Readers from the last book will recall that the sisters have to rescue their brother from the schemeing mirror who took him into the book – and chasing him Sabrina, Daphne, and Puck fell in as well.

The larger focus is mostly on Sabrina as she comes to grip with being a leader for her family and friends and her developing relationship with Puck.

In all the chaos and jokes about Fairy Tales there begins to emerge a backstory about Snow White and the history of the Everafters that seems promising but it nearly gets lost in the jump from from one Fairy Tale to the next.  The last third of the story picked up  the pace and there is still some funny lines and interactions but the story as a whole lacks the rhythm and pace of earlier stories.

I could be the simplified story – that is after all for young readers – just didn’t grab me this time, but for whatever reason I just didn’t enjoy the plot or the adventure nearly as much this time.

Still a great series and I will the read the next one I am sure – and I am looking forward to the conclusion of the series.

Laura Miller had a problem.  When she was young she was absolutely captivated and enthralled with the Chronicles of Narnia series by C.S. Lewis.  Given a copy of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe by a school teacher she dove in an entered a new world.  Things would never be the same.

But eventually she grew older and began to find out things about Lewis and Narnia that changed her relationship with the series: the Christian underpinnings of the story, Lewis’s world view and political opinions, etc.  But as she pursued a career as a literary critic she decided to return to these books and she found there was still much about them that she loved.

The road that had once seemed to lead to free and open country had in reality doubled back to church.  Now I was trying to explain why my damning adolescent assessment of Chronicles wasn’t entirely sufficient, either.  As an adult, I’d discovered that I could follow Lewis pretty far without feeling obliged to return to Christianity, and that the old sensations of freedom, of wilderness in Narnia, remained.

She sets out to make sense of this journey.  The Magician’s Book: A Skeptic’s Adventures in Narnia is her answer in book form.

I guess you would have to put Magician’s Book into the category of creative non-fiction.  Good thing too, because otherwise it would be hard to categorize.  Part memoir, literary criticism, biography, and current events reporting it frequently slides between childhood memories, academic criticism, Freudian analysis, personal opinion, and interviews with other authors.

Sometimes this manages to flow and hold together in a coherent way and at others the transitions are a little rough.  I found the sections dealing with Lewis’s faith and politics were the least convincing – but perhaps that is my bias – but the book as a whole remains an insightful and engaging look at Lewis and Narnia.

The sections dealing with the politically incorrect nature of Lewis’s views, and their inclusion in his fiction, struck me as the weakest part of the book.  Miller left the Catholicism of her childhood and never looked back.  And as a result, she evidences little sympathy for Lewis’s faith or political worldview. This is the weakness of such a personal take, since Miller is left cold by the religious nature of the books she can’t see why others might feel differently.

If you share Miller’s secular liberalism then you will probably find her discussion of Lewis’s chauvinism and her relating how she found the religious elements of the Chronicles unpersuasive, or her mockery of the way certain Christians seem to worship Lewis, dead on.  Those who don’t share her perspective, however, will likely not learn much from these chapters.

There are two aspects that make the book in spite of these distractions: Miller’s attempt to understand, and describe, why she loved the books as a child (and what continues to make them so appealing to children); and her insights into what Lewis was attempting to accomplish in his literary efforts.

The first aspect benefits from the book’s eclectic style (the lack of a rigid format, etc.).  Miller’s exploration of her childhood love of Narnia, and larger topic of one’s first literary loves, reads like a conversation with an intelligent and knowledgeable friend.  Miller shares her own experiences, adds in biographical details about Lewis, shares quotes and experiences from other authors, discusses children’s literature, and even describes her interaction with her friends’ young children.  Put it all together and it is an interesting exploration of books, they way young people interact with them, and how this both impacts us and changes as we grow older.

With this as background, in the final chapters Miller provides a very useful conceptualization of Lewis’s work.  She uses her understand of Lewis’s academic work on Medieval Literature, and its underpinning world view, to help the readers understand the style and structure of The Chronicles.

She points out that their style and structure frequently turns people off:

The made-up-ness of Narnia has seemed particularly glaring to certain well-read adults who never encountered them as children.  Lewis’s mythic syncretism – fauns and dragons and dwarves and Arabian Nights exoticism all jumbled together – undermine the Chronicle’s religious integrity for readers like John Goldthwaite, and the Christian subtext spoils the imaginative freedom for readers like my own teenage self.  For Tolkien, these undigested borrowings and the lack of coherent, unified world-building make Narnia a flimsy, derivative concoction that spits in the eye of true sub-creation.  The idea that the Chronicles are allegories – a supposedly crude, reductive, pedantic for of literature – as well as a collection of insufficiently original tidbits, offends against the premium contemporary critics place on naturalism and novelty.

But Miller argues, rightfully to my mind, that these critics are frequently missing the point.  What readers, young and old, enjoy about the Chronicles is the joy Lewis put into them:

The Chronicles are unified, not by anything resembling the exhaustive cultural stuff that Tolkien invented for Middle-earth, not by a single aesthetic or style, and not even, really, by a cogent religious vision, but by readerly desire.  Lewis poured into his imaginary world everything that he had adored in the books he read as a child and in the handful of children’s books he had enjoyed as an adult.  And there is more, too: treasures collected from Dante, from Spenser, from Malory, from Austen, from old romances and ballads and fairy tales and pagan epics.  Everything that Lewis had ever read and loved went into Narnia, and because he was a great reader, these things were as deeply felt by him as actual experiences.  In his own way, Lewis, too, believed that everything in the Chronicles was true, and this conviction is what he communicates to his young readers.

And this is how she comes to understand her relationship with Lewis and the Chronicles.  That Lewis shared her love of books and reading and that by pouring his love into Narnia he has opened up those worlds to untold numbers of people.  What is wonderful about Narnia is what is wonderful about books and literature.

As Miller works this out the reader is brought a long on a wonderful journey exploring not just Lewis, his life and work, but books and literature.  And like Lewis, Miller’s love of both comes through.

I came away knowing more about Lewis and Narnia but also about literature and how it “works.” But I was also reminded of the magic of reading and failing in love with this experience as a child.

So no matter what your politics, faith, or even opinion of The Chronicles of Narnia, if you love reading I think you will enjoy this book.

What to do when your finances don’t allow for endless book buying?  Well, the library of course!  But in the case of books for children I don’t mean that in quite the way you might think.  One of the nicer neighborhoods near where we live has a nice library of course.  But they also have a wonderful children’s book section in their Friends of the Library book sale area.

I particularly enjoy older children’s books (older in terms of  publishing date not age of the children).  And so love hunting through the kids section looking for hidden gems.  That way I can surprise my kids with a new story to read and it only costs me a dollar or two.  I have found quite a few great books this way.

Which brings us to the subject of this post.  I found this great edition of Oscar Wilde’s children’s story The Selfish Giant.  It has wonderful watercolor illustrations by Lisbeth Zwerger (I frequently look for books with nice or unique illustrations as my wife is an artist and loves these books as much as the kids).

I was not familiar with the story prior to bringing it home.  Having read it a few times now, it has moved into my favorites list. It is a wonderfully simple fairy tale about the dangers of cutting your self off from the world.  And it ends with, for me, a moving reminder of the power of the Christian faith.

But no matter what your faith background, or lack thereof, it really is a gem of a story about the soul killing nature of isolation, the magic of  children, the wonders of spring, and the powers of love. The happy tale ends on a deeply sad note but carries with it either the cycle of life or the promise of redemption depending on your perspective. (I will admit holding back tears on occasion.)

The story is widely available online in its entirety (here for example) so if you aren’t familiar with it read it – you will be glad you did.  Of course, to truly enjoy it, IMO, you need the wonderful illustrations offered by this particular edition. The delicate water colors match the tone and feel of the story perfectly in my mind.  We have also read Hans Christian Anderson’s The Swineherd with her illustrations and they are equally well done. She really is an incredible artist.

For our family a book like this is a wonderful edition to the library.  Not just because of the joy it provides as a bed time story, but because it is a both a parable for young and old – and a message we all need to hear – and a work of art.  And sharing that art together makes it all the more special.

Do you have books like this in your family?  Did you read this story when you were younger? I would love to hear your thoughts.

I stumbled upon this interesting little book, [amazon-product region="us" text="Little Mook & Dwarf Longnose" type="text"]1567922228[/amazon-product] (part of the Pocket Paragon Book series), at a library sale.  Given my interest in fairy tales and young adult fiction I thought it would be worth the quick read.  This past weekend I pulled it out and read one afternoon.  It was worth it just for the introduction by one of the translators Thomas S. Hansen.

William Hauff’s life was cut short- from overwork and exhaustion no less – at the age of twenty-five but he still managed to leave a legacy behind.  And among German speaking children his fairy tales are second only to the famous Brothers Grimm.  The two stories in this collection are meant as an introduction to his work.

Booklist does a great job of capturing the slim volume:

This petite double feature celebrates nineteenth-century German fantasist Hauff, an unsung contemporary of the Brothers Grimm. Like others in the publisher’s Pocket Paragon series, the book is a pleasure to hold and behold, featuring rich, glossy stock, decorative embellishments, and beautifully reproduced artwork. Though the story “Little Mook” gets top billing, “Dwarf Longnose” is probably better known due to earlier versions illustrated by both Maurice Sendak and Lizbeth Zwerger. The two stories, though, have much in common, each chronicling the adventures of a small, physically odd character who carves his place in the world by dint of cleverness, good-heartedness, and fairy-tale magic. It’s a theme that holds allure for many children, although the high ratio of text to visuals (Russian illustrator Pak’s striking tempera paintings appear only once every five or so pages) makes it most suitable for sharing with middle-graders. The cogent preface by co-translator Thomas S. Hansen will enlighten college-level students of comparative lit, who will enjoy encountering this elegant volume in their libraries as much as Hauff’s intended audience.

The Little Mook involves a poor dwarf forced to make his way in the world alone and penniless.  He finds work with a bizarre cat lady and then stumbles upon a magic staff and slippers. These magic tools help him to find work in a kings court only to have the jealousy of those around him form his undoing.

The second story tells the tale of how a once beautiful young boy is kidnapped and turned into a long nosed dwarf by a witch.  He escapes but no one recognizes him in his deformed state.  He finds work as a chef for a duke only to have his life threatened by a neighboring prince.  With the help of princess who had been turned into a goose he finds his old form and escapes and returns to his family.

The stories themselves, while entertaining, are probably more interesting as part of the history of fairy tales and German folklore than as bedtime stories for your kids (not that they wouldn’t serve that purpose).  But for me the useful intro and the art work, when added to the stories, made it easily worth the two dollars I paid for it.

An odd, yet educational, little find.

Cover of The Old Country

At a recent trip to Half-Price Books I picked up The Old Country by Mordicai Gerstein.  It fit right into my interests of late: myths and fables, young adult fiction, etc.  When contemplating writing a review, I thought one way to look at this interesting book is through what you might call dueling reviews.

School Library Journal:

Framed as an elderly immigrant’s story, this overly ambitious tale transpires in a war-torn Balkanesque country in which various factions fight for possession of the land while everyone wishes to oust the Crags. When her brother is conscripted and goes off to war, young Gisella is left to hunt for and kill a chicken-stealing fox that has terrorized her family. However, a trial is held among the forest animals and the fox is exonerated for her “crimes.” In spite of her lifelong warnings, Gisella looks too long into its eyes and she and the fox trade shapes. War separates the humans from the now fox-girl and her animal companions, but they arereunited in prison. A shape-shifting woodland sprite and an enigmatic “owl person” appear to explain the human ravages on the magical world at a “crossroads,” where animals can communicate with humans. Through them, Gerstein explores whether evil is inherent in the world, the costs of war, and the existence of magic. Elements of fantasy and traditional literature are threaded through the realistic and semi-historical horrors of war. This pastiche of theme and genre, tone and voice confuses readers’ expectations and ultimately dilutes the story’s power. Humor follows horror. Buffoonish royalty is overthrown by covetous generals, Gisella’s blinded brother recovers his sight via some gruesome magic and leads the fight for a Crag homeland, and the baffling outcome of the fox/girl body swap may put off readers as well. This is a challenging burgoo of a novel and a rambling character-ridden tale that may have a difficult time finding and holding an audience.

Versus

Publishers Weekly

Gerstein (The Man Who Walked Between the Towers) skillfully shapes a story by turns disturbing and comforting. His hybrid of fantasy and fable explores such themes as human nature, war, magic and music. The tale within a tale opens as Gisella visits her great granddaughter, gives her a present and shares a story of her childhood in the Old Country, where, she says, “I was a little girl and where I was a fox.” Gisella builds on this note of intrigue, as she describes her wise great-aunt warning her that in the woods “things may not be what they seem. Things change; now it’s this, then it’s that. Look closely, be careful, and never look too long into the eyes of a fox.” Indeed, danger befalls the young Gisella when her brother is drafted into the army, and it’s up to her to kill the fox who’s been stealing the family’s chickens. Deep in the woods, strange things occur-talking animals and “small people.” The girl finds herself gazing intently into the fox’s eyes, and the two mysteriously exchange bodies. Meanwhile, war breaks out (“Air that had been full of springtime now had a new odor, bitter and jagged. It was the smell of pain, and it was everywhere”), sending Gisella on a labyrinthine journey with a forest sprite as her guide. Gerstein brilliantly ties the war’s escalation with the dwindling of magic, and caps off this vividly descriptive narrative with an unexpected ending.

My thoughts on the above reviews below.

Start with the basic critique of the first review:

Elements of fantasy and traditional literature are threaded through the realistic and semi-historical horrors of war. This pastiche of theme and genre, tone and voice confuses readers’ expectations and ultimately dilutes the story’s power.

It seems to me this is an overly academic, even literary, critique for a story of this nature.  I think this is given away by the term of pastiche.  The key to this term is how you use it:

1. a literary, musical, or artistic piece consisting wholly or chiefly of motifs or techniques borrowed from one or more sources.

2. an incongruous combination of materials, forms, motifs, etc., taken from different sources; hodgepodge.

Our reviewer clearly means #2.  But what if the author meant it as #1?  In fact, I think the story works because it is #1 particularly for adult readers.

It has the feel of classic fairy tales – of myths and legends – and yet also of fantasy and magical stories in general.  These basic motifs or genres allow readers to situate the book in a familiar place.  In such a short work the author doesn’t have to set the stage all that much as we quickly understand what kind of story we are dealing with.

I am not sure how it confuses readers nor dilutes the story’s power.  But I guess it depends on your expectation.  If you don’t expect humor to follow horror then you might be thrown off.  If you expect a single, and perfectly matched, theme or tone then you might be confused.

But I think PW got it write in describing it as a “hybrid of fantasy and fable” that “explores such themes as human nature, war, magic and music.”  And a “tale within a tale” that “shapes a story by turns disturbing and comforting.”

There is an unsettling aspect to the story because it deals with some difficult topics and refuses clear cut or simple answers.  Gisella wrestles with human nature and the nature of evil.  And Mordicai presents these as difficult and elusive ideas to come to grips with and offers no clear cut answer(s) not even a traditional happy ending; or the ending you might have expected.

But what he does offer is an enchanting tale that captures the feel of old world fairy tales and uses it to present heavy topics to young people without losing his wit or sounding preachy or educational.  It is both entertainment and food for thought.  No mean feat, that.

The Old Country may be a burgoo but I found it to be a tasty one.