Book Review: Gatty's Tale

Gatty's Tale by Kevin Crossley-Holland

A sequel-slash-parallel to the King Arthur trilogy by the same author. Except I liked this book much, much better. Perhaps it was that I knew what to expect. Perhaps it was because, having read the trilogy, I was set up mentally for Crossley-Holland's world. Perhaps it was because the story was allowed to flow, without being chopped up with interruptions from legend. Perhaps it was because the heroine was such a plucky, likable gal. Whatever the actual reason, this book spoke to me moreso than the trilogy. 

Sure, in a book review, you're supposed to say why. But what if you don't quite know why? 

What if one of the reasons was a song Gatty made up? 
I didn't know I didn't know
Nobody told me so. 

Perhaps it was throwaway quotes like this one, "Nothing can be nothing. Everything's something." 

Or, "You can teach someone a skill but you can't teach them spirit" 

Or, "It's one thing to know, Gatty, but quite another to understand." 

Or, "The quill is a miracle because it drinks darkness and sheds light." 

Or, "No one is really quite as interested in us as we are in ourselves." 

One thing's for sure, I didn't enjoy it because I was itching to read a story about a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the middle ages. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. But the story of this book wasn't the pilgrimage; the story was within the pilgrimage, just as a pilgrimage isn't really about the destination but, rather, the journey. 

And this was a delightful journey.


Published in the US as Crossing to Paradise

Book Review The Mysterious Benedict Society

The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart

I often love love love books written for the target audiences of ten through fourteen years old because, in the case of the well-written, well-thought ones, authors who write for this demographic actually take their readers seriously. They present themes that are necessary for making one's way in the world in a palatable manner. They parent without parenting and give readers, serious readers, a mentor who speaks from within the pages and is available anytime the reader picks up the book. They don't try to impress. They don't try to be cerebral. They entertain. They teach. They inspire. They amuse. 

Certainly, not every book written for this age group is such a masterpiece. But The Mysterious Benedict Society comes close. It's an engaging page-turner with plenty of moral, ethical and societal questioning upon which the reader can munch when not turning pages. 

The Mysterious Benedict Society is chock-full of puzzles, mysteries and wordplay while simultaneously being the kind of story that you cannot seem to put down. What is more thrilling, to a young reader or to an adult reader, than four kids who are charged with saving the world? Literally saving the world? 

The book treads the fine line between myth and reality. One can imagine the events happening; they are improbable but not impossible. But the world of Stewart's creation, though it bears some resemblance to our world, is nothing like it. There is no internet. Everyone reads the newspaper. TV exists but Number Two types on a typewriter. The kids have no gadgets (save for Kate's slingshot and spyglass) but they wear fairly modern clothing, which places the sense of place firmly in some imaginary time between the Victorian era and now. This is not a distraction at all but might be why people persist in comparing this book to the Lemony Snicket books. But where Lemony Snicket is full of stories tinged with doom, Stewart's book is full of hope; it takes the time to point out what's wrong in that world (which bears a passing resemblance to ours) but doesn't sketch hopelessness in that dark, gothic manner that Handler employs. Nor is there an ever-present sneering narrator, looking down with disgust on the world around him, his readers and himself.  Yeah, I don't like Lemony Snicket.


But I digress. 

On the second page of The Mysterious Benedict Society  Stewart introduces the Emergency; "Things had gotten desperately out of control, the headlines reported; the school systems, the budget, the pollution, the crime, the weather ... why, everything, in fact, was a complete mess, and citizens everywhere were clamoring for a major -- no, a dramatic -- improvement in government." As one continues reading, one realizes that the Emergency has been going on for years with no improvement. As one continues further and delves into the plot, the Emergency is outed for what it really is; propaganda gone haywire in the media. Sound familiar? 

Near the end of the book, the villain reveals the crux of his villainous plan, which rests heavily on the idea that best way to make people feel better, and, ergo, control them, is to present a simple answers to complex problems; if one can convince people to believe in the simple answer their stress goes away and they become malleable. And when people buy into an easy answer, they stop thinking. And stop working for a better world. They become sheep beholden to the person/organization/government who gave them the simple answer. Sound familiar? 


Of course, Stewart doesn't really say any of this; Mr. Curtain simply states the idea. And sure, Stewart lifted this from Mencken ("For every complex problem, there is a solution that is simple, neat, and wrong") who probably lifted it from somewhere else. But, still, in a book aimed at smart pre-teens, this reference is something wonderful. 

Despite the depth of Stewart's themes, he treats them rather lightly.  He doesn't preach. He puts it out there and then lets his characters figure out what it means, often letting the reader figure it out first. And he never makes it seem hopeless. There is always a chance, a ghost of a chance, that these kids can figure out how to fix it. All of it. 

The whole book is based on the large theme of truth and loyalty and strength of character but it didn't feel like a lecture. At all. 

I particularly enjoyed the moral fiber of the four main characters; their dedication to truth. Their dedication to each other. Their patience, mostly, with the quirks of the other three. I relished the differing strengths and talents of each of the four and how they formed a supportive ring; not decrying with envy the talents of those around them but, rather, respecting them and appreciating them, even when they were talents they wished they had. I admired their ability to take the road less traveled and suffer the consequences of not selling out.  And I admired Stewart for writing them this way.  These are all aspects to be emulated, by children and adults alike. And I always love it when a book, any kind of book, makes me want to try to be a better person. This one did. 

I found Constance Contraire to be the most loosely and carelessly drawn of all the characters; she had no consistency and made no sense. At all. Then suddenly she did make sense --perfect sense --and became one of the best characterizations I've ever experienced in children's literature.  Just like that. A piece of the puzzle was missing and when it was filled in, the world changed.  It was a brilliant story-telling turn, which I admire.

The whole book is like that. A series of puzzles, some deeper and more meaningful than others.  Some solutions were obvious to me.  Some were not.  Some I figured out.  Some I did not.  I mused.  I thought.  I nodded affirmatively.   But mostly I turned pages with wild abandon, eyes flying over the prose, wanting to discover what was going to happen next. 

Book Review Wizard's Hall

Wizard's Hall by Jane Yolen

After learning that this book preceded Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and that its author, Jane Yolen, feels that Rowling stole all of her ideas from Wizard's Hall and is remarkably grumpy about the Harry Potter series, stating, "... even though the story moves along, I just don't feel like they're well written" and "I always tell people that if Ms. Rowling would like to cut me a very large cheque, I would cash it" and "Rowling's prose is terrible,"  I just had to read this book.

Sure, Wizard's Hall has similarities to the Potter series but it isn't remotely epic, like Rowling's seven tome creation. Nor are the similarities damning. Yolen says, "[Wizard's Hall] has got a boy named Henry [who] goes to wizard school, doesn't think he has talent. He has a good friend with red hair. There's a wicked wizard who's trying to destroy the school, and the pictures on the wall move and speak and change." That's all she's got? So Bridget Jones' Diary = Pride and Prejudice. And everyone is now stealing from the Twighlight series even though vampire mythology has been around since prehistoric times. 

Ideas are like flowers -- just because one rose resembles another doesn't mean either is a clone. 

However, none of this gristmill of ridiculous bile makes a damn bit of difference if one tries to take Wizard's Hall as a stand-alone children's book. 

And, as one, I liked it. Not immensely. But I liked it. I thought of Harry Potter only once, when the main character forgot his wizard's robe in the wardrobe. Otherwise, the clever bits in this book bear only a passing resemblance to the clever bits in Rowling's; and they aren't nearly as well fleshed out. 

But that's ok. And, in fact, for what I was hoping (I hear it's ok to end a sentence with a preposition these days but I fear Yolen will read this someday and come after me). My son is a prolific reader at age six; he's not ready for the dark, epic themes of Potter. But he can probably handle most of this book (though it does get a little creepy during the final showdown) and for that, I am grateful. 

This is a quick read with sketchy outlines that are perfect for young readers. Yolen peppers her prose with wisdom, most of it coming in italicized sayings by the main character's "dear ma," like "Better take care than need care" and "Secrets is like wounds, can't be cleansed until opened " and "Expectations always disappoint" and "Good folk think bad thoughts; bad folk act on 'em" and, most tellingly for the plot and moral of the book, "Talent don't matter. It only matters that you try."  With that, she kisses him three times, "once on each cheek for love and once on the forehead for wisdom ..." and sends him packing to Wizard's Hall. 

Yolen engages in some amusing humor;  Henry becomes Thornmallow, a name which no one can seem to remember, "'Thornpillow!' said Magister Hickory. 'Marrow,' corrected Magister Beechvale. 'Mallow,' squeaked Thornmallow." 

And when the kids are in the library, trying to figure out how to defeat the dark wizard, they come upon a solution that seems to easy to Thornmallow. "'Besides, if we thought of it, why didn't the Magisters?' 'Probably because it is to simple and too easy,' Gorse said. 'Have you ever noticed how grown-ups try to complicate everything? Make it harder than it is? Like grown-up food, with too many sauces.'   'And grown-up clothes, with too many buttons,' added Tansy.   'And grown-up manners,' Will said. 'With too many shoulds and shouldn'ts'" 

But this is not an overtly funny book. For me, it was an entertaining confection.  But for my kid, it may well be a tome that, with its three great themes, will resonate deeply in his psyche;

Words mean something 
When the head of the school has confronted the dark wizard and is deflated, he begins to tell a story, "And clearly, as Magister Hickory spoke, the very act of speaking the words, telling the story, re-creating another time, gave him life. Just as the words spoken by the awful Master had brought him a kind of death." 

The Fine Line 
"By 'black,' my prickly friend, I do not mean evil. Or wicked. I mean dark and deep, as in the black water of the deepest lakes. All those strongest of emotions that -- if used improperly -- tempt us to wicked, evil deeds. For example, ambition, which can become greed. Or desire, which can become gluttony. Or admiration, which can become envy. We are all made up of such deep and dark emotions, and as we grow more mature, we learn to control them." 

Always try. Always. 


And Jane Yolen is overly fond of italics. Just saying. 

Book Review Arthur Trilogy

Arthur Trilogy - Kevin Crossley-Holland


The Seeing Stone
There are three of these. An intriguing idea of parallel lives with Arthur of medieval times and Arthur, the mythical king. But in the first book it never quite gets off the ground. However, it was readable and enjoyable enough that I'm moving on to the second book, so ...


At the Crossing Places
A nice little book chock full of interesting tidbits about medieval manor life during the crusades. But I'm still waiting for how manor Arthur ties in with King Arthur and I'm beginning to think he doesn't, really, despite the fact that manor Arthur will inherit a manor called Catmole and sees the King Arthur legends reflected in a "seeing stone" given to him by a family friend named Merlin. The Seeing Stone was the title of the first book, so I expected Arthur of manor to be more intertwined with Arthur of legend. However, at this point it seems that the King Arthur legends only serve the purpose to teach life lessons to manor Arthur. That's all fine and good but I was expecting more from this trilogy; more magic and awe of discovery, I guess. 

Still readable enough for me to tackle the final book of the trilogy so onward


King of the Middle March
Author Cornelia Funke writes in a blurb on the back cover of this book, "The Arthur of this trilogy moves softly into one's heart." And that's just what this set of books did; tiptoed into my esteem. 

Perhaps the last one is the best one. Perhaps, by the last one, the reader realizes that the connection between the Arthurs is no more than it appears to be; one of legend and observer. Perhaps it was because this book took Arthur off the March and into the world of the crusades. 

But for whatever reason, this book, of the three, resonated most with me. The writing has been lyrical throughout but reached a pinnacle in this installment. In a chapter entitled "Gossip-Wind" Arthur writes a lyric: 

Nobody's sure what so-and-so really said
But everyone knows someone who knows,
Roundabout it goes, and we all suppose

Round and round, round again it goes,
And somewhere between word and word and word,
Everything worsens as the gossip-wind blows.

Nobody's quite sure, though we all know each word,
But no one cares and no one counts the cost
When round-about it goes, and we all suppose,

And truth and honor and trust lie lost. 


Arthur learns much in this book that resonates; tolerance, the inherent good and evil that lies in all men, the ability of politics and greed to stand in the way of good deeds. And as he learns, one watches him grow into a young man who itches to lead and protect. To do no harm. A young man whose head-line and heart-line are one. And as this young man rides home to his manor, Catmole, the reader has hope for the future of the people in his employ and under his care. 

I often talk about wanting to buy and island somewhere, where I can create a utopia. A place where greed is neutered and good works and deeds are paramount. And at the end of this book, the reader feels that Catmole might be such a place. Just as Camelot tried to be. 

So, in the end, the King Arthur lessons in the stone were just lessons. But they were lessons well-learned and well-told.

Book Review: Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher

I started this book with rolled eyes; it begins with 6th grade hijinks of kissy girls, notes read out loud by teachers in class and a contest that Jeremy really wants to win. Great. Just great.

But then it got great. Just great. I was unprepared for how heart-rending the relationship between Jeremy and the dragon would be; I expected a kind of funny, bestiary-esque story. What I got was a love story. With funny moments, absolutely, but still a love story. And one thinks, "...more

Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher (Magic Shop, #2) by Bruce Coville

I started this book with rolled eyes; it begins with 6th grade hijinks of kissy girls, notes read out loud by teachers in class and a contest that Jeremy really wants to win.   Great.    Just great.

But then it got great.    Just great. 

I was unprepared for how heart-rending the relationship between Jeremy and the dragon would be; I expected a kind of funny, bestiary-esque story.   What I got was a love story.   With funny moments, absolutely, but still a love story.   And one thinks, "Are you crazy? A love story? Between a boy and his dragon?"   Yes.   And yes.   And yes.   And it was absolutely wonderful.

Book Review: Kenny and the Dragon

I loved this book. From the first sentences, I knew it would be the kind of prose that makes me all giddy;

"Many years ago ... Hold on, I know what you are thinking. You're thinking a book about a dragon should start with 'Once upon a time,' But this one doesn't, because frankly, I don't really know what 'Once upon a time' means. Now, I was once upon a horse, and that was fun. Also, I was once upon a knight galloping on his horse, but that's another story altogether. So in...more

Kenny and the Dragon by Tony DiTerlizzi

I loved this book. From the first sentences, I knew it would be the kind of prose that makes me all giddy;
 
Many years ago ... Hold on, I know what you are thinking. You're thinking a book about a dragon should start with 'Once upon a time,' But this one doesn't, because frankly, I don't really know what 'Once upon a time' means. Now, I was once upon a horse, and that was fun. Also, I was once upon a knight galloping on his horse, but that's another story altogether. So instead, let me start our tale with this: Once upon a farm, in a town just west from yours, and on a Wednesday many years ago, a rabbit farmer, his wife, and their son, Kenneth, were preparing to sit down to supper.

DiTerlizzi owes an obvious debt to Kenneth Grahame, which he freely acknowledges by naming the rabbit son Kenneth and his dragon friend Grahame, mentioning The Wind in the Willows in the first chapter and ending the book with Kenny and Grahame about to read The Reluctant Dragon together, described by Kenny as, "...some fairy tale by a British guy."

I confess that one of the reasons I am so charmed by this slim tome lies within the character of Kenny, a prolific reader who struggles with fitting into the world around him. Kenny reminds me of my son, who doesn't yet struggle with the world but may, someday. I was so pleased to find this fantasy with a hero so like my son, not-so-well-read adults who are depicted not as know-nothings but, rather, as characters of wisdom and the kind of intelligence one doesn't learn in books, and a dandy drake named Grahame.  Grahame may have been my favorite character. I want him to come live in my backyard.

Book Review: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Percy Jackson and the Olympians  by Rick Riordan

Derivative? Sure. 

Fun? Absolutely. 

Educational? You betcha. 

Sure, it's similar to Harry Potter. But which came first, the chicken or the egg? Yolen's Wizard's Hall is a version of Harry Potter. Written before Harry Potter. Hmmm. 

If Riordan is derivative of anyone, and beholden to anyone, it's Homer and the lexicon of Greek mythology. Just as Rowling is beholden. And Pratchett. And the writers of the Bible (in the original Greek version of the bible, hell is called "Tartarus" ... hmmm). And, and, and. 

However derivative it all is, Riordan has done a bang-up job of re-imagining a mythological world married to our modern world in a way that makes me smile quietly in appreciation. Olympus is over New York and Hades under L.A.? Brilliant. Dyslexia is a demi-god affliction because they are half-wired to read ancient Greek? Clever. Satyrs pissed off about the sullying of the environment by humans? Nice. 

Yes, sometimes Riordan's prose is a tad clunky but it didn't bother me one bit. This is a first-person narrative by a 12 year old. A dyslexic 12 year old. With ADHD. And, for all of the obvious shortcomings of prose aimed at pre-teens being consumed by adults, the effect is often lovely. Take, for example, this gem of a description of Percy's mother, "My mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad." 

And who wouldn't like the idea of like Ares on a Harley or Charon wearing Italian Suits? Or Hades causing all the California earthquakes? Or the fight between Zeus and Poseidon, gods of sky and sea, causing all the weird weather we have? 

That's what is fun about Rowling, too. Imagining an otherworld folded into the one I live in every day. 

In the way-back-then-olden days, mythology existed solely to explain the things that couldn't be explained. In our uber-rational modernity, a world saturated by three main religions and the overwhelming logic of science, mythology still exists but now it seems to function solely to reawaken magic and wonder in a world almost entirely divorced from awe. 

Ergo, kudos to Riordan, and Rowling, and Pratchett, and Pullman, and Susan Cooper, and Wynne-Jones, and Juster, and Julie Andrews, and, and, and... Kudos to all of them for writing books that reconnect us with wonder. 
 

The Sea of Monsters is a read-like-the-wind-to-find-out-what-happens sequel.  As readable and charming as the first, despite the fact that there were not as many opportunities to cleverly overlay  mythology onto modern America (though I particularly liked that the Sea of Monsters was the Bermuda Triangle.)  And, as there were in the first book, there were some lovely laugh-out-loud moments (as when Percy confuses "hummus" with "hubris") and a predictable plot which, still, despite its predictability, entertains beautifully.


The Titan's Curse is a fine continuation of the very readable series; Riordan makes me want to learn my mythology; I wonder how many jokes I'm missing like this one; 

"Zeus's girl, yes?" asked Apollo. "Makes you my half-sister. Used to be a tree, didn't you? Glad you're back. I hate it when pretty girls turn into trees. Man, I remember one time - " 

I giggled. But only because I know about how Daphne turned into a laurel tree to escape Apollo's clutches. And I only know that because my son gave me a lecture at the museum a couple of months ago. 

He's really going to get a kick out of these someday.

The Battle of the Labyrinth, Percy and company set out on another adventure to find Daedalus, the inventor.  This one seemed less tightly drawn than the first three.   But still a page-turner with some engaging lessons, as when Pan communicates this little lovely;  "But my name, Pan ... originally it meant rustic.  Did you know that?  But over the years it has come to mean all.  The spirit of the wild must pass to all of you now.  You must tell each one you meet: if you would find Pan, take up Pan's spirit.  Remake the wild, a little at a time, each in your own corner of the world.  You cannot wait for anyone else, even a god, to do that for you."

The Last Olympian is a rip-roaring, high-octane final battle.  Riordan leaves it open for a sequel;  one can only hope.

I am looking very forward to reading these again.