The Weird and Wonderful Mr. Thurber

While browsing at an antique shop today I found a copy of The Thurber Carnival, a collection of stories, drawings, and poems by James Thurber. I discovered his work in college and remember being all at once charmed, amused, and utterly befuddled. So of course I snatched that book right up.

It's been fun paging through, enjoying the book in bite-sized pieces. This guy worked for The New Yorker. He collaborated with E.B. White (another favorite). He wrote the awesome picture book Many Moons. Composer Peter Schickele of P.D.Q. Bach fame wrote a really cool symphony called Thurber's Dogs, based on some of Thurber's most famous cartoons.

And you know what else is cool? Mo Willems's travel memoir You Can Never Find a Rickshaw When it Monsoons, a cartoon-a-day treasure with a very Thurber-esque flavor of humor.

I'm also reading Bill Bryson's The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. What better month than January to fill your reading list with plenty of funny?

Books are awesome.

The Books That Shape Us

I've been thinking a lot about those few select, amazing books that define who we are. The ones we read over and over, whose characters own our hearts and souls. The books that come along at critical points in life, from childhood on up, to help us make sense of the world. Books that are beloved because they took us to magical places, or revealed certain truths, or held a mirror up for us to examine our lives, both trials and triumphs.

I've blogged before about childhood favorites, including Trixie Belden and Bread and Jam for Frances. Cleary and Blume were staples, along with Cynthia Voigt and Shel Silverstein. Others I didn't discover until college, like the Narnia books (I know!) and Lloyd Alexander's Prydain chronicles and Susan Cooper's Dark Is Rising series. A kid lit class in college opened my eyes to an entire world of authors I'd never known: Ursula Le Guin, Diana Wynne Jones, Roald Dahl, Zilpha Keatley Snyder, Frances Hodgson Burnett. I became a regular at used book stores. It was a second childhood, a Renaissance, that's still going strong--and still shaping who I am as both a reader and a writer.

The talent of today's authors is no less jawdropping. I have to fight with myself over every new Megan Whalen Turner book, whether to gobble it up or savor every page.

Where did it all start? With my mom. She passed away this summer, and the last few years of her life were so tough on her. Circumstances required that I assume the role of caregiver, and it deeply strained the relationship between us that I'd always cherished. But a little distance has granted me a wealth of perspective. I've been able to reflect on her legacy, on the many gifts she bestowed, not the least of which was a love of reading. I don't remember how often we read together, or how consistently, but I do know that after every doctor's appointment to treat my persistent tonsillitis, she took me to the drugstore to pick out a new book. She read aloud to me, classics like David Copperfield and Alice in Wonderland and Little Women. And she indulged my frequent trips to the library. She didn't mind that I brought home armfuls of books. She raised an eyebrow but didn't fuss during my many obsessive phases, from ghosts to poetry to classical LPs.

The past fews years I've been watching my oldest son, now 11, devour books. He prefers series, like Fablehaven and Harry Potter and The Secret Series (This Book Is Not Good for You), because he can revisit familiar characters like old friends. I can't help but agree.

However the landscape of publishing changes in the next decade, I hope he'll always have a book in his hand. And I hope my mom knows, somehow, that every time I pick up a book, a part of her is there with me.

Book Phobia

Do you ever avoid reading books because there are too many of them to read?

I have shelves and shelves of must-reads gathering dust, and I'm so intimidated by them that I spend hours wasting time on the Internet.

Reading.

After browsing a handful of agent and author blogs tonight, I'm reminded of all the AMAZING books out there, many released within the last year or two. Now I'm even more intimidated, because I know it's time for another trip to the bookstore, where I'll buy more books that I don't read.

Help! There must be a trick to breaking the cycle of avoidance. I need a library, STAT. Maybe they have a summer reading program for grownups.

Childhood Favorites, Part III

Bread and Jam for Frances appealed to me because I was a picky eater, and because Frances made up songs to work through her problems. The best word I can think of here is authenticity. Frances's actions rang completely true. We were of one mind, Frances and I. Why shouldn't a girl be able to eat the one thing she loves over and over and over?

And again, looking at it today I'm struck by the skillful use of color and simplicity. Funny how when you're young sometimes you can't express exactly why you like something. You just do. It's reassuring to know that on occasion, my younger self had excellent taste.

Childhood Favorites, Part II

Next on the list of awesome childhood books: Harold and the Purple Crayon, by Crockett Johnson.

Man, I loved that book. Elegant simplicity. Delightful ingenuity. Infinite possibility. I couldn't wait to turn the pages, to see how Harold would draw himself into or out of each new predicament.

Looking at it now I'm amazed at the brilliant use of space and color, at how masterfully those two elements spark the imagination, inviting the reader to step into the book and look around. It was a shared experience: me and Harold, side by side, out for a stroll in the big, wide world.

Childhood Favorites, Part I

This week I felt an impulse to revisit a few of the books I loved as a kid. No doubt there are many I've forgotten, and some I look at now and think, "Bzuh?". Tastes change and memories fail, but there will always be standouts that leave a lasting impression. Today I pay tribute to the irrepressible teenage detective, Trixie Belden.

Trixie was fearless and smart (though her brothers had to tutor her in math, if I remember right). She wasn't traditionally pretty, like Di or Honey, but cute in her own way--at least Jim thought so! Even 25 years ago the books were hopelessly dated, but I couldn't get enough of them. Who could resist a flawed, likeable heroine who solved mysteries and whose favorite word was "Jeepers!"?

Essays and Old Friends

While E.B. White is probably best known for Charlotte's Web and The Elements of Style, I have fallen in love with his essays and find myself returning to them again and again. It's like visiting an old friend.

In the Foreword of Essays of E.B. White he writes:

"The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest." [Much like a blogger.] "...Each new excursion of the essayist, each new 'attempt,' differs from the last and takes him into new country. This delights him. Only a person who is congenitally self-centered has the effrontery and the stamina to write essays."

White's quiet humor and keen observations frequently amaze me. He wrote for The New Yorker and Harper's Magazine, published a stack of books, and won an impressive list of awards, including the National Medal for Literature.

His citation for the Gold Medal for Essays and Criticism from the American Academy of Arts and Letters says this: "...When he writes of large subjects he does not make them larger and windier than they are, and when he writes of small things they are never insignificant."

When I grow up, I want to be E.B. White.

Over Sea, Under Stone

So I'm finally getting around to posting a book review. I decided to start with my all-time favorite children's book, Over Sea, Under Stone by Susan Cooper. This cover is gorgeous, by the way, and one I've not seen before. It's by David Wiesner of Tuesday and Flotsam fame (LOVE his work!).

I pulled this out recently for another read and decided to take a red pen to it to decipher what made me fall in love with the story. First, the easy stuff:

-Bored siblings looking for trouble
-Mystery, adventure, chases, old books, treasure maps

-Humor

-British kids using expressions like "Smashing!" and "Rubbish!" and "It's jolly difficult."

Simon, Jane, and Barney, with the help of their mysterious Great-Uncle Merry (a.k.a. Merlin), must evade the terrible Mr. Hastings and recover a relic linked to King Arthur. The kids are smart; they're determined and sneaky. They tell each other to shut up and fight over stupid stuff. But their bond also grows throughout the book. The tension is top-notch, the setting enchanting, the descriptive passages rich and full.

And I love the chase scene with Simon and "the boy Bill" that goes on for pages and pages.

Yes, it was written in 1965. Yes, some of the language is dated. But, like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, I could read it again and again and always find something new to love.

I've heard people say they prefer the other books in the Dark Is Rising series, the books steeped in Arthurian lore that focus on the character Will (an Old One like Merlin), but I love the idea of normal, "real-life" kids getting mixed up in an otherworldly mystery with only their wits and courage to guide them. Good stuff.