Poking around further in the Internet, I found a really neat site that gives news about book publishing, selling, and literacy in Iran. Two things that caught my eye:
1. Publishers and book sellers in Iran don't have to pay tax this year.
2. The Institute for Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults is planning a Satire Contest: "The first satire festival organised by branches of Institute for Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults (KANOON) will be held in Tehran province. Iranian children and young adults who have just learned to write satire will take part in the festival on May 25th, 2007. They will compete in the fields of poetry and story writing in the festival which will also be attended by renowned Iranian satirists. A total of 11 selected participants will be awarded prizes in the Closing Ceremony. Selected entries for the competition were chosen from among 45 works submitted by children and young adults. (May 2007, Leili Hayeri Yazdi, APPREB correspondent)."
What an appealing thought (seriously). Such a change from the cloying sweetness that one sees so often in children's books and writing here (with many exceptions, of course, for instance the Children's Books that Never Were Series at Saints and Spinners. I am just feeling cranky because my son has to read Rainbow Fish for second grade and do a Friendship Project based on it).
6/24/07
Iranian picture books at the International Children's Library
I found a new site this morning-- the International Children's Library, where I spent more time than I probably should have browsing through the pages of beautiful, strange, disturbing, and intriguing (in various degrees) of children's picture books published recently around the world. The mission of the ICL is to make books available in digital form in all the languages in which they were written, the idea being that children learn to read best in their mother tongue. The website seems to have last been updated in 2006, but it is still a treasure trove of multicultural reading potential. Or at least picture browsing, for foreign language impaired folks like myself.
A few days ago I posted about the US government's massive export of translated English language books into Arabic speaking countries, and so I looked to see what books Islamic countries are publishing themselves. Here are a few that caught my eye:
A few days ago I posted about the US government's massive export of translated English language books into Arabic speaking countries, and so I looked to see what books Islamic countries are publishing themselves. Here are a few that caught my eye:
Abraham, by Mostafa Rahmandoust, illustrated by Hafez Miraftabi (1383).
I think this one looks especially gorgeous: Autumnals, by Mostafa Rahmandoust illustrated by Bahram Khaef (1380). It's a collection of poems. I wish I could read it.
The Adventure of Ahmad and the Clock by Feresteh Ta'erpoor, illustrated by Mehrnoush Ma'soumian (1365).
None of these show up on Amazon, so I'm assuming they haven't been published in English. A great pity, because what better way to appreciate/get to know/wonder at/be puzzled by other cultures than to read their own stories?
Coincidently, there's a discussion of multi-cultural children's books over at Chicken Spaghetti going on right now...
6/22/07
Poetry Friday-Tortoise Family Connections, Owen and Mzee
I was captivated by the story of the orphaned hippo Owen and his tortoise friend Mzee, as described in Owen & Mzee: The True Story Of A Remarkable Friendship (Isabella Hatkoff et al., 2006). In January, Scholastic published a sequel: Owen & Mzee: Language Of Friendship Isabella Hatkoff with Craig Hatkoff and Dr. Paula Kahumb, illustrated by Peter Greste, which I read for the first time a few hours ago. The pictures are even more charming, the story of the communication and affection between hippo and tortoise even more astounding.
The book avoids cloying sentimentality by putting the future of this unusual friendship into question. Owen is still a baby hippo, but as he grows, the risk that he will hurt Mzee unintentionally grows as well. Mzee's shell already has an old injury from being knocked over by a hippo, and the animals' caretakers know that the day may come when they have to put the safety of Mzee before his relationship with Owen. Then Cleo is introduced--she is a 13 year old female hippo, who may win Owen's friendship, even his heart. Will Owen be able to be a hippo, instead of a tortoise? And what will become of Mzee?
Not being one to hang needlessly on cliffs, I did a google search and found a blog written by Stephen Tuei, Owen and Mzee's keeper (that old link wasn't working any more; here's a new link). So now I know what happened, and it is a little sad.
The picture above, showing Owen, Mzee, and another tortoise friend Toto, is from Tuei's blog, where there are lots more great pictures.
On a related note, I also learned that Scholastic has donated 1000 Owen and Mzee books to Kenyan schools. Good for them! They also donate part of the profit from the books to help support the wildlife park.
And to tie it in to Poetry Friday, here's a quote from Tortoise Family Connections, by D.H. Lawrence; the whole poem can be found here.
Father and mother,
And to tie it in to Poetry Friday, here's a quote from Tortoise Family Connections, by D.H. Lawrence; the whole poem can be found here.
Father and mother,
And three little brothers,
And all rambling aimless, like little perambulating pebbles scattered in the garden,
Not knowing each other from bits of earth or old tins.
Except that papa and mama are old acquaintances, of course,
Though family feeling there is none, not even the beginnings.
Fatherless, motherless, brotherless, sisterless
Little tortoise.
Row on then, small pebble,
Over the clods of the autumn, wind-chilled sunshine,
Young gaiety.
Does he look for a companion?
No, no, don't think it.
He doesn't know he is alone;
Isolation is his birthright,
This atom.
Indeed, it's easy to comprehend a hippo loving a tortoise, but the idea of a tortoise "loving" a hippo is hard to fathom.
6/21/07
A large piece of yesterday's Hilary McKay post got lost...
Annoyingly, a piece of the post I wrote yesterday about Hilary Mckay got lost, which is why things were muddled toward the end. So here it is:
Warning: Don't buy the slim paperback Rose's Flying Feeling, published in 2005 for World Book Day. I did, in bulk so as to get it cheaply, thinking that I could easily dispose of the extra copies to friends and on ebay. I was crushed when I opened it and found it was simply the beginning of Caddy Ever After. And once I knew that, I couldn't in conscience sell it on Ebay without saying that, so the whole thing was a fiasco and if anyone wants a copy at cost ($1.00) or 17 of them for a book discussion group or something, let me know...
Warning: Don't buy the slim paperback Rose's Flying Feeling, published in 2005 for World Book Day. I did, in bulk so as to get it cheaply, thinking that I could easily dispose of the extra copies to friends and on ebay. I was crushed when I opened it and found it was simply the beginning of Caddy Ever After. And once I knew that, I couldn't in conscience sell it on Ebay without saying that, so the whole thing was a fiasco and if anyone wants a copy at cost ($1.00) or 17 of them for a book discussion group or something, let me know...
6/20/07
Hilary McKay- Forever Rose! plus book shopping
Forever Rose, the fifth and apparently last book in Hilary McKay's series about the Casson family, will be released in the UK on September 20, and in Canada November 1. But sadly, not until next spring here in the US. There's a great interview with McKay up at Bookshelves of Doom.
I especially liked the list of the books she'd enjoyed as a child, because it was almost exactly what I would pick myself. It reminds me of the bit in Henrietta's House, aka The Blue Hills, by Elizabeth Goudge (1942) where Henrietta is taken to a book store and told to pick the books that every girl should own their own copy of, money being no object. She finds herself the owner of the books in the end, but it is the picking out, not the having, that always appealed to me most. That's why I'm president of the FOL--it gives purpose and pleasure to second hand book shopping. I almost never find anything I want for myself anymore (there are few early to mid 20th-century English school stories available here in New England), so it is nice to have a reason to buy books.
Back to Hilary McKay--I have very much enjoyed buying McKay's books for my library. In fact, we were possibly the first library in the US to have Permanet Rose, because I went to England to buy it.
I especially liked the list of the books she'd enjoyed as a child, because it was almost exactly what I would pick myself. It reminds me of the bit in Henrietta's House, aka The Blue Hills, by Elizabeth Goudge (1942) where Henrietta is taken to a book store and told to pick the books that every girl should own their own copy of, money being no object. She finds herself the owner of the books in the end, but it is the picking out, not the having, that always appealed to me most. That's why I'm president of the FOL--it gives purpose and pleasure to second hand book shopping. I almost never find anything I want for myself anymore (there are few early to mid 20th-century English school stories available here in New England), so it is nice to have a reason to buy books.
Back to Hilary McKay--I have very much enjoyed buying McKay's books for my library. In fact, we were possibly the first library in the US to have Permanet Rose, because I went to England to buy it.
6/18/07
Crying over Picture Books
My son encountered Our Tree Named Steve (Alan Zweibel, illustrated by David Catrow, illustrator) at school, and was very pleased to find it our library yesterday. I'd never heard of it myself, and was a tad doubtful--shades, as it were, of The Giving Tree, I thought. But Steve is no codependent looser, and by the time he performs his great act of heroism (falling so as to avoid causing great damage) I was sniveling.
The book that really gets me, though, is Roxaboxen (Alice McLerran, illustrated by Barbara Cooney. In case you don't know this book, it tells of a group of children playing in a vacant piece of land on the edge of a desert town, making a town for themselves of rocks and scrap wood, boxes and broken glass. The book ends with the children, now grown old, still treasuring their memories of Roxaboxen. My children like this book immensely--they enjoy the story of the games the book's children played, but when we approach the end, and I start weeping, they become a bit impatient with me. In both these books, the sadness comes from loosing one's own childhood, and also the approaching loss to adulthood of one's own children, things beyond the comprehension of the average 5 year old.*
I can't remember a picture book that made me cry when I was a child. I remember lots that were emotionally powerful and heart wrenching and required hard leaning into the arms of the reading parent (Are You My Mother?) but I don't remember crying. I will have to ask my mother if she remembers an instances.
I asked my oldest boy today if he had ever cried over a book, and he said he never had. I hope that some day he will (because I think this is one of the things that should happen when you read great books) But there's lots of time.**
*There are also a few picture books in which people or animals die (The Clown of God, by Tomie dePaola, Goodbye, Mog, by Judith Kerr) which are good for a few sniffs from me, but which don't elicit the same response from my boys. My mind has now taken a rather twisted path -- what if, for instance, the Owl Mother in Owl Babies never did come home?
The book that really gets me, though, is Roxaboxen (Alice McLerran, illustrated by Barbara Cooney. In case you don't know this book, it tells of a group of children playing in a vacant piece of land on the edge of a desert town, making a town for themselves of rocks and scrap wood, boxes and broken glass. The book ends with the children, now grown old, still treasuring their memories of Roxaboxen. My children like this book immensely--they enjoy the story of the games the book's children played, but when we approach the end, and I start weeping, they become a bit impatient with me. In both these books, the sadness comes from loosing one's own childhood, and also the approaching loss to adulthood of one's own children, things beyond the comprehension of the average 5 year old.*
I can't remember a picture book that made me cry when I was a child. I remember lots that were emotionally powerful and heart wrenching and required hard leaning into the arms of the reading parent (Are You My Mother?) but I don't remember crying. I will have to ask my mother if she remembers an instances.
I asked my oldest boy today if he had ever cried over a book, and he said he never had. I hope that some day he will (because I think this is one of the things that should happen when you read great books) But there's lots of time.**
*There are also a few picture books in which people or animals die (The Clown of God, by Tomie dePaola, Goodbye, Mog, by Judith Kerr) which are good for a few sniffs from me, but which don't elicit the same response from my boys. My mind has now taken a rather twisted path -- what if, for instance, the Owl Mother in Owl Babies never did come home?
**The idea of purposefully picking books that will cause your child to cry is hideous. But the idea of picking a book or video that will cause oneself or adult loved ones to cry is not. And I suppose that there are parents of independent readers that hand their children Old Yeller or Of Mice and Men or some such, knowing what is going to happen. I will always remember the night my 12 year old sister read Of Mice and Men.
6/15/07
For Poetry Friday: Memorizing Poetry
It is a dream of mine that by the time my boys are grown (14 or so years, on average), they will have memorized considerable amounts of poetry. My inspiration for this comes from Jean Kerr, a humorous essayist/commentator on family life (five boys and one girl) from the late 50s-early 70s. If you haven't read her, do!
In one essay, "The Poet and the Peasants" (anthologized in Penny Candy), she writes of her own efforts regarding the memorization of poetry by the young. "We have made mistakes with our children," she writes, "which will undoubtedly become clearer as they get old enough to write their own books. But here I would like to be serious for a few minutes about the one thing we did that was right. We taught them not to be afraid of poetry." (p 120).
It took great effort on the part of Kerr and her husband. On paper it seemed simple enough--every week the boys (girl not having yet been born) would memorize a poem, and on Sunday evenings they would recite them. The first week was a disaster: three bad limericks and one "lengthy and truly dreadful verse about a cookie-jar elf" (p 123). The second Sunday, featuring poems chosen by the parents, was also unsuccessful-- "the fact that the poems were of better quality and somewhat longer made the recitations even more agonizing, if that were possible" (p 126).
And here is where my admiration for Kerr and her husband really kicks in. They decided they would take an active role in the process: "One week he'd work on two of them while I worked on the other two (the following week we alternated so that the hostility engendered would be evenly divided." The parent would first read the poem, and ensure that the child actually understood it, not just the "meaning" but the words themselves. Then work on reading out loud was undertaken: "Two of the boys were very quick to grasp inflections; the other two were so slow that rehearsing them was like the Chinese Water Torture and I found myself wondering if there was some way to withdraw from the whole plan- with honor. What kept me resolute was the conviction I read in all those clear blue eyes that I would soon come to my senses, that this madness too would pass" (p 127).
But it worked. The boys memorized yards and yards of poetry, developing their own individual tastes--John, for instance, was "awfully good with people who died or were about to die, like dogs" (p 131). And in the end, it payed off, and the boys were ready with apt quotations for any occasion. A broken window one evening elicited this quote from Dover Beach, by Matthew Arnold: "Come to the window, sweet is the night air."
So far, with no effort on the part of my husband or myself, my boys have memorized the last verse of Cargoes, by John Masefield, and also Douglas Florian's eminently memorable poem about the Monarch Butterfly (Omnibeasts, 2004), memorable chiefly for its last verse: "He is a Monarch, he is a Duke. Swallows that swallow him frequently puke.")
I wish that I had memorized more poetry myself; the number of poems that I have in their entirety can be numbered on one hand, and includes the Monarch Butterfly (although I also know scads of Mother Goose). Only twice in my life was I asked to memorize a poem for school--the first was a rather unexceptional poem about a hippo in second grade, the second Frost's Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening (perhaps the most memorized poem in the USA?) in seventh grade. I tried in high school to memorize poems on my own, but they didn't stick. I think it helps to start young. With Kerr as my guide, I hope to give my children the gift of a brain full of amusing, beautiful, thought-provoking, and quotable words. And I'm sure I'll get started just as soon as I find the time.
If anyone is curious, here is the poem about the hippo (author and punctuation unknown):
He has opened all his parcels,
But the largest and the last.
His hopes are at their highest,
And his heart is beating fast.
Oh happy Hippopotamus!
What lovely gift is here?
He cuts the string, the world stands still,
A pair of boots appear.
Oh little Hippopotamus,
The sorrows of the small.
He dropped two tears to mingle
With the flowing Senegal.
And the "thank you" that he uttered
Was the saddest ever heard,
In the Senegambian jungle,
From the mouths of beast or bird.
Not exactly a poem that will give me comfort or diversion in my decrepit old age...
If anyone is interested in reading Jean Kerr, here's a quick bibliography of her collected essays:
Please Don't Eat the Daisies 1957
The Snake has all the Lines 1960
How I got to be Perfect 1969
Penny Candy 1970
The Poetry Friday roundup is at The Simple and the Ordinary today.
In one essay, "The Poet and the Peasants" (anthologized in Penny Candy), she writes of her own efforts regarding the memorization of poetry by the young. "We have made mistakes with our children," she writes, "which will undoubtedly become clearer as they get old enough to write their own books. But here I would like to be serious for a few minutes about the one thing we did that was right. We taught them not to be afraid of poetry." (p 120).
It took great effort on the part of Kerr and her husband. On paper it seemed simple enough--every week the boys (girl not having yet been born) would memorize a poem, and on Sunday evenings they would recite them. The first week was a disaster: three bad limericks and one "lengthy and truly dreadful verse about a cookie-jar elf" (p 123). The second Sunday, featuring poems chosen by the parents, was also unsuccessful-- "the fact that the poems were of better quality and somewhat longer made the recitations even more agonizing, if that were possible" (p 126).
And here is where my admiration for Kerr and her husband really kicks in. They decided they would take an active role in the process: "One week he'd work on two of them while I worked on the other two (the following week we alternated so that the hostility engendered would be evenly divided." The parent would first read the poem, and ensure that the child actually understood it, not just the "meaning" but the words themselves. Then work on reading out loud was undertaken: "Two of the boys were very quick to grasp inflections; the other two were so slow that rehearsing them was like the Chinese Water Torture and I found myself wondering if there was some way to withdraw from the whole plan- with honor. What kept me resolute was the conviction I read in all those clear blue eyes that I would soon come to my senses, that this madness too would pass" (p 127).
But it worked. The boys memorized yards and yards of poetry, developing their own individual tastes--John, for instance, was "awfully good with people who died or were about to die, like dogs" (p 131). And in the end, it payed off, and the boys were ready with apt quotations for any occasion. A broken window one evening elicited this quote from Dover Beach, by Matthew Arnold: "Come to the window, sweet is the night air."
So far, with no effort on the part of my husband or myself, my boys have memorized the last verse of Cargoes, by John Masefield, and also Douglas Florian's eminently memorable poem about the Monarch Butterfly (Omnibeasts, 2004), memorable chiefly for its last verse: "He is a Monarch, he is a Duke. Swallows that swallow him frequently puke.")
I wish that I had memorized more poetry myself; the number of poems that I have in their entirety can be numbered on one hand, and includes the Monarch Butterfly (although I also know scads of Mother Goose). Only twice in my life was I asked to memorize a poem for school--the first was a rather unexceptional poem about a hippo in second grade, the second Frost's Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening (perhaps the most memorized poem in the USA?) in seventh grade. I tried in high school to memorize poems on my own, but they didn't stick. I think it helps to start young. With Kerr as my guide, I hope to give my children the gift of a brain full of amusing, beautiful, thought-provoking, and quotable words. And I'm sure I'll get started just as soon as I find the time.
If anyone is curious, here is the poem about the hippo (author and punctuation unknown):
He has opened all his parcels,
But the largest and the last.
His hopes are at their highest,
And his heart is beating fast.
Oh happy Hippopotamus!
What lovely gift is here?
He cuts the string, the world stands still,
A pair of boots appear.
Oh little Hippopotamus,
The sorrows of the small.
He dropped two tears to mingle
With the flowing Senegal.
And the "thank you" that he uttered
Was the saddest ever heard,
In the Senegambian jungle,
From the mouths of beast or bird.
Not exactly a poem that will give me comfort or diversion in my decrepit old age...
If anyone is interested in reading Jean Kerr, here's a quick bibliography of her collected essays:
Please Don't Eat the Daisies 1957
The Snake has all the Lines 1960
How I got to be Perfect 1969
Penny Candy 1970
The Poetry Friday roundup is at The Simple and the Ordinary today.
6/14/07
Book Imperialism or a genuinely Good Thing?
I just came across an article in Voice of American online (5/24/07) entitled "New Project Brings America's Favorite Children's Books to Young Arab Readers"
This article reports that Scholastic has developed a project called "My Arabic Library," wherein 7 million copies of translated and cultural modified books were sent to North Africa and the Middle East. This project got going in 2005, and has apparently been very well recieved.
Quoting from the VOA article: "Scholastic's Carol Sakoian says My Arabic library encourages the love of learning. Arab educators were involved in choosing the titles and making changes to some of the books to adapt to cultural differences. "They had to be approved book by book, page by page, illustration by illustration by four Middle Eastern Ministries of Education," Sakoian says. "Arab educators were a little careful, they were worried that this was somehow propaganda from America. It was not."
It was, however, funded by the State Department, who perhaps were thinking outside the book, as it were. I am all in favour of getting books out to everyone in the world who wants them, and I wish I could just have happy thoughts about my government doing a Nice Thing. But why aren't we sending books to Sub-Saharan Africa? or to inner city schools here whose library budgets are being slashed due to the government's budget priorities?
I also find it troubling that the books were modified so as to become "more acceptable." The idea of a panel of individuals having the power to pass judgement on "acceptability" is very disquieting. The modifications mainly seem to have been tampering with the illustrations; ie, adding long sleeves to girls' dresses (although it is not clear to what extent the text of the various books may have been altered). But the fact of the matter is, American girls wear short sleeves, and to pretend otherwise distorts reality.
Here's the Arabic Heidi (who actually may well have worn long sleeved dresses while frisking about in the Alps):
Here's a link to the books chosen for translation, an interesting list, and not exactly what I would call "America's favorite children's books."
This article reports that Scholastic has developed a project called "My Arabic Library," wherein 7 million copies of translated and cultural modified books were sent to North Africa and the Middle East. This project got going in 2005, and has apparently been very well recieved.
Quoting from the VOA article: "Scholastic's Carol Sakoian says My Arabic library encourages the love of learning. Arab educators were involved in choosing the titles and making changes to some of the books to adapt to cultural differences. "They had to be approved book by book, page by page, illustration by illustration by four Middle Eastern Ministries of Education," Sakoian says. "Arab educators were a little careful, they were worried that this was somehow propaganda from America. It was not."
It was, however, funded by the State Department, who perhaps were thinking outside the book, as it were. I am all in favour of getting books out to everyone in the world who wants them, and I wish I could just have happy thoughts about my government doing a Nice Thing. But why aren't we sending books to Sub-Saharan Africa? or to inner city schools here whose library budgets are being slashed due to the government's budget priorities?
I also find it troubling that the books were modified so as to become "more acceptable." The idea of a panel of individuals having the power to pass judgement on "acceptability" is very disquieting. The modifications mainly seem to have been tampering with the illustrations; ie, adding long sleeves to girls' dresses (although it is not clear to what extent the text of the various books may have been altered). But the fact of the matter is, American girls wear short sleeves, and to pretend otherwise distorts reality.
Here's the Arabic Heidi (who actually may well have worn long sleeved dresses while frisking about in the Alps):
Here's a link to the books chosen for translation, an interesting list, and not exactly what I would call "America's favorite children's books."
6/13/07
Mungo and the Picture Book Pirates
While over in England last week, we were given many English picture books and young readers, the majority of which I've never seen over here. One of our favorites was Mungo and the Picture Book Pirates, by Timothy Knapman and Adam Stower (an American edition was published in September 2006).Every night Mungo's mum is forced to read him the same pirate book over and over again. Every night he thrills as Admiral Mainbrace and "plucky cabin girl Nora" are rescued from the clutches of Barnacle Bill and his gang of pirates by the swashbuckling Captain Fleet. But one night, after Mungo's mum has read him the book six times (instead of the more usual four), she refuses to read again, leaving Mungo and the book alone.
Captain Fleet has had enough too. Looking for peace, he climbs out of his own book (much to Mungo's astonishment), and climbs into a slim volume entitled "At the Seaside." But now there is no-one to save the admiral and the plucky cabin girl! No-one but Mungo. And so Mungo enters the book and rousts the pirates, but unlike Captain Fleet, he does not end up marrying Nora.
The engaging illustrations have lots of humorous details, and the text is enough of a spoof of the pirate genre to amuse the adult reader (selfishly, I appreciate this in a book), while captivating the child. My boys were captivated.
Despite the "message," that you don't have to be a strong white male to be a hero (although Mungo is a sturdy white boy), and the inclusion of plucky cabin girl Nora (whose pluck is more on paper than in her actions), this book doesn't challenge any stereotypes. It is entertainment at a fun, flippant level, and for those looking for such, it is great.
In view of the most recent salvo across the bows of the kid lit bloggers (discussed at A Chair, a Fireplace and a Teacozy here) I write the following postscript:
ps. As a blogger of no qualifications, I of course do not expect anyone to take one word of this (hmm, can't be a review, because that would suggest I called myself a reviewer, which actually I don't much, so that's ok) emotion ladden summary (?) with any more seriousness than it deserves.
6/12/07
The new Harry Potter
Yahoo's featured news article proclaims the discovery of the New Harry Potter, a boy archaeologist who explores a hidden world deep beneath London. Roderick Gordon and Brian William originally self-published their book, Tunnels. Now they have over 500,000 pounds in advances. And I've heard that self-publishing is futile...
As an archaeologist myself, I generally don't want to read archaeology/treasure hunting fiction. So I am less than excited. The only book that I really like in which archaeology plays a big part is Nancy Bond's Country of Broken Stone. Not quite up there with her absolutly brilliant A String in the Harp, but very good. However, it is more a family dynamics story (English girl adapting to life with an American archaeologist step-mother and her three children while on a dig in Northumbria), than an archaeology adventure story.
As an archaeologist myself, I generally don't want to read archaeology/treasure hunting fiction. So I am less than excited. The only book that I really like in which archaeology plays a big part is Nancy Bond's Country of Broken Stone. Not quite up there with her absolutly brilliant A String in the Harp, but very good. However, it is more a family dynamics story (English girl adapting to life with an American archaeologist step-mother and her three children while on a dig in Northumbria), than an archaeology adventure story.
48 Hour Reading Challenge Final Thoughts
Well, congratulations to the winners -- Midwestern Loadstar, who read 20 books, and Finding Wonderland/Readers' Rants, who spent a mind-numbing 32 hours reading and blogging. I had thought I could read 20 or more books myself, but what with one thing and another it didn't happen. And I was getting a bit tired of reading...Next year I am going to make sure I have a wider variety of tasty snacks on hand, although there's nothing really I can do about having the children on hand.
Thanks again to Mother Reader for organizing it all!
Thanks again to Mother Reader for organizing it all!
6/10/07
48 Hour Book Challenge Wrap-up
Well, I finished my 48 hours. Parts were great, and parts less so. I feel somewhat dazed, more so than usual.
Time spent reading: hard to know, exactly, because of all the interruptions. I'd say around 22 hours. Time spent blogging--only 15 minutes.
When I checked in Saturday, I had read 4 and a half books. In total I read 10 and 1/4, for 2603 pages (although, as Barbie once famously said, "Math is hard").
My other 6 and 1/4 books were as follows.
Saturday
Nancy Calles the Tune, by Dorita Fairly Bruce (1944). In this conclusion to an English boarding school series, Nancy, now having finished school, is seeking useful War Work (WW II). She finds it as an organist and choir-master at a struggling Scottish church. There issome adventure, and some not too satisfying romance. It was a good but not great read.
Then I started Fly-by-night, by Francis Harding, a book I've been meaning to read for a while. I found it very very hard going. After 158 pages I decided to bale out--I didn't give a damn what happened toMosca, the heroine, and there was no scrap of numinous-ness to the plot.
I also began reading out loud The Island of Adventure, by Enid Blyton (1944, 192 pages) to the boys.
I was very disappointed with my Saturday progress. I would have read more had not circumstances conspired against me--for instance, while I was in the library updating a patron came in with c 200 books to donate to the book-sale, and wanted his boxes back. That meant I actually had to sort and put away the darn things, taking an hour of time that had been earmarked for reading. Strangely, the boys also wanted things like food and drink, not that I begrudge them but still. I also was getting tired of reading.
Sunday
Sunday morning I was much luckier. I read:
Mister Monday, by Garth Nix (361 pages). Isn't it remarkable how much faster one reads when it is a good book? This one only took about 2 hours, compared to the 2 hours just for the first bit of Fly by Night. I will definitely be looking for the rest of this series. It reminded me somewhat of Diana Wynne Jones, a favorite author.
The next book was even better: The Player's Boy, by Antonia Forest (1970). The best Shakespeare story I have ever read. Great characterization, fun plot, good history. Very highly recommended, much good that will do American readers unless they are willing to spend a fair chunk of money getting the reprint (from Girls Gone by Press) from England, possibly via Ebay.
Then I moved on to Lady of Quality, by Georgette Heyer (1972, 255 pages). I tried very hard to get a variety of books going, so as to stay fresh. This was a good choice. Light and entertaining Regency Romance. I may well read more GH, especially as airplane books.
I next read Alison Uttley, The Country Child (1931, 237 pages). A pleasant lightly fictionalized memoir--sort of a nature diary and anthropology of pre WWII rural England combined.
Finally, I raced to the end of Sea of Adventure. Enid Blyton has her points--she is of the "kids like to read her books" ilk. I was one of those kids, although I had never read this one. But great fiction it was not. When reading it out loud, I had to edit out a racist thread, so this one is not going on my boys' bookshelf.
Just to clarify from yesterday:
Abbey book: 315 pp
Emma-Jean 199 pp
Mayne: 208 pp
Cedar: 220pp
I can't revise my previous post from home, nor can I comment on posts, let alone create a post on my home computer--there is nothing to press that says save, or publish. Control S doesn't work either. So I am sending this as an email to my sister...
Finally, thank you Mother Reader! It was fun, I read some great books, and now having pigged out on reading I will be able to spend more time in the coming week ensuring that the Needs of my Dear Family , dear house, and dear garden are met. I'm not tempted to read fiction at work, unless blogs count, so the amount of time I devote to dear work will be unchanged.
Time spent reading: hard to know, exactly, because of all the interruptions. I'd say around 22 hours. Time spent blogging--only 15 minutes.
When I checked in Saturday, I had read 4 and a half books. In total I read 10 and 1/4, for 2603 pages (although, as Barbie once famously said, "Math is hard").
My other 6 and 1/4 books were as follows.
Saturday
Nancy Calles the Tune, by Dorita Fairly Bruce (1944). In this conclusion to an English boarding school series, Nancy, now having finished school, is seeking useful War Work (WW II). She finds it as an organist and choir-master at a struggling Scottish church. There issome adventure, and some not too satisfying romance. It was a good but not great read.
Then I started Fly-by-night, by Francis Harding, a book I've been meaning to read for a while. I found it very very hard going. After 158 pages I decided to bale out--I didn't give a damn what happened toMosca, the heroine, and there was no scrap of numinous-ness to the plot.
I also began reading out loud The Island of Adventure, by Enid Blyton (1944, 192 pages) to the boys.
I was very disappointed with my Saturday progress. I would have read more had not circumstances conspired against me--for instance, while I was in the library updating a patron came in with c 200 books to donate to the book-sale, and wanted his boxes back. That meant I actually had to sort and put away the darn things, taking an hour of time that had been earmarked for reading. Strangely, the boys also wanted things like food and drink, not that I begrudge them but still. I also was getting tired of reading.
Sunday
Sunday morning I was much luckier. I read:
Mister Monday, by Garth Nix (361 pages). Isn't it remarkable how much faster one reads when it is a good book? This one only took about 2 hours, compared to the 2 hours just for the first bit of Fly by Night. I will definitely be looking for the rest of this series. It reminded me somewhat of Diana Wynne Jones, a favorite author.
The next book was even better: The Player's Boy, by Antonia Forest (1970). The best Shakespeare story I have ever read. Great characterization, fun plot, good history. Very highly recommended, much good that will do American readers unless they are willing to spend a fair chunk of money getting the reprint (from Girls Gone by Press) from England, possibly via Ebay.
Then I moved on to Lady of Quality, by Georgette Heyer (1972, 255 pages). I tried very hard to get a variety of books going, so as to stay fresh. This was a good choice. Light and entertaining Regency Romance. I may well read more GH, especially as airplane books.
I next read Alison Uttley, The Country Child (1931, 237 pages). A pleasant lightly fictionalized memoir--sort of a nature diary and anthropology of pre WWII rural England combined.
Finally, I raced to the end of Sea of Adventure. Enid Blyton has her points--she is of the "kids like to read her books" ilk. I was one of those kids, although I had never read this one. But great fiction it was not. When reading it out loud, I had to edit out a racist thread, so this one is not going on my boys' bookshelf.
Just to clarify from yesterday:
Abbey book: 315 pp
Emma-Jean 199 pp
Mayne: 208 pp
Cedar: 220pp
I can't revise my previous post from home, nor can I comment on posts, let alone create a post on my home computer--there is nothing to press that says save, or publish. Control S doesn't work either. So I am sending this as an email to my sister...
Finally, thank you Mother Reader! It was fun, I read some great books, and now having pigged out on reading I will be able to spend more time in the coming week ensuring that the Needs of my Dear Family , dear house, and dear garden are met. I'm not tempted to read fiction at work, unless blogs count, so the amount of time I devote to dear work will be unchanged.
6/9/07
27 ish hours left to go
Update for the 48 Hour Reading Challenge hosted by Mother Reader:
I have read 4 and 1/2 books so far:
The Abbey Girls on Trial, by Elsie Oxenham. Not my favorite of her Abbey series. To much introspective trauma, done heavy handedly. 314p
Emma-Jean Lazarus fell out of a tree. This was a peach of a book. (gah. I don't have it with me here at the library. I'm pretty sure it's 199p.)
Follow the Footsteps, by William Mayne. A slightly pedestrian treasure hunt story, a genre I don't like, but the book is not without charm. Again, pagination doubts. 207? or perhaps I am confusing this one and Emma-Jean.
The slightly true story of Cedar B. Hartley by Martine Murray. (Australian book, 2004). I really liked this one! I look books about people learning to do things (in this case, acrobatics). But the title is pathetic. 240 pages.
I will try to get more posted, but am not sure I will be able to until Monday. It depends on whether I can persuade someone to copy an email and put it on here...why does our Mac hate blogger so?
It is very nice that a. it is raining b. I cleaned the house yesterday.
This means I feel less guilt about reading.
I have read 4 and 1/2 books so far:
The Abbey Girls on Trial, by Elsie Oxenham. Not my favorite of her Abbey series. To much introspective trauma, done heavy handedly. 314p
Emma-Jean Lazarus fell out of a tree. This was a peach of a book. (gah. I don't have it with me here at the library. I'm pretty sure it's 199p.)
Follow the Footsteps, by William Mayne. A slightly pedestrian treasure hunt story, a genre I don't like, but the book is not without charm. Again, pagination doubts. 207? or perhaps I am confusing this one and Emma-Jean.
The slightly true story of Cedar B. Hartley by Martine Murray. (Australian book, 2004). I really liked this one! I look books about people learning to do things (in this case, acrobatics). But the title is pathetic. 240 pages.
I will try to get more posted, but am not sure I will be able to until Monday. It depends on whether I can persuade someone to copy an email and put it on here...why does our Mac hate blogger so?
It is very nice that a. it is raining b. I cleaned the house yesterday.
This means I feel less guilt about reading.
6/8/07
48 Hour Reading Challenge, here I go...
I am about to turn my computer off and catch a bus home. My time will start the moment I sit down on the bus, so approximately 4:51...
The action can be followed at Mother Reader, where all of the participants are side-bared (I hate verbed nouns, so I shall correct myself: listed in a side bar. Sorry).
The action can be followed at Mother Reader, where all of the participants are side-bared (I hate verbed nouns, so I shall correct myself: listed in a side bar. Sorry).
Poetry Friday: A June Fish Poem
I had a carefully prepared little entry for today's poetry Friday, but it got eaten by the computer. So I fall back on a poem that amuses me, and which is Month-Appropriate.
A fish poem for June, by Rupert Brooke (The South Seas, 1913)
Heaven
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream or Pond,
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud!-Death eddies near-
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time,
Is wetter water, slimier slime!
And there (they trust) there swimmeth One
Who swam ere rivers were begun,
Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent and kind,
And under that Almighty Fin,
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
but more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around,
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all their wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.
The poetry Friday roundup is at Hip Writer Mama today.
A fish poem for June, by Rupert Brooke (The South Seas, 1913)
Heaven
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream or Pond,
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud!-Death eddies near-
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time,
Is wetter water, slimier slime!
And there (they trust) there swimmeth One
Who swam ere rivers were begun,
Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent and kind,
And under that Almighty Fin,
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
but more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around,
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all their wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.
The poetry Friday roundup is at Hip Writer Mama today.
6/7/07
Fidra Books seeks book
Yet another contest: Fidra Books, a small publisher in Scotland, invites entries for a New Book for them to publish! The details are here. I've mentioned Fidra before, as the re-publisher of Mabel Esther Allan books; I've read several other books they've reissued with great enjoyment. I've also added the Fidra blog to my blog roll -- it's well worth reading!
48 hour reading challenge coming up
In less than 48 hours, I will have plunged into the 2nd Annual 48 Hour Reading Challenge brought to us by Mother Reader. I have a stack of 11 books ready, I am planning on going to the library tonight to get 10 more, and I am considering using this opportunity to start a Harry Potter re-read (but in the same vein as considering whether it's time for a trip to the dentist--the one's I like I've read so often I know them, the others I don't like).
The only thing that's worrying me is access to a computer on Sunday--if I drive to library that's open on Sunday or to work, that will be 30 minutes less reading time. I am going to try to get the house clean and the entire garden weeded watered planted and the winter's wood supply chopped tonight so that I will not feel pressured to do these things instead of reading. Annoyingly, I have to give a talk tomorrow morning on underwater archaeology, but I will bring a book in case it starts late.
The only thing that's worrying me is access to a computer on Sunday--if I drive to library that's open on Sunday or to work, that will be 30 minutes less reading time. I am going to try to get the house clean and the entire garden weeded watered planted and the winter's wood supply chopped tonight so that I will not feel pressured to do these things instead of reading. Annoyingly, I have to give a talk tomorrow morning on underwater archaeology, but I will bring a book in case it starts late.
Win Comets, Stars, the Moon and Mars!
Here's another challenge. Anne at Book Buds has a contest going on: win a copy of Douglas Florian's Comets, Stars, the Moon and Mars by coming up with a punning definition of a space term. One of her examples -- Plutonic Relationship: A dwarf romance.
So here's my entry.
Red Giant: A huge statue of Lenin, or the man himself.
I never thought I would be posting a picture of a Lenin statue on line. It just goes to show.
The contest runs till June 15, but feel free not to enter, because this is a book I would really really love to win!
So here's my entry.
Red Giant: A huge statue of Lenin, or the man himself.
I never thought I would be posting a picture of a Lenin statue on line. It just goes to show.The contest runs till June 15, but feel free not to enter, because this is a book I would really really love to win!
6/6/07
8 Things meme = 8 books brought home from England
I was tagged with the "8 things about yourself" meme by Susan over at Chicken Spaghetti. Thinking that books are more interesting than many other things, here are 8 of the many books that came home with me from my recent trip book shopping across the pond:
1. Alison Uttley's memoir-ish account of growing up in the English countryside, A Country Child (1931)
2. The Player's Boy, by Antonia Forest. Shakespeare fiction, by one of the best 20th-century English writers for children. Her books were incredibly hard to find, even in England, but have recently been reprinted by Girls Gone By Publishers. However, most of the republished titles are now sold out, so she is still hard to find. The only one of her books that made it over to the US is The Thursday Kidnapping. It's not representative, not her best, and has mostly been ditched by US libraries so even that is not very findable.
3. Chiltern Adventure, by Mabel Esther Allan. This is the second of MEA's books to be reprinted by Fidra Books.
4. The Incline, by William Mayne. I like some of Mayne's books very much (Earthfasts, and especially his Cathedral book series--Swarm in May etc.), and some of his books not much at all. But this was a cheap hardback, not a library discard like all the hc Mayne one sees over here, so what the heck.
5. Tell Me No Lies, by Malorie Blackman. I am saving most of these books for Mother Reader's 48 Hour Reading Challenge, but a girl has to read something in the meantime. It passed the time, but I found it unconvincing.
6. Upper Fourth at Mallory Towers, by Enid Blyton. A boarding school book, rather fluffy, but it made me happy to buy it. I discovered Mallory Towers when I was seven, and now have a complete collection again.
7. Heather, Oak, and Olive -- three stories by Rosemary Sutcliff that I have never read before. Happy! We wanted to go to Hadrian's Wall this trip, but never made it that far north. We did, however, go and visit the Roman fort at Hard Knott, which was as evocative as all get out:
8. Finally, a real treat for myself-- The Abbey Girls Win Through by Elsie Oxenham. This is one of a long series involving girls, school, folk dancing, improbable romance, and a ruined abbey.
There's no way I can think of 8 people who haven't done this meme yet, so I shall let it die a peaceful death...
1. Alison Uttley's memoir-ish account of growing up in the English countryside, A Country Child (1931)
2. The Player's Boy, by Antonia Forest. Shakespeare fiction, by one of the best 20th-century English writers for children. Her books were incredibly hard to find, even in England, but have recently been reprinted by Girls Gone By Publishers. However, most of the republished titles are now sold out, so she is still hard to find. The only one of her books that made it over to the US is The Thursday Kidnapping. It's not representative, not her best, and has mostly been ditched by US libraries so even that is not very findable.
3. Chiltern Adventure, by Mabel Esther Allan. This is the second of MEA's books to be reprinted by Fidra Books.
4. The Incline, by William Mayne. I like some of Mayne's books very much (Earthfasts, and especially his Cathedral book series--Swarm in May etc.), and some of his books not much at all. But this was a cheap hardback, not a library discard like all the hc Mayne one sees over here, so what the heck.
5. Tell Me No Lies, by Malorie Blackman. I am saving most of these books for Mother Reader's 48 Hour Reading Challenge, but a girl has to read something in the meantime. It passed the time, but I found it unconvincing.
6. Upper Fourth at Mallory Towers, by Enid Blyton. A boarding school book, rather fluffy, but it made me happy to buy it. I discovered Mallory Towers when I was seven, and now have a complete collection again.
7. Heather, Oak, and Olive -- three stories by Rosemary Sutcliff that I have never read before. Happy! We wanted to go to Hadrian's Wall this trip, but never made it that far north. We did, however, go and visit the Roman fort at Hard Knott, which was as evocative as all get out:
8. Finally, a real treat for myself-- The Abbey Girls Win Through by Elsie Oxenham. This is one of a long series involving girls, school, folk dancing, improbable romance, and a ruined abbey.
There's no way I can think of 8 people who haven't done this meme yet, so I shall let it die a peaceful death...
6/5/07
Back from the Lake District: Swallows & Amazons Forever!
At the end of my last post before going over to England's Lake District, I posted a Poetry Friday challenge--why does the poem Casabianca make me think of the Lake District? The Answer: because it is featured in Swallowdale, by Arthur Ransom.Swallowdale is the second of books Ransom wrote about the wonderful holidays of a group of English children in the Lake District; the first is Swallows and Amazons. They had the freedom of a lake and its surrounding mountains where they were able to live imagined adventures (as it were), sailing and climbing and prospecting for gold and, in my favorite book, Winter Holiday, exploring the frozen north. This is the best series of books about children doing things outdoors that was ever written; it is imaginative and fun without being fantastic. One can imagine, that given a similar lake and mountains, one could do the same things. Here's the link to the original 1930 review of Swallows and Amazons (which is also interesting in a How They Wrote Reviews Back Then way) and here is the original cover:
If you haven't read these books, do! But please put Peter Duck and Missee Lee last on the list--these are the worst in the series.
If you haven't read these books, do! But please put Peter Duck and Missee Lee last on the list--these are the worst in the series.
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