often, but one of the most useful disguises he uses is a full beard and mustache and long shaggy hair. He is so hairy that his mother says he looks like a beast.
He lives in New York and pretends to be a broker. One day he meets a woman at the bus stop. On first glance, he thinks she is very beautiful, but he thinks that she would surely be ditsy and flighty and not worth his time. He is very rude to her and she does not like him at all. But there is something about her that intrigues him. Using the skills he learned in the FBI as a spy, he begins to keep tabs on her and learns that her name is Angelina. She starts to notice his strange behavior and when he calls her on the phone, she yells at him, calling him a stalker. He is very hurt by her dislike of him.
Eventually, Q backs off for a while, but he meets her again on the street. This time he tries to be nice, but he is awkward and acts strangely because he has not spoken with anyone like this in a long time. Angelina takes pity on him and invites him to have coffee with her. They have a good time. They start to hang out more often, and Angelina shows him how to be himself instead of feeling awkward. They start to talk about their personal lives. Angelina learns that a long time ago, Q broke off relations with his father. Now his father is dying, and Q does not want to speak to him before he dies. Angelina manages to convince Q that he should see his father.
When Q is able to visit his father, he breaks down in tears, and realizes that his career has turned him into a monster. He had not even been able to forgive his father on his deathbed. Q decides to quit his career as a spy and hitman, and shaves off his beard and cuts his hair. Then, realizing he loves Angelina, he marries her. He brings gifts to his neighbors, smiling and introducing himself now as Quinton.
Beauty and the Beast.
There is a man who is very into his job. He works for the FBI and is trained as a spy and hitman. He is so involved with his career that it becomes his life. He eats, sleeps and breathes the FBI, thinking that other people and other matters are unimportant. His neighbors think he is anti-social and he is often rude to his family. He introduces himself as simply Q. He has to change his appearance very often, but one of the most useful disguises he uses is a full beard and mustache and long shaggy hair. He is so hairy that his mother says he looks like a beast.
He lives in New York and pretends to be a broker. One day he meets a woman at the bus stop. On first glance, he thinks she is very beautiful, but he thinks that she would surely be ditsy and flighty and not worth his time. He is very rude to her and she does not like him at all. But there is something about her that intrigues him. Using the skills he learned in the FBI as a spy, he begins to keep tabs on her and learns that her name is Angelina. She starts to notice his strange behavior and when he calls her on the phone, she yells at him, calling him a stalker. He is very hurt by her dislike of him.
Eventually, Q backs off for a while, but he meets her again on the street. This time he tries to be nice, but he is awkward and acts strangely because he has not spoken with anyone like this in a long time. Angelina takes pity on him and invites him to have coffee with her. They have a good time. They start to hang out more often, and Angelina shows him how to be himself instead of feeling awkward. They start to talk about their personal lives. Angelina learns that a long time ago, Q broke off relations with his father. Now his father is dying, and Q does not want to speak to him before he dies. Angelina manages to convince Q that he should see his father.
When Q is able to visit his father, he breaks down in tears, and realizes that his career has turned him into a monster. He had not even been able to forgive his father on his deathbed. Q decides to quit his career as a spy and hitman, and shaves off his beard and cuts his hair. Then, realizing he loves Angelina, he marries her. He brings gifts to his neighbors, smiling and introducing himself now as Quinton.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Chivalry vs. Feminism
Snow White makes me angry. You know, I thought I didn't mind the traditional fairtytales where the prince comes and rescues the princess and takes her away, but Snow White is just plain dumb. I like to consider myself a smart person while I'm not the most gorgeous girl on the block; I don't want to feel like guys are going to be less interested in people like me and more interested in ditsy flighty beauties who care more about how they look than how they behave. This tale makes me feel like women are just objects to men and can just sit there and look beautiful and allow the men to do whatever they want with them.
Don't get me wrong. Like many women, I love to feel the protection of another man; I love to be rescued. I am a little old-fashioned, and I think that chivalry is a dying art. But I am not going to put myself in a dangerous situation just to be rescued. Women are meant to be mothers; they too are meant to protect, to heal, to take care of themselves and their children. They are not just pretty things you sit on your shelf. The problem with society is that it seems to operate in the two extremes. Either people (some men especially) think that women are objects meant to be quiet and do as the man asks, letting him be in control of everything; or they (the feminists) think that women are supposed to be like men, and push their career over their children while claiming that they don't need or want the help of men. Neither of these is okay. Women are beautiful, able creatures, created by God for a purpose, and that purpose is not merely an object for pleasure. But it also does not mean women should try to turn themselves into something they are not: men.
We are the bride. We are loved and cared for because of who we are, the things we believe in, the things we accomplish, and how we love and care for other people. We are able; we are smart; we can get ourselves out of danger, but we also trust the help of men who, though equal, carry much different qualities than we. Let the man be the prince, but be the intelligent princess.
Thank God my fiance loves me for more than my looks.
Don't get me wrong. Like many women, I love to feel the protection of another man; I love to be rescued. I am a little old-fashioned, and I think that chivalry is a dying art. But I am not going to put myself in a dangerous situation just to be rescued. Women are meant to be mothers; they too are meant to protect, to heal, to take care of themselves and their children. They are not just pretty things you sit on your shelf. The problem with society is that it seems to operate in the two extremes. Either people (some men especially) think that women are objects meant to be quiet and do as the man asks, letting him be in control of everything; or they (the feminists) think that women are supposed to be like men, and push their career over their children while claiming that they don't need or want the help of men. Neither of these is okay. Women are beautiful, able creatures, created by God for a purpose, and that purpose is not merely an object for pleasure. But it also does not mean women should try to turn themselves into something they are not: men.
We are the bride. We are loved and cared for because of who we are, the things we believe in, the things we accomplish, and how we love and care for other people. We are able; we are smart; we can get ourselves out of danger, but we also trust the help of men who, though equal, carry much different qualities than we. Let the man be the prince, but be the intelligent princess.
Thank God my fiance loves me for more than my looks.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Shaping Stories
It is amazing how much you can find in a story--sexual undertones, cultural warnings, political messages. Fairytales were just stories when we were kids, right? They didn't have much of a point, except they entertained. Well, sometimes they didn't even do that. I remember thinking that Little Red Riding Hood was kind of silly when I was a little kid. I never understood how the girl could mistake a wolf for her grandma. But, then again, I loved the Disney versions of Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Beauty and the Beast. In a lot of ways, though, Disney changed many of these stories. It seems Disney has sort of taken over the popular view of these classic fairytales, asserting its version as the "true" version. I remember the first time I read a story of Beauty and the Beast that had someone killed in it. I was apalled. I had no idea how much my view of it, shaped by Disney, was different from many of the older versions.
Looking back now, I don't even recall a time when I had never heard of many of these classic tales. I can't remember the first time I heard the story of Red Riding Hood or Cinderella. It seems they have always been in my memory, much like the classic fairy tales seem to have always been part of our culture. Of course, it wasn't always that way. They were born out of something, and yet many different cultures from all over the world have very similar stories. It goes to show how alike humans are; how much we have in common, no matter our backgrounds. Every young girl wants to be taken away by her shining prince; every young man wants to pull a sword from a stone. We see these same ideas exhibited in modern "chick flicks" and adventure stories. The question is: do we shape the stories, or do the stories shape us? Since similar stories were born of different cultures in times of very little mass communication, I'd say we shape the stories based on our own human understanding and desires. Perhaps there is nothing wrong with a beautiful, confident woman captivating a man, and allowing him to take her away and shower her with chivalry and affection. I tell you what; if a man came riding up to me on a brilliant white steed and told me he would take me away to his castle in a faraway magical land, I'd definitely consider it. Maybe I am just old fashioned. ;)
Outside Reading List
Book 1: The Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle
Author: C. S. Lewis
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 3/26
Book 2: Guess How Much I Love You
Author: Sam Mc Bratney
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/5
Book 3: The Little House
Author: Virginia Lee Burton
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/14
Book 4: I, Freddy
Author: Dietlof Reiche
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/16
Book 5: Would you rather be a Bullfrog?
Author: Theo. LeSieg
Illustrator: Roy McKie
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/17
Book 6: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Author: J. K. Rowling
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/18
Book 7: Clifford the Small Red Puppy
Author: Norman Bridwell
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/24
Book 8: Sarah, Plain and Tall
Author: Patricia MacLachlan
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/24
Book 9: The Cat's Meow
Author: Gary Soto
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/25
Book 10: Foursome the Spider
Author: Larry Nestor
Illustrator: Michael Glenn Monroe
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/26
Looking back now, I don't even recall a time when I had never heard of many of these classic tales. I can't remember the first time I heard the story of Red Riding Hood or Cinderella. It seems they have always been in my memory, much like the classic fairy tales seem to have always been part of our culture. Of course, it wasn't always that way. They were born out of something, and yet many different cultures from all over the world have very similar stories. It goes to show how alike humans are; how much we have in common, no matter our backgrounds. Every young girl wants to be taken away by her shining prince; every young man wants to pull a sword from a stone. We see these same ideas exhibited in modern "chick flicks" and adventure stories. The question is: do we shape the stories, or do the stories shape us? Since similar stories were born of different cultures in times of very little mass communication, I'd say we shape the stories based on our own human understanding and desires. Perhaps there is nothing wrong with a beautiful, confident woman captivating a man, and allowing him to take her away and shower her with chivalry and affection. I tell you what; if a man came riding up to me on a brilliant white steed and told me he would take me away to his castle in a faraway magical land, I'd definitely consider it. Maybe I am just old fashioned. ;)
Outside Reading List
Book 1: The Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle
Author: C. S. Lewis
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 3/26
Book 2: Guess How Much I Love You
Author: Sam Mc Bratney
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/5
Book 3: The Little House
Author: Virginia Lee Burton
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/14
Book 4: I, Freddy
Author: Dietlof Reiche
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/16
Book 5: Would you rather be a Bullfrog?
Author: Theo. LeSieg
Illustrator: Roy McKie
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/17
Book 6: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Author: J. K. Rowling
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/18
Book 7: Clifford the Small Red Puppy
Author: Norman Bridwell
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/24
Book 8: Sarah, Plain and Tall
Author: Patricia MacLachlan
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/24
Book 9: The Cat's Meow
Author: Gary Soto
Picture Book? No
Posting Date: 4/25
Book 10: Foursome the Spider
Author: Larry Nestor
Illustrator: Michael Glenn Monroe
Picture Book? Yes
Posting Date: 4/26
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