Elgar: Piano Music. Ashley Wass, piano. Naxos. $8.99.
Offenbach: Piano Works, Volume 2. Marco Sollini, piano. CPO. $16.99.
Anyone who thinks classical piano music must by definition be serious and heavy should spend a few minutes with these CDs. A few minutes are all that will be required – between them, these two CDs contain only one piece that is more than 10 minutes long. These are all works of more charm than substance, works never intended to cement their composers’ reputations or to storm the heights of musical accomplishment – but planned merely to provide some enjoyment for a little while. And perhaps “merely” is the wrong word: these were not time wasters but time fillers in an age before television, before non-participatory entertainment, when small groups gathered around the piano to enjoy themselves by playing and talking well into the night.
Edward Elgar is known today for his large-scale orchestral works, and indeed they provide the most important part of his legacy. But thinking of Elgar in purely monumental terms misses the point, as Ashley Wass shows with his adept handling of works that Elgar composed as early as 1882 (when he was 25) and reworked as late as 1930 (he died in 1934). One piece is called Une Idylle, but several have an idyllic character, such as Dream Children, Carissima, May Song and Douce Pensée (Rosemary). There is somewhat more verve in Echo’s Dance, which Elgar adapted from his ballet, The Sanguine Fan (what a title!). There is an interesting melding of the exotic and the properly English in Sérénade Mauresque, the second of Elgar’s Three Characteristic Pieces. And there is pure charm in the early Sonatina in G Major. Also included here, and played with panache by Wass, is Elgar’s own piano transcription of his Enigma Variations – a piece that takes up almost as much time on the CD as all the others put together. This well-known orchestral showpiece sounds a bit thin on the piano: a listener familiar with the work will keep trying to hear the broad strokes of Elgar’s orchestration. Like all the pieces on this CD, the piano version of the Enigma Variations is interesting and pleasant to hear occasionally, but is unlikely to become a staple of the piano repertoire or of most people’s everyday listening.
Jacques Offenbach, for his part, never intended his piano works to have any particular staying power. In fact, he reused themes, sections of pieces, and sometimes whole works as the occasion demanded (giving a piece a different title when he played it in a new city, whose audiences would not have heard it before). Offenbach also used his little piano pieces to pay tribute to his wife and the other women in his life – not only lovers but also theatrical performers. Marco Sollini gives Offenbach’s brief pieces – there are 16 on the new CPO release – just as much attention and seriousness as they deserve, and no more. It is possible to have analytical fun with these trifles if one wishes – for example, by noting that the waltz Le Fleuve d’or and the Polka du mendiant (“Beggar’s Polka”) are based on the same melodic material. But Offenbach himself would likely have dismissed the notion of paying too much attention to these works. They are for enjoyment only. Sollini makes all of them enjoyable, from the moderately well known (the waltzes Abendblätter and Les Belles Américaines) to the very little known (the polka Souvenirs de Londres and the waltz Les Contes de la Reine de Navarre) to the entirely unknown (Valse composée au château du Val le 9 août 1845, which exists only in an autograph copy). There is nothing here to strain the ears, and much to delight them.
October 12, 2006
October 05, 2006
(++++) A YEAR OF ART FOR YOUR WALLS: 2007
The ECOlogical Calendar; Georgia O’Keeffe; Frank Lloyd Wright; Edward Gorey: Mystery; Bruce McCall: Serious Nonsense; Classic Crumb; M.C. Escher: Uncommon Ground; M.C. Escher Mini; Wolf Kahn Mini. Pomegranate. $14.99 (ECOlogical); $13.99 each (all other full-size); $6.99 each (mini).
The most interesting, consistently highest-quality wall calendars around come year after year from Pomegranate, which produces each one as if it were a book of attractive prints – which many of these calendars are. There is also considerable creativity in theme selection and design of Pomegranate calendars, resulting in a very wide range of styles and ideas – presented with a level of visual interest that you will enjoy looking at day after day and month after month.
For 2007, Pomegranate has produced the third version of its highly unusual ECOlogical Calendar, which is not a touchy-feely environmental-handbook kind of thing but an attempt to redefine the way we view the world: instead of a boxy format featuring grids, this calendar includes three-foot-long panels depicting each season, with information on seasonally visible constellations, tides and moon phases, notes on astronomy and natural history, poetry, multicultural holidays and more. If this sounds complicated, it is: a six-page booklet is included to explain how the calendar works. Many people will not want to put this much work into looking at a calendar, but the point here is to look at one – and at the world at large – in a new and different way. If that gives you a changed outlook on day-to-day life, so much the better. This nontraditional calendar concept is not for everyone, but it provides a highly creative approach to the year for anyone seeking something outside the norm.
Pomegranate’s many wall calendars in traditional format are creative and beautiful in their own way. Georgia O’Keeffe showcases the powerful simplicity of the artist’s extreme close-ups of flowers, in pictures from as early as 1919 (“Red Flower”) and as late as 1952 (“Pink and Yellow Hollyhocks”). Frank Lloyd Wright displays beautiful photos of famous and less-known Wright architectural wonders, including two homes with the iconic name of Taliesin, the strikingly simple Pope-Leighey House in Virginia, Wright’s own home and studio in Oak Park, Illinois, and many more.
One of Pomegranate’s most interesting calendar categories is called “Artful Humor,” which is where Edward Gorey: Mystery fits in. Actually, Gorey’s work doesn’t quite fit in anywhere, which is a big part of its charm. His sense of line is unusual, his lighting effects peculiar, and the detail of his cross-hatchings utterly remarkable. The 17 Gorey illustrations here have no titles, but scarcely need them: all are on the macabre side of things, all are rendered with excruciating detail, and all will make you wonder just what is going on (why are there two feet sticking up from the urn that lies within the arch from behind which several people are peeking?).
Bruce McCall: Serious Nonsense is artful humor of a different kind. McCall offers city scenes with a distinct difference: huge apes reading newspapers while waiting to try out to climb the Empire State Building; a Donald Trump White House with glittering gold apartment tower on top of the traditional structure; ice fishing through the skating rink at New York City’s Rockefeller Center; and many more slightly skewed views of things. None of them, though, is as skewed as the work of Robert Crumb, of which Classic Crumb offers a year’s worth. Famous creations of this most famous of underground cartoonists (Fritz the Cat, Mr. Natural) appear in some months; there is one full Crumb story (“Mr. Natural Meets God”); and there are covers of such well-known (at least in certain circles) comics as “Zap No. 1” and “Despair.” Although these are some of Crumb’s milder panels, this calendar is not for the easily shocked or those who think “underground” refers to comics created in tunnels.
One of the most consistently interesting calendar series from Pomegranate features the work of M.C. Escher, such as M.C. Escher: Uncommon Ground for 2007. That’s a great title, since Escher’s work relies on foreground/background conflation (among other things) for its unique effects. The 2007 wall calendar highlights some of Escher’s best-known works in large and impressive format: “Belvedere,” that confusion of inside and outside; “Drawing Hands,” the famed image of creator and creation inextricably intertwined; “Waterfall,” where up and down become interchangeable; “Hand with Reflecting Globe,” Escher himself being the reflection; and more. Escher’s puzzles are the puzzles of the world and the way we see it – always something worthwhile to think about during any year.
If you don’t have room for the full-size Escher calendar, consider the excellent seven-inch-square mini calendar for 2007, which includes the wonderful “Reptiles” as well as several symmetry and circle-limit drawings. You’ll still get most of the impact of Escher in this smaller size. And if Escher is not your cup of tea, there are other fine mini-size calendars available as well. For example, Wolf Kahn focuses on a contemporary artist whose works – done in intense and slightly strange colors – tread the line between reality and something else. The mini calendar includes such gems as “Invented Foliage” and “In the Land of the Giant” (trunks of trees so tall that their tops are outside the picture). Whatever size space you have, whatever your preference in art, one or another of these calendars should help improve your view of 2007 every time you look at the wall.
The most interesting, consistently highest-quality wall calendars around come year after year from Pomegranate, which produces each one as if it were a book of attractive prints – which many of these calendars are. There is also considerable creativity in theme selection and design of Pomegranate calendars, resulting in a very wide range of styles and ideas – presented with a level of visual interest that you will enjoy looking at day after day and month after month.
For 2007, Pomegranate has produced the third version of its highly unusual ECOlogical Calendar, which is not a touchy-feely environmental-handbook kind of thing but an attempt to redefine the way we view the world: instead of a boxy format featuring grids, this calendar includes three-foot-long panels depicting each season, with information on seasonally visible constellations, tides and moon phases, notes on astronomy and natural history, poetry, multicultural holidays and more. If this sounds complicated, it is: a six-page booklet is included to explain how the calendar works. Many people will not want to put this much work into looking at a calendar, but the point here is to look at one – and at the world at large – in a new and different way. If that gives you a changed outlook on day-to-day life, so much the better. This nontraditional calendar concept is not for everyone, but it provides a highly creative approach to the year for anyone seeking something outside the norm.
Pomegranate’s many wall calendars in traditional format are creative and beautiful in their own way. Georgia O’Keeffe showcases the powerful simplicity of the artist’s extreme close-ups of flowers, in pictures from as early as 1919 (“Red Flower”) and as late as 1952 (“Pink and Yellow Hollyhocks”). Frank Lloyd Wright displays beautiful photos of famous and less-known Wright architectural wonders, including two homes with the iconic name of Taliesin, the strikingly simple Pope-Leighey House in Virginia, Wright’s own home and studio in Oak Park, Illinois, and many more.
One of Pomegranate’s most interesting calendar categories is called “Artful Humor,” which is where Edward Gorey: Mystery fits in. Actually, Gorey’s work doesn’t quite fit in anywhere, which is a big part of its charm. His sense of line is unusual, his lighting effects peculiar, and the detail of his cross-hatchings utterly remarkable. The 17 Gorey illustrations here have no titles, but scarcely need them: all are on the macabre side of things, all are rendered with excruciating detail, and all will make you wonder just what is going on (why are there two feet sticking up from the urn that lies within the arch from behind which several people are peeking?).
Bruce McCall: Serious Nonsense is artful humor of a different kind. McCall offers city scenes with a distinct difference: huge apes reading newspapers while waiting to try out to climb the Empire State Building; a Donald Trump White House with glittering gold apartment tower on top of the traditional structure; ice fishing through the skating rink at New York City’s Rockefeller Center; and many more slightly skewed views of things. None of them, though, is as skewed as the work of Robert Crumb, of which Classic Crumb offers a year’s worth. Famous creations of this most famous of underground cartoonists (Fritz the Cat, Mr. Natural) appear in some months; there is one full Crumb story (“Mr. Natural Meets God”); and there are covers of such well-known (at least in certain circles) comics as “Zap No. 1” and “Despair.” Although these are some of Crumb’s milder panels, this calendar is not for the easily shocked or those who think “underground” refers to comics created in tunnels.
One of the most consistently interesting calendar series from Pomegranate features the work of M.C. Escher, such as M.C. Escher: Uncommon Ground for 2007. That’s a great title, since Escher’s work relies on foreground/background conflation (among other things) for its unique effects. The 2007 wall calendar highlights some of Escher’s best-known works in large and impressive format: “Belvedere,” that confusion of inside and outside; “Drawing Hands,” the famed image of creator and creation inextricably intertwined; “Waterfall,” where up and down become interchangeable; “Hand with Reflecting Globe,” Escher himself being the reflection; and more. Escher’s puzzles are the puzzles of the world and the way we see it – always something worthwhile to think about during any year.
If you don’t have room for the full-size Escher calendar, consider the excellent seven-inch-square mini calendar for 2007, which includes the wonderful “Reptiles” as well as several symmetry and circle-limit drawings. You’ll still get most of the impact of Escher in this smaller size. And if Escher is not your cup of tea, there are other fine mini-size calendars available as well. For example, Wolf Kahn focuses on a contemporary artist whose works – done in intense and slightly strange colors – tread the line between reality and something else. The mini calendar includes such gems as “Invented Foliage” and “In the Land of the Giant” (trunks of trees so tall that their tops are outside the picture). Whatever size space you have, whatever your preference in art, one or another of these calendars should help improve your view of 2007 every time you look at the wall.
(++++) PINT-SIZED HEROISM
Steal Back the Mona Lisa! By Meghan McCarthy. Harcourt. $16.
Is There Really a Human Race? By Jamie Lee Curtis & Laura Cornell. HarperCollins. $16.99.
Kids ages 4-8 can be heroes, too. That’s the message of both these books – but they communicate it in very different ways. Meghan McCarthy’s Steal Back the Mona Lisa! is very minimally based on the actual theft of the famous painting in 1911 (details are provided at the back). The book is cast as a very funny secret-agent romp, in which “Secret Agent Jack” has to get the Mona Lisa back from “a few crooked crooks.” The story is all about Jack overcoming obstacles and learning all the things he can do, at least in his own vivid imagination. He is awakened one night by a flying old-fashioned radio, finds only brown suits and brown hats in his closet when he goes to get dressed, gets a special-agent watch that will help him out of a jam later, and finds that he can drive the fast car that’s waiting for him outside his home. Then it’s a race to France to prevent the nefarious plot of the crooks, who intend to put a mustache on the Mona Lisa as soon as they can decide which design to use. Crooks keep interfering with Jack’s plans, first dumping him in Russia rather than France and later poisoning his juice and kidnapping him, forcing him to “watch videos of chickens dancing – OVER and OVER again!” But Jack escapes, catches the crooks, rescues Mona (who smiles at him), smuggles the painting back to the Louvre, and uses “secret methods too treacherous to mention” to get back home, safe and sound. The book is fun throughout, and Jack always looks like a young boy who is in slightly over his head but comes through just fine – a great message for the children for whom the book is intended.
Is There Really a Human Race? is clever, too, especially in its title and in a few of Laura Cornell’s illustrations: babies in hospital bassinets filled with sports equipment, and a “world yearbook” at the back featuring kids labeled “clog dancer and nuclear physicist,” “oatmeal factory,” and “medical aesthetics.” The rhyming text by Jamie Lee Curtis starts out well, as a young boy asks his mother lots of questions about what “human race” means: “Is the race like a loop/ or an obstacle course?/ Am I a jockey,/ or am I a horse?” The best of these questions is: “Why am I racing? What am I winning?/ Does all of my running keep the world spinning?” The mom’s response to her son, unfortunately, is not written nearly so cleverly – it’s rather insipid: “Sometimes it’s better not to go fast./ There are beautiful sights to be seen when you’re last.” Still, the lathered-on inspirational message takes up only a small part of the book, and sensitive parents can reinterpret the words so they sound less preachy and more upbeat. There are many better alternatives to such lines as, “Make friends and love well,/ bring art to this place.” Despite the disappointing conclusion, this is a lovable book, its illustrations filled with activities done by people of all shapes, sizes, colors and costumes – including kids doing small heroic deeds, such as helping “save the park.” The inclusiveness of the pictures and the occasional soft-pedaled sociopolitical messages (a man in Arab costume playing “go fish” with one dressed as a devout Jew) create plenty of opportunities to discuss the real meaning of “human race” with any young child.
Is There Really a Human Race? By Jamie Lee Curtis & Laura Cornell. HarperCollins. $16.99.
Kids ages 4-8 can be heroes, too. That’s the message of both these books – but they communicate it in very different ways. Meghan McCarthy’s Steal Back the Mona Lisa! is very minimally based on the actual theft of the famous painting in 1911 (details are provided at the back). The book is cast as a very funny secret-agent romp, in which “Secret Agent Jack” has to get the Mona Lisa back from “a few crooked crooks.” The story is all about Jack overcoming obstacles and learning all the things he can do, at least in his own vivid imagination. He is awakened one night by a flying old-fashioned radio, finds only brown suits and brown hats in his closet when he goes to get dressed, gets a special-agent watch that will help him out of a jam later, and finds that he can drive the fast car that’s waiting for him outside his home. Then it’s a race to France to prevent the nefarious plot of the crooks, who intend to put a mustache on the Mona Lisa as soon as they can decide which design to use. Crooks keep interfering with Jack’s plans, first dumping him in Russia rather than France and later poisoning his juice and kidnapping him, forcing him to “watch videos of chickens dancing – OVER and OVER again!” But Jack escapes, catches the crooks, rescues Mona (who smiles at him), smuggles the painting back to the Louvre, and uses “secret methods too treacherous to mention” to get back home, safe and sound. The book is fun throughout, and Jack always looks like a young boy who is in slightly over his head but comes through just fine – a great message for the children for whom the book is intended.
Is There Really a Human Race? is clever, too, especially in its title and in a few of Laura Cornell’s illustrations: babies in hospital bassinets filled with sports equipment, and a “world yearbook” at the back featuring kids labeled “clog dancer and nuclear physicist,” “oatmeal factory,” and “medical aesthetics.” The rhyming text by Jamie Lee Curtis starts out well, as a young boy asks his mother lots of questions about what “human race” means: “Is the race like a loop/ or an obstacle course?/ Am I a jockey,/ or am I a horse?” The best of these questions is: “Why am I racing? What am I winning?/ Does all of my running keep the world spinning?” The mom’s response to her son, unfortunately, is not written nearly so cleverly – it’s rather insipid: “Sometimes it’s better not to go fast./ There are beautiful sights to be seen when you’re last.” Still, the lathered-on inspirational message takes up only a small part of the book, and sensitive parents can reinterpret the words so they sound less preachy and more upbeat. There are many better alternatives to such lines as, “Make friends and love well,/ bring art to this place.” Despite the disappointing conclusion, this is a lovable book, its illustrations filled with activities done by people of all shapes, sizes, colors and costumes – including kids doing small heroic deeds, such as helping “save the park.” The inclusiveness of the pictures and the occasional soft-pedaled sociopolitical messages (a man in Arab costume playing “go fish” with one dressed as a devout Jew) create plenty of opportunities to discuss the real meaning of “human race” with any young child.
(++++) SILLY SEASON, ADVENTURE TIME
Key Lardo: A Chet Gecko Mystery. By Bruce Hale. Harcourt. $14.
Arthur and the Forbidden City. By Luc Beeson. HarperTrophy. $5.99.
Bruce Hale, inveterate punster and lover of old hard-boiled movies, makes it an even dozen mysteries for Chet Gecko with Key Lardo, which bears not even a passing resemblance to John Huston’s great Bogart-and-Bacall film of 1948, Key Largo. The odds that Hale’s target audience of 8-to-12-year-olds will know the film are vanishingly small, but the title is just one of Hale’s many jokes aimed less at preteens than at their parents. After all, this is a book featuring characters named Charles de Gull, Elise Navidad and Conjuncti Vitus (mercifully called Connie most of the time). Lots of the puns may go over the heads (or under the radar) of the intended readers, but the unending silliness of the situations faced by grade-school detective Chet Gecko and his sidekick, mockingbird Natalie Attired (ouch!), continues to hit the mark every time. Which is more than one can say for Chet, who gets hit more often than he hits. You might say he gets Hale bopped, but not even astronomy buffs are likely to let that cometary pun pass. In any case, Key Lardo is one of the best-plotted of Hale’s tales, featuring the arrival at Emerson Hicky Elementary of a new student: a penguin named Bland – James Bland. Bland he is, and a braggart to boot, but most importantly, he claims to be a detective – one whose suave manner and apparent ability to out-sleuth Chet make the plucky gecko the most likely suspect when Bland disappears shortly after his moment of triumph. Chet has to clear his name and find the real culprit before the no-kidding police are called (except that Hale does nothing but kid about Officers Frick and Frack). Readers must negotiate chapter titles such as “On a Wing and a Player” and “Wild Wild Nest” while trying to pick up clues faster than Natalie picks up Chet to fly him away from a particularly sticky situation. The book’s conclusion, truth be told, is not quite as neat as the endings of some other Chet fests, but taken as a whole, the book’s still a winner. Taken as a hole – that is, a bottomless pit – so is Hale’s humor.
The adventure is more serious in Arthur and the Forbidden City, although Luc Beeson’s writing is still on the light side: “It should be mentioned that Arthur’s eyes were not so much on the chasm as on Selenia. It should also be mentioned that Selenia was very pretty. Even from behind you could tell she was a princess.” Beeson’s book has many elements of modern “quest” fairy tales, such as the names: Betameche, Boulaguiri and Cachflot appear on a single page. It also has twists on the genre: Arthur’s adventures take place in his own back yard, except that it is not really a yard but the world of the Minimoys – and Arthur, himself transformed into a Minimoy, needs to face the world’s monsters and enter the forbidden city of Necropolis to free his grandfather. This means dealing with the evil wizard, Maltazard the Cursed – a tall order for a 10-year-old. It is Beeson’s writing style, more than the adventures themselves, that keeps the book interesting. For example, just after Princess Selenia’s father says thanks for an answer to his prayers, Beeson writes, “Grandma would also have liked to have her prayers answered. She was on her third since morning, with no results yet.” Eventually, the book does end happily, and with the promise of further adventures – an answer to the prayers of the many fans of Beeson’s series.
Arthur and the Forbidden City. By Luc Beeson. HarperTrophy. $5.99.
Bruce Hale, inveterate punster and lover of old hard-boiled movies, makes it an even dozen mysteries for Chet Gecko with Key Lardo, which bears not even a passing resemblance to John Huston’s great Bogart-and-Bacall film of 1948, Key Largo. The odds that Hale’s target audience of 8-to-12-year-olds will know the film are vanishingly small, but the title is just one of Hale’s many jokes aimed less at preteens than at their parents. After all, this is a book featuring characters named Charles de Gull, Elise Navidad and Conjuncti Vitus (mercifully called Connie most of the time). Lots of the puns may go over the heads (or under the radar) of the intended readers, but the unending silliness of the situations faced by grade-school detective Chet Gecko and his sidekick, mockingbird Natalie Attired (ouch!), continues to hit the mark every time. Which is more than one can say for Chet, who gets hit more often than he hits. You might say he gets Hale bopped, but not even astronomy buffs are likely to let that cometary pun pass. In any case, Key Lardo is one of the best-plotted of Hale’s tales, featuring the arrival at Emerson Hicky Elementary of a new student: a penguin named Bland – James Bland. Bland he is, and a braggart to boot, but most importantly, he claims to be a detective – one whose suave manner and apparent ability to out-sleuth Chet make the plucky gecko the most likely suspect when Bland disappears shortly after his moment of triumph. Chet has to clear his name and find the real culprit before the no-kidding police are called (except that Hale does nothing but kid about Officers Frick and Frack). Readers must negotiate chapter titles such as “On a Wing and a Player” and “Wild Wild Nest” while trying to pick up clues faster than Natalie picks up Chet to fly him away from a particularly sticky situation. The book’s conclusion, truth be told, is not quite as neat as the endings of some other Chet fests, but taken as a whole, the book’s still a winner. Taken as a hole – that is, a bottomless pit – so is Hale’s humor.
The adventure is more serious in Arthur and the Forbidden City, although Luc Beeson’s writing is still on the light side: “It should be mentioned that Arthur’s eyes were not so much on the chasm as on Selenia. It should also be mentioned that Selenia was very pretty. Even from behind you could tell she was a princess.” Beeson’s book has many elements of modern “quest” fairy tales, such as the names: Betameche, Boulaguiri and Cachflot appear on a single page. It also has twists on the genre: Arthur’s adventures take place in his own back yard, except that it is not really a yard but the world of the Minimoys – and Arthur, himself transformed into a Minimoy, needs to face the world’s monsters and enter the forbidden city of Necropolis to free his grandfather. This means dealing with the evil wizard, Maltazard the Cursed – a tall order for a 10-year-old. It is Beeson’s writing style, more than the adventures themselves, that keeps the book interesting. For example, just after Princess Selenia’s father says thanks for an answer to his prayers, Beeson writes, “Grandma would also have liked to have her prayers answered. She was on her third since morning, with no results yet.” Eventually, the book does end happily, and with the promise of further adventures – an answer to the prayers of the many fans of Beeson’s series.
(+++) MANY KINDS OF COOL
Rush Hour IV: Reckless. Edited by Michael Cart. Delacorte Press. $10.95.
Playing It Cool. By Joaquin Dorfman. Random House. $15.95.
Prizefighter en Mi Casa. By e. E. Charlton-Trujillo. Delacorte Press. $15.95.
First-time authors, contemporary authors, new voices – whatever you call them, they all seem to be preoccupied, in one way or another, with the importance (and the consequences) of being “cool.” The word is a longtime slang term – there’s a song with the single-word title in West Side Story, and it dates back well before that – but the ways of being cool continue to change. The consequences often don’t.
Being reckless is often part of being cool, at least for certain people of a certain age. The fourth installment of Rush Hour, the sort-of-book, sort-of-magazine featuring contemporary writers and artists, uses the word Reckless as a centering point, just as the first three volumes used Sin, Bad Boys and Face. Like the earlier volumes, the Reckless anthology is very much a mixed bag, with work of widely varying interest and quality. Terry Quinn offers an intense urban-experience poem called “See Ya,” about a woman watching “as a neighbor she’s yet to meet/ becomes a corpse. Her first.” Benjamin M. Foster’s autobiographical “Concept” is about staying in a “therapeutic community” with other “fucked-up teenage kids who cut school and smoked a lot of pot.” Kirsten Smith’s “Three Poems about Bobby” deals with reckless love choices: “You open the car door for me/ and I want some of your bad boy/ to rub off on my hands like newsprint.” Tommy Kovac’s strange comic-strip-style story, “The New Girl,” is about a “date with the dead.” Especially interesting is an E-mail interview with Yann Martel, author of Life of Pi, who suggests that writing itself is a reckless act – a very different viewpoint from the others in this collection.
Playing It Cool and Prizefighter en Mi Casa are debut novels – in the case of the former, actually a “solo debut” novel. Both are about teenage and young-adult recklessness, and the cost of choices made and choices unchosen. Joaquin Dorfman, coauthor of Burning City, here offers a book about a “fixer,” someone who solves intractable problems in subtle ways (for instance, getting someone a date or stopping a suicide). Sebastian Montero has a way with people: “’Have a giraffe,’ I offered, extending the stuffed animal. Matilda let her lips curl up and laughed, braces and all. She took the giraffe from me and held it close. Rocking just a little bit, the timeless reassurance of all things soft and fuzzy.” But in a new city, where he does not fully understand the quid pro quo, Montero meets a fixer who is more powerful than he – and may be able to help him, if the price is right.
The author of Prizefighter en Mi Casa spells her name “e. E. Charlton-Trujillo,” and if that’s not a bid for coolness, what is? Chula Sanchez, heroine of the novel, wants both to be cool and to be healthy: she has had seizures since a car accident that also left her father paralyzed. The family is poor, and the father hopes to do something about that by sending to Mexico for a prizefighter named El Jefe, who can win local boxing matches. But the matches are illegal, the police show up, Chula’s brother helps her get away but is himself caught, and then the apparently steel-hard El Jefe shows an unexpected emotional side that only confuses matters further. Neither Dorfman’s novel nor Charlton-Trujillo’s is entirely effective or entirely believable, despite interesting picaresque qualities in one and a kind of hard-bitten determination in the other. The books are intriguing rather than compelling; and if they are not really “cool,” they do both have touching moments that, in the long run, will count for more.
Playing It Cool. By Joaquin Dorfman. Random House. $15.95.
Prizefighter en Mi Casa. By e. E. Charlton-Trujillo. Delacorte Press. $15.95.
First-time authors, contemporary authors, new voices – whatever you call them, they all seem to be preoccupied, in one way or another, with the importance (and the consequences) of being “cool.” The word is a longtime slang term – there’s a song with the single-word title in West Side Story, and it dates back well before that – but the ways of being cool continue to change. The consequences often don’t.
Being reckless is often part of being cool, at least for certain people of a certain age. The fourth installment of Rush Hour, the sort-of-book, sort-of-magazine featuring contemporary writers and artists, uses the word Reckless as a centering point, just as the first three volumes used Sin, Bad Boys and Face. Like the earlier volumes, the Reckless anthology is very much a mixed bag, with work of widely varying interest and quality. Terry Quinn offers an intense urban-experience poem called “See Ya,” about a woman watching “as a neighbor she’s yet to meet/ becomes a corpse. Her first.” Benjamin M. Foster’s autobiographical “Concept” is about staying in a “therapeutic community” with other “fucked-up teenage kids who cut school and smoked a lot of pot.” Kirsten Smith’s “Three Poems about Bobby” deals with reckless love choices: “You open the car door for me/ and I want some of your bad boy/ to rub off on my hands like newsprint.” Tommy Kovac’s strange comic-strip-style story, “The New Girl,” is about a “date with the dead.” Especially interesting is an E-mail interview with Yann Martel, author of Life of Pi, who suggests that writing itself is a reckless act – a very different viewpoint from the others in this collection.
Playing It Cool and Prizefighter en Mi Casa are debut novels – in the case of the former, actually a “solo debut” novel. Both are about teenage and young-adult recklessness, and the cost of choices made and choices unchosen. Joaquin Dorfman, coauthor of Burning City, here offers a book about a “fixer,” someone who solves intractable problems in subtle ways (for instance, getting someone a date or stopping a suicide). Sebastian Montero has a way with people: “’Have a giraffe,’ I offered, extending the stuffed animal. Matilda let her lips curl up and laughed, braces and all. She took the giraffe from me and held it close. Rocking just a little bit, the timeless reassurance of all things soft and fuzzy.” But in a new city, where he does not fully understand the quid pro quo, Montero meets a fixer who is more powerful than he – and may be able to help him, if the price is right.
The author of Prizefighter en Mi Casa spells her name “e. E. Charlton-Trujillo,” and if that’s not a bid for coolness, what is? Chula Sanchez, heroine of the novel, wants both to be cool and to be healthy: she has had seizures since a car accident that also left her father paralyzed. The family is poor, and the father hopes to do something about that by sending to Mexico for a prizefighter named El Jefe, who can win local boxing matches. But the matches are illegal, the police show up, Chula’s brother helps her get away but is himself caught, and then the apparently steel-hard El Jefe shows an unexpected emotional side that only confuses matters further. Neither Dorfman’s novel nor Charlton-Trujillo’s is entirely effective or entirely believable, despite interesting picaresque qualities in one and a kind of hard-bitten determination in the other. The books are intriguing rather than compelling; and if they are not really “cool,” they do both have touching moments that, in the long run, will count for more.
(++) REFERENCE BOOKS IN THE OLD STYLE
Scholastic Book of Lists. By James Buckley, Jr. and Robert Stremme. Scholastic. $9.99.
Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Special Edition 2007. By Mary Packard and the Editors of Ripley’s Entertainment Inc. Scholastic. $14.99.
Despite the continuing expansion of the Internet, there remains a place for old-fashioned reference books of certain kinds – concordances, for example. But books like these two, although they contain some interesting material, are a type whose time is passing increasingly quickly. Scholastic Book of Lists consists of 11 sections focused on History, Numbers, Science, Words and more. Within each section, every entry is short and presented in multiple type styles and type sizes, in an obvious attempt to make the information more interesting in our age of highly visual communication. But the approach does not work very well, because it makes the pages of little use to students doing serious research – while making them not especially attractive for anyone simply paging through the book for fun. Under “The Arts,” for example, a page called “Famous Orchestras” first explains, in small type, what an orchestra is; then lists, in large type, 12 famous orchestras (with no explanation of how or why they were chosen); then, at the bottom of the page, next to a meaningless graphic design, says a little about Vienna, Mozart, Beethoven, and the Vienna Philharmonic. So what does a reader take away from all this? The answer, unfortunately, is: not very much. Reading a Wikipedia entry on orchestras and following its hyperlinks is a more interesting approach, and it leads to many more connected (or unconnected) facts. On the plus side, the basic information in this book remains as solid as in its earlier editions, and some of the facts are really fascinating. For example, the book names Shakey as the first robot able to navigate by itself (1966), and Unimate as the first robot arm used in an assembly line (no date given). But these machines are part of a “Famous Robots” page that also includes cartoon character Astro Boy and C-3PO of Star Wars. There’s no way to find facts that are so thoroughly mixed with fiction. So even though Scholastic Book of Lists contains accurate and often interesting trivia (check out “Weird U.S. City Names” and the “Brag About Bricks” page, which describes building terms), it’s a book whose format may not have staying power much longer.
The Ripley’s Believe It or Not! franchise, complete with its exclamation point, is already long past its prime. For many years a great place to learn (albeit in a patronizing way) about other cultures, customs, and the strange ways of human genetics (what used to be called “freak shows”), Ripley’s is now merely a pale imitation of Guinness and other record-oriented publishing. The oddball stuff of yore is gone, replaced with entries about the world’s largest tomahawk, the oldest pet cemetery in the United States, and the largest community of spiritualists. Entries called “Ripley File” are supposed to delve into interesting facts from the past, but “past” here is broadly interpreted to include the years 1994, 1999, even 2005. When there is a truly old entry, it is not necessarily even tied to its time period: one dated “1.18.1930” (for no apparent reason) says that the flying snake of Java can flatten itself and sail from tree to tree – which is true, but just as much so today as it was then. The 3-D cover and “Special Edition 2007” designation are intended to make this book seem modern and up to date. But in truth, the whole thing creaks of an earlier time and an archaic approach to what are now known as factoids.
Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Special Edition 2007. By Mary Packard and the Editors of Ripley’s Entertainment Inc. Scholastic. $14.99.
Despite the continuing expansion of the Internet, there remains a place for old-fashioned reference books of certain kinds – concordances, for example. But books like these two, although they contain some interesting material, are a type whose time is passing increasingly quickly. Scholastic Book of Lists consists of 11 sections focused on History, Numbers, Science, Words and more. Within each section, every entry is short and presented in multiple type styles and type sizes, in an obvious attempt to make the information more interesting in our age of highly visual communication. But the approach does not work very well, because it makes the pages of little use to students doing serious research – while making them not especially attractive for anyone simply paging through the book for fun. Under “The Arts,” for example, a page called “Famous Orchestras” first explains, in small type, what an orchestra is; then lists, in large type, 12 famous orchestras (with no explanation of how or why they were chosen); then, at the bottom of the page, next to a meaningless graphic design, says a little about Vienna, Mozart, Beethoven, and the Vienna Philharmonic. So what does a reader take away from all this? The answer, unfortunately, is: not very much. Reading a Wikipedia entry on orchestras and following its hyperlinks is a more interesting approach, and it leads to many more connected (or unconnected) facts. On the plus side, the basic information in this book remains as solid as in its earlier editions, and some of the facts are really fascinating. For example, the book names Shakey as the first robot able to navigate by itself (1966), and Unimate as the first robot arm used in an assembly line (no date given). But these machines are part of a “Famous Robots” page that also includes cartoon character Astro Boy and C-3PO of Star Wars. There’s no way to find facts that are so thoroughly mixed with fiction. So even though Scholastic Book of Lists contains accurate and often interesting trivia (check out “Weird U.S. City Names” and the “Brag About Bricks” page, which describes building terms), it’s a book whose format may not have staying power much longer.
The Ripley’s Believe It or Not! franchise, complete with its exclamation point, is already long past its prime. For many years a great place to learn (albeit in a patronizing way) about other cultures, customs, and the strange ways of human genetics (what used to be called “freak shows”), Ripley’s is now merely a pale imitation of Guinness and other record-oriented publishing. The oddball stuff of yore is gone, replaced with entries about the world’s largest tomahawk, the oldest pet cemetery in the United States, and the largest community of spiritualists. Entries called “Ripley File” are supposed to delve into interesting facts from the past, but “past” here is broadly interpreted to include the years 1994, 1999, even 2005. When there is a truly old entry, it is not necessarily even tied to its time period: one dated “1.18.1930” (for no apparent reason) says that the flying snake of Java can flatten itself and sail from tree to tree – which is true, but just as much so today as it was then. The 3-D cover and “Special Edition 2007” designation are intended to make this book seem modern and up to date. But in truth, the whole thing creaks of an earlier time and an archaic approach to what are now known as factoids.
September 28, 2006
(++++) MORE THAN A COMIC-BOOK WAR
Bone, Book Four: The Dragonslayer. By Jeff Smith. Graphix/Scholastic. $18.99.
The remarkable Bone saga continues to get deeper and darker in this fourth volume of Jeff Smith’s outstanding graphic-novel series – originally published in comic-book form in 1991. There is less and less that is comic about this tale as it moves along, and more and more than is intense. Even the colors, which are done by Steve Hamaker, reflect the deepening dark of unavoidable war, moving more into deep blues and deep purples and out-and-out black as the story continues and the complex plot unwinds further.
It is fair for anyone who does not know Bone to wonder what all the fuss is about. This is, after all, a graphic novel (in the form in which Scholastic’s Graphix line is re-releasing it), and the central characters – three cousins named Bone – are little more than bulbous-nosed white outlines. But Smith does not have to draw characters this way – everyone and everything except the Bones is created with enormous attention to detail, including hair and sweat and the threads on characters’ clothing. So the Bones’ adventures in a world that is not their own – but that, in this book, is increasingly becoming their own – are clearly designed in the strangers-in-a-strange-land mode.
But now it turns out that the denizens of this land are themselves strangers – to their history, to the danger that surrounds them, to the potential salvation in their midst, and to the war that is about to break out and threaten everything they hold dear. The keys to the reality (former reality? alternative reality?) that may save the valley’s good people from destruction lie with Gran’ma Ben and her gorgeous but deeply troubled granddaughter, Thorn. Neither is what she seems – we learned in Book Three that both are from an overthrown royal line that some people continue to support in secret. In Book Four, Thorn begins to come into her inheritance, which turns out to include everything from some exceedingly fancy swordplay to an ability to move between the everyday world and a dream world that holds great potential and extraordinary danger. The confrontation between Thorn and a huge monster called Kingdok is genuinely scary and highly revelatory. Yet it is becoming increasingly clear that Kingdok and his hordes of Rat People are only pawns of the far more dangerous Lord of the Locusts, who was imprisoned in the distant past and is now working to return to rule the valley. To do that, he needs to harness either the power of Thorn or that of Phoney Bone.
Yes, Phoney. Phoncible P. Bone, to give him his full name, perpetrates the latest and greatest of his endless moneymaking schemes in this book, convincing the townspeople that dragons are dangerous and that he is a Dragonslayer who can save them from the menace. His plot succeeds brilliantly until very near the end of the book, when its very last piece – an actual dragon – falls into place unexpectedly, and Phoney commits what appears to be his first-ever act of bravery and unselfishness. This development, which barely registers in Book Four, is sure to become increasingly important in later books. And what of Smiley Bone? In Book Four, he becomes more than the endlessly grinning simpleton he has seemed to be (although, in truth, there have already been hints that he is more than that). Smiley helps Phoney with his plans, but “I never know whose side you’re on,” Phoney complains, and that statement proves important within this book and is sure to become more so in later ones. Bone has by now become a kind of fantasy epic, filled with weird creatures and surprisingly believable characters, even if some of them are shaped like bugs or puffy white plush toys. Fone Bone, the ever-less-naïve hero of the whole saga, actually bleeds in Book Four, and comes to seem altogether more real, true and good. Smith’s series deserves all the accolades it received in its original comic-book form, and deserves to find a larger audience and still more praise through these excellent graphic-novel editions.
The remarkable Bone saga continues to get deeper and darker in this fourth volume of Jeff Smith’s outstanding graphic-novel series – originally published in comic-book form in 1991. There is less and less that is comic about this tale as it moves along, and more and more than is intense. Even the colors, which are done by Steve Hamaker, reflect the deepening dark of unavoidable war, moving more into deep blues and deep purples and out-and-out black as the story continues and the complex plot unwinds further.
It is fair for anyone who does not know Bone to wonder what all the fuss is about. This is, after all, a graphic novel (in the form in which Scholastic’s Graphix line is re-releasing it), and the central characters – three cousins named Bone – are little more than bulbous-nosed white outlines. But Smith does not have to draw characters this way – everyone and everything except the Bones is created with enormous attention to detail, including hair and sweat and the threads on characters’ clothing. So the Bones’ adventures in a world that is not their own – but that, in this book, is increasingly becoming their own – are clearly designed in the strangers-in-a-strange-land mode.
But now it turns out that the denizens of this land are themselves strangers – to their history, to the danger that surrounds them, to the potential salvation in their midst, and to the war that is about to break out and threaten everything they hold dear. The keys to the reality (former reality? alternative reality?) that may save the valley’s good people from destruction lie with Gran’ma Ben and her gorgeous but deeply troubled granddaughter, Thorn. Neither is what she seems – we learned in Book Three that both are from an overthrown royal line that some people continue to support in secret. In Book Four, Thorn begins to come into her inheritance, which turns out to include everything from some exceedingly fancy swordplay to an ability to move between the everyday world and a dream world that holds great potential and extraordinary danger. The confrontation between Thorn and a huge monster called Kingdok is genuinely scary and highly revelatory. Yet it is becoming increasingly clear that Kingdok and his hordes of Rat People are only pawns of the far more dangerous Lord of the Locusts, who was imprisoned in the distant past and is now working to return to rule the valley. To do that, he needs to harness either the power of Thorn or that of Phoney Bone.
Yes, Phoney. Phoncible P. Bone, to give him his full name, perpetrates the latest and greatest of his endless moneymaking schemes in this book, convincing the townspeople that dragons are dangerous and that he is a Dragonslayer who can save them from the menace. His plot succeeds brilliantly until very near the end of the book, when its very last piece – an actual dragon – falls into place unexpectedly, and Phoney commits what appears to be his first-ever act of bravery and unselfishness. This development, which barely registers in Book Four, is sure to become increasingly important in later books. And what of Smiley Bone? In Book Four, he becomes more than the endlessly grinning simpleton he has seemed to be (although, in truth, there have already been hints that he is more than that). Smiley helps Phoney with his plans, but “I never know whose side you’re on,” Phoney complains, and that statement proves important within this book and is sure to become more so in later ones. Bone has by now become a kind of fantasy epic, filled with weird creatures and surprisingly believable characters, even if some of them are shaped like bugs or puffy white plush toys. Fone Bone, the ever-less-naïve hero of the whole saga, actually bleeds in Book Four, and comes to seem altogether more real, true and good. Smith’s series deserves all the accolades it received in its original comic-book form, and deserves to find a larger audience and still more praise through these excellent graphic-novel editions.
(++++) MAGIC ALL AROUND
Instead of Three Wishes: Magical Short Stories. By Megan Whalen Turner. Greenwillow/HarperCollins. $5.99.
Mary Poppins in the Kitchen. By P.L. Travers. With drawings by Mary Shepard. Harcourt. $14.
There’s magic, and then there’s magic. That is, there is the old magic of fairy tales, the happily-ever-after sort of magic, and then there is the sort of magic that doesn’t quite do what you’d expect, or doesn’t quite happen where magic “ought” to happen.
Instead of Three Wishes offers magic of the unexpected kind. Originally published in 1995 and now available in paperback, Megan Whalen Turner’s book includes seven short stories that turn magic and the people who have traditional expectations of it neatly on their heads. Each story has its charms, and each has its own style, from the serious to the humorous (Turner is especially good with a kind of wry humor). Among the standouts is the title story, in which an elf prince keeps trying to give a gift of thanks to a human girl who isn’t interested in receiving one. The tale is enlivened by the elf prince’s mother, who is so bored with the magical kingdom that she spends a lot of time studying human beings – by watching TV shows. Turner brings in complication after complication, then neatly knits all the strands together at the end. Equally good, and decidedly not amusing, is the touching “Factory,” which brings the worlds of humans and ghosts together very closely indeed – and suggests that, in some circumstances, the ghosts’ world is the better one. Not all the stories are at such a high level: “The Nightmare,” in which a young bully gets his comeuppance, is plodding. But most of the tales are clever and unusual enough to make reading them a magical experience.
There was always something magical about P.L. Travers’ stories of Mary Poppins. Harcourt’s excellent reissue of all six Poppins books has now been completed with Mary Poppins in the Kitchen. Like Mary Poppins from A to Z, this is an instructive book rather than an amusing slice-of-Edwardian-family-life novel. In fact, Mary Poppins in the Kitchen is subtitled, “A Cookery Book with a Story.” The story has plenty of the usual Poppins charm, running from one Sunday to the next and focusing on the practically perfect nanny teaching all five of the Banks children (Jane, Michael, John, Barbara and Annabel) how to cook and bake. After the brief tale, which takes up only 30 pages, Travers offers an A-to-Z “cookery book” of favorite Poppins recipes – beginning, not surprisingly, with a warning that children should “always let an adult switch on the stove, keep away from steaming kettles, and never use knives unless an adult is standing by.” The recipes start with Apple Charlotte and end with Zodiac Cake, and have stood up well since this book was first published in 1975. The cherry pie and date bread are standouts, and a few recipes, such as honey and bananas, can be prepared by even young children with minimal supervision. Note, however, that some recipes are much more for British tastes than for American ones – such as Lancashire Hot Pot, which combines lamb neck or shoulder chops with lamb kidneys, potatoes and onions. Mary Shepard’s illustrations are entirely charming, although purists will not be pleased that the black-and-white originals have been colored for this edition. Still, a taste or two of the lemon soufflé or nut loaf should calm them down.
Mary Poppins in the Kitchen. By P.L. Travers. With drawings by Mary Shepard. Harcourt. $14.
There’s magic, and then there’s magic. That is, there is the old magic of fairy tales, the happily-ever-after sort of magic, and then there is the sort of magic that doesn’t quite do what you’d expect, or doesn’t quite happen where magic “ought” to happen.
Instead of Three Wishes offers magic of the unexpected kind. Originally published in 1995 and now available in paperback, Megan Whalen Turner’s book includes seven short stories that turn magic and the people who have traditional expectations of it neatly on their heads. Each story has its charms, and each has its own style, from the serious to the humorous (Turner is especially good with a kind of wry humor). Among the standouts is the title story, in which an elf prince keeps trying to give a gift of thanks to a human girl who isn’t interested in receiving one. The tale is enlivened by the elf prince’s mother, who is so bored with the magical kingdom that she spends a lot of time studying human beings – by watching TV shows. Turner brings in complication after complication, then neatly knits all the strands together at the end. Equally good, and decidedly not amusing, is the touching “Factory,” which brings the worlds of humans and ghosts together very closely indeed – and suggests that, in some circumstances, the ghosts’ world is the better one. Not all the stories are at such a high level: “The Nightmare,” in which a young bully gets his comeuppance, is plodding. But most of the tales are clever and unusual enough to make reading them a magical experience.
There was always something magical about P.L. Travers’ stories of Mary Poppins. Harcourt’s excellent reissue of all six Poppins books has now been completed with Mary Poppins in the Kitchen. Like Mary Poppins from A to Z, this is an instructive book rather than an amusing slice-of-Edwardian-family-life novel. In fact, Mary Poppins in the Kitchen is subtitled, “A Cookery Book with a Story.” The story has plenty of the usual Poppins charm, running from one Sunday to the next and focusing on the practically perfect nanny teaching all five of the Banks children (Jane, Michael, John, Barbara and Annabel) how to cook and bake. After the brief tale, which takes up only 30 pages, Travers offers an A-to-Z “cookery book” of favorite Poppins recipes – beginning, not surprisingly, with a warning that children should “always let an adult switch on the stove, keep away from steaming kettles, and never use knives unless an adult is standing by.” The recipes start with Apple Charlotte and end with Zodiac Cake, and have stood up well since this book was first published in 1975. The cherry pie and date bread are standouts, and a few recipes, such as honey and bananas, can be prepared by even young children with minimal supervision. Note, however, that some recipes are much more for British tastes than for American ones – such as Lancashire Hot Pot, which combines lamb neck or shoulder chops with lamb kidneys, potatoes and onions. Mary Shepard’s illustrations are entirely charming, although purists will not be pleased that the black-and-white originals have been colored for this edition. Still, a taste or two of the lemon soufflé or nut loaf should calm them down.
(++++) WHICH WITCH?
Bras & Broomsticks; Frogs & French Kisses. By Sarah Mlynowski. Delacorte Press. $8.95 (Bras); $15.95 (Frogs).
If you’re going to capture the next generation of chick-lit readers, it makes sense to get ‘em while they’re young. Sarah Mlynowski has some particularly charming ways to do so in Bras & Broomsticks, which is now available in paperback, and its newly issued sequel, Frogs & French Kisses.
The stories take a typical teenage mixture of broken families with dating or remarried parents, school angst, boyfriend worries, clumsiness and assorted other mortifications, and add a dose of magic. Mlynowski’s gimmick – a particularly clever one – is that the magic does not belong to the narrator, 14-year-old Rachel, but to her younger sister, 12-year-old Miri. The inherited supernatural powers that have made Miri an honest-to-goodness witch have apparently bypassed Rachel entirely, giving the typical sibling rivalry of books like these a new dimension. In Bras & Broomsticks, Rachel tries to come to terms with her totally unfair set of circumstances (added to all the usual completely unfair sets of teenage troubles), and then tries to turn Miri’s budding abilities to Rachel’s own advantage. Her wants are few and typical: learn to dance better, get her best friend back, get together with a cute guy, and – oh yes – stop her father from remarrying. Rachel really wants her parents together again, and is irritated that her mother, who can do magic, won’t “unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Rachel rhetorically asks, “You’d think saving her marriage to my dad would have been absolutely necessary, wouldn’t you?” But of course, neither of Rachel’s parents sees things that way – and Miri is more worried about stuff like saving animals than helping Rachel. None of Rachel’s schemes really works out, including her attempt to prevent her father from marrying STB (short for STBSM, “Soon To Be Step-Monster”). In fact, magic causes more problems than it solves, and Rachel’s mom ends up having to use some to undo the messes. And yet everything works out very well in the end…
…setting up the scene for Frogs & French Kisses, in which STB – whose real name is Jennifer – turns out not to be so bad after all, but Rachel’s mom (now the Crazy Dating Mom) has forgotten her admonitions about magic and is overusing it, and Miri is determined to use her powers to save the entire world (one piece or animal at a time), and Rachel has gotten the love spell she wanted but has had it all go wrong, and so on and so forth. Here we learn the fine points of “one-broomer” spells and up, and of such concepts as “selfsummie.” Miri tells Rachel, “Selfsummie is when you’re trying to trick yourself with an emotion spell. And it won’t work unless the spell is at least a four-broomer.” Rachel has to decide whether she wants an out-of-love spell to counter the in-love spell that misfired, and Rachel and friends have to hold an auction to raise prom money because they had to spend the previously raised funds to repair things after some cows messed up the school (another magical misfire), and everything is a total disaster until Rachel finally figures out what to do to save the day – and her friends’ good time. And then Rachel makes a surprising discovery….
…setting up the scene for Spells & Sleeping Bags, which is due out next year. There’s not the slightest hint of anything deep or meaningful in any of this, but if you’re looking for far more fun than typical teen-troubles novels offer, conjure up this pair of books.
If you’re going to capture the next generation of chick-lit readers, it makes sense to get ‘em while they’re young. Sarah Mlynowski has some particularly charming ways to do so in Bras & Broomsticks, which is now available in paperback, and its newly issued sequel, Frogs & French Kisses.
The stories take a typical teenage mixture of broken families with dating or remarried parents, school angst, boyfriend worries, clumsiness and assorted other mortifications, and add a dose of magic. Mlynowski’s gimmick – a particularly clever one – is that the magic does not belong to the narrator, 14-year-old Rachel, but to her younger sister, 12-year-old Miri. The inherited supernatural powers that have made Miri an honest-to-goodness witch have apparently bypassed Rachel entirely, giving the typical sibling rivalry of books like these a new dimension. In Bras & Broomsticks, Rachel tries to come to terms with her totally unfair set of circumstances (added to all the usual completely unfair sets of teenage troubles), and then tries to turn Miri’s budding abilities to Rachel’s own advantage. Her wants are few and typical: learn to dance better, get her best friend back, get together with a cute guy, and – oh yes – stop her father from remarrying. Rachel really wants her parents together again, and is irritated that her mother, who can do magic, won’t “unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Rachel rhetorically asks, “You’d think saving her marriage to my dad would have been absolutely necessary, wouldn’t you?” But of course, neither of Rachel’s parents sees things that way – and Miri is more worried about stuff like saving animals than helping Rachel. None of Rachel’s schemes really works out, including her attempt to prevent her father from marrying STB (short for STBSM, “Soon To Be Step-Monster”). In fact, magic causes more problems than it solves, and Rachel’s mom ends up having to use some to undo the messes. And yet everything works out very well in the end…
…setting up the scene for Frogs & French Kisses, in which STB – whose real name is Jennifer – turns out not to be so bad after all, but Rachel’s mom (now the Crazy Dating Mom) has forgotten her admonitions about magic and is overusing it, and Miri is determined to use her powers to save the entire world (one piece or animal at a time), and Rachel has gotten the love spell she wanted but has had it all go wrong, and so on and so forth. Here we learn the fine points of “one-broomer” spells and up, and of such concepts as “selfsummie.” Miri tells Rachel, “Selfsummie is when you’re trying to trick yourself with an emotion spell. And it won’t work unless the spell is at least a four-broomer.” Rachel has to decide whether she wants an out-of-love spell to counter the in-love spell that misfired, and Rachel and friends have to hold an auction to raise prom money because they had to spend the previously raised funds to repair things after some cows messed up the school (another magical misfire), and everything is a total disaster until Rachel finally figures out what to do to save the day – and her friends’ good time. And then Rachel makes a surprising discovery….
…setting up the scene for Spells & Sleeping Bags, which is due out next year. There’s not the slightest hint of anything deep or meaningful in any of this, but if you’re looking for far more fun than typical teen-troubles novels offer, conjure up this pair of books.
(+++) GHOSTIES AND GHOULIES
Ghosthunters, No. 1: Ghosthunters and the Incredibly Revolting Ghost! No.2: Ghosthunters and the Gruesome Invincible Lightning Ghost! By Cornelia Funke. Chicken House/Scholastic. $16.99 each.
The Black Belt Club: No. 1, Seven Wheels of Power; No. 2, Night on the Mountain of Fear. By Dawn Barnes. Illustrated by Bernard Chang. Scholastic. $4.99 each.
Kids fight evil! Kids prove themselves as good as adults! Kids win with their learned skills and their inborn talents! Not even super-powerful bad guys can stand against kids!
There, in a nutshell, you have the plots of all four of these books. The fun is in the way the authors work through circumstances that are, when you come right down to it, nothing special in fantasy works.
Cornelia Funke, top-notch author that she is, does seem to be creating something a cut above the usual in her Ghosthunters series. In the first book, we meet Tom, who is soon to become a ghosthunter; his big sister, Lola, who does not believe in ghosts – but will by the end of the book; Hetty Hyssop, who not only believes in ghosts but also knows many ways of getting rid of them; and Hugo, who is a ghost. But it’s okay – he’s merely an ASG (Averagely Spooky Ghost), and he even agrees to help the ghosthunters get rid of an IRG (Incredibly Revolting Ghost). Much of the fun here comes from Funke’s inclusion of informational material, such as a side-by-side list of “characteristics of ASGs and IRGs.” This explains, for example, that an ASG “makes goosebump-inducing noises,” while an IRG “makes teeth-shattering, heartbeat-stopping noises.” The scenes with the IRG are not quite perfectly balanced between scariness and hilarity, but the post-story “Precautionary Measures against Ghosts in General,” “Indispensable Alphabetical Appendix of Assorted Ghosts,” and other end-of-book items are highly amusing (“COHAG: COmpletely HArmless Ghost”; “TIBIG: TIny BIting Ghost”; “GES: Ghostly Energy Sensor”; and so on).
The second book in Funke’s series finds Tom, Hetty and Hugo set up as a ghosthunting agency, and able to handle any challenge they face – until they encounter a Gruesomely Invincible Lightning Ghost that is turning the guests at a beachfront hotel into ghosts themselves. Fighting this ghost starts with requiring that all electrical sockets on the hotel’s ground floor be plugged with icing, continues with the use of champagne as a weapon, and eventually turns into a silly-not-chilling ghost-vs.-ghost showdown. Next up in the series will be a “Totally Moldy Baroness” – it should slime its way toward your funnybone.
The Black Belt Club series is not played for laughs at all – which is too bad. This part-story, part-graphic-novel presentation is determined to take itself seriously, but the plots are so absurd and the four club members so unidimensional, politically correct and undistinguished that the tales simply beg for a touch of humor. Seven Wheels of Power starts the series as Max Greene finds himself unexpectedly invited to join the Black Belt Club, whose purpose he does not understand, even though he doesn’t think he is especially good at karate. Max lives with his uncle, who doesn’t much care for karate, because Max’s father is working in China; that’s it for the family stuff. Other than Max, who is white, the Club members are Antonio, who is black and whose moves “are as graceful as a dance”; Maia, who is Oriental and “really smart”; and Jamie, part Navajo and part Hopi, who “talks like a sensei sometimes.” The Club must help the Sage, “one of the protectors of the Tree of Life.” The bad guy, when we meet him, talks like this: “Let me formally introduce myself. I am Master Mundi, which means ‘Master of the World,’ of course. …Just because you like the Day and I like the Night, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, does it?” But of course it means exactly that, and the Black Belt Club members must get in touch with their inner animal spirits – Max’s is a bear – to defeat Master Mundi. Dawn Barnes, a third-degree black belt who has taught martial arts to kids for almost 20 years, knows her karate and shows how some moves work at the end of the book. And Bernard Chang, an experienced comic-book artist, draws in fine comic-book style. But the whole book is more than a little silly.
So is Night on the Mountain of Fear, second book in the series. This time the Black Belt Club needs magical pouches to give them an extra defense against the spirit world: “Your pouch is your personal totem of protection.” Here the Club encounters Heyoka, the Hate Master (aptly described as “drool face”), and needs to think happy thoughts (no kidding) in order to conquer him. So Club members think of basketball, skateboards, dogs, parrots, roller coasters, roasting marshmallows, and friendship, and thus are able to beat the Hate Master by bringing light where there is darkness. This would be laughable if Barnes and Chang treated it humorously, but their persistent attempts to be serious make the story just plain ridiculous. The members of the Black Belt Club are ages 9-11, so that is presumably the target age range for these books, but plenty of preteens will be far too sophisticated to accept this nonsense at face value. Still, kids ages 7-8 may enjoy the fast pace and comic-book-like pictures.
The Black Belt Club: No. 1, Seven Wheels of Power; No. 2, Night on the Mountain of Fear. By Dawn Barnes. Illustrated by Bernard Chang. Scholastic. $4.99 each.
Kids fight evil! Kids prove themselves as good as adults! Kids win with their learned skills and their inborn talents! Not even super-powerful bad guys can stand against kids!
There, in a nutshell, you have the plots of all four of these books. The fun is in the way the authors work through circumstances that are, when you come right down to it, nothing special in fantasy works.
Cornelia Funke, top-notch author that she is, does seem to be creating something a cut above the usual in her Ghosthunters series. In the first book, we meet Tom, who is soon to become a ghosthunter; his big sister, Lola, who does not believe in ghosts – but will by the end of the book; Hetty Hyssop, who not only believes in ghosts but also knows many ways of getting rid of them; and Hugo, who is a ghost. But it’s okay – he’s merely an ASG (Averagely Spooky Ghost), and he even agrees to help the ghosthunters get rid of an IRG (Incredibly Revolting Ghost). Much of the fun here comes from Funke’s inclusion of informational material, such as a side-by-side list of “characteristics of ASGs and IRGs.” This explains, for example, that an ASG “makes goosebump-inducing noises,” while an IRG “makes teeth-shattering, heartbeat-stopping noises.” The scenes with the IRG are not quite perfectly balanced between scariness and hilarity, but the post-story “Precautionary Measures against Ghosts in General,” “Indispensable Alphabetical Appendix of Assorted Ghosts,” and other end-of-book items are highly amusing (“COHAG: COmpletely HArmless Ghost”; “TIBIG: TIny BIting Ghost”; “GES: Ghostly Energy Sensor”; and so on).
The second book in Funke’s series finds Tom, Hetty and Hugo set up as a ghosthunting agency, and able to handle any challenge they face – until they encounter a Gruesomely Invincible Lightning Ghost that is turning the guests at a beachfront hotel into ghosts themselves. Fighting this ghost starts with requiring that all electrical sockets on the hotel’s ground floor be plugged with icing, continues with the use of champagne as a weapon, and eventually turns into a silly-not-chilling ghost-vs.-ghost showdown. Next up in the series will be a “Totally Moldy Baroness” – it should slime its way toward your funnybone.
The Black Belt Club series is not played for laughs at all – which is too bad. This part-story, part-graphic-novel presentation is determined to take itself seriously, but the plots are so absurd and the four club members so unidimensional, politically correct and undistinguished that the tales simply beg for a touch of humor. Seven Wheels of Power starts the series as Max Greene finds himself unexpectedly invited to join the Black Belt Club, whose purpose he does not understand, even though he doesn’t think he is especially good at karate. Max lives with his uncle, who doesn’t much care for karate, because Max’s father is working in China; that’s it for the family stuff. Other than Max, who is white, the Club members are Antonio, who is black and whose moves “are as graceful as a dance”; Maia, who is Oriental and “really smart”; and Jamie, part Navajo and part Hopi, who “talks like a sensei sometimes.” The Club must help the Sage, “one of the protectors of the Tree of Life.” The bad guy, when we meet him, talks like this: “Let me formally introduce myself. I am Master Mundi, which means ‘Master of the World,’ of course. …Just because you like the Day and I like the Night, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, does it?” But of course it means exactly that, and the Black Belt Club members must get in touch with their inner animal spirits – Max’s is a bear – to defeat Master Mundi. Dawn Barnes, a third-degree black belt who has taught martial arts to kids for almost 20 years, knows her karate and shows how some moves work at the end of the book. And Bernard Chang, an experienced comic-book artist, draws in fine comic-book style. But the whole book is more than a little silly.
So is Night on the Mountain of Fear, second book in the series. This time the Black Belt Club needs magical pouches to give them an extra defense against the spirit world: “Your pouch is your personal totem of protection.” Here the Club encounters Heyoka, the Hate Master (aptly described as “drool face”), and needs to think happy thoughts (no kidding) in order to conquer him. So Club members think of basketball, skateboards, dogs, parrots, roller coasters, roasting marshmallows, and friendship, and thus are able to beat the Hate Master by bringing light where there is darkness. This would be laughable if Barnes and Chang treated it humorously, but their persistent attempts to be serious make the story just plain ridiculous. The members of the Black Belt Club are ages 9-11, so that is presumably the target age range for these books, but plenty of preteens will be far too sophisticated to accept this nonsense at face value. Still, kids ages 7-8 may enjoy the fast pace and comic-book-like pictures.
(+++) FAMILY PROBLEMS, GREAT AND SMALL
Raising Drug-Free Kids: 100 Tips for Parents. By Aletha Solter, Ph.D. Da Capo. $13.95.
The Travel Mom’s Ultimate Book of Family Travel. By Emily Kaufman. Broadway Books. $14.95.
If only all family issues could be solved as neatly as these two books indicate! If only you could simply follow a step-by-step guide to keep your kids safe from dangerous substances and your whole family happy while traveling! The idea is nonsense, of course, but both these books deserve credit for helpfulness and for pointing the way toward solutions that – when appropriately modified for individual family circumstances – can help address some very real everyday concerns.
Developmental psychologist Aletha Solter sets out to help parents do all the right things that anti-drug forces always recommend: teach kids to feel good about themselves without using artificial substances, maintain close family relationships so children don’t feel they have to belong to a possibly dangerous group, help kids develop coping strategies that do not rely on drugs, get them to respect their bodies, etc. To Solter’s credit, she does not simply throw out catchphrases and tell parents to use them with their children. Instead, she reduces each of her 100 tips to two pages of recommendations, written in simple, direct language. The two-page limit is a rather artificial approach that underplays some ideas while overplaying others, but Solter’s ideas are good ones. Under “Live Your Values,” for example, she not only talks about altruism and honesty but also suggests “modeling nonconformity – [this] teaches your children that it’s okay to be different.” Under “Don’t Use Rewards or Bribes,” she suggests getting children to cooperate by giving them reasons for what you are asking or by finding ways (even silly ones) to make activities enjoyable: “Let’s take turns brushing each other’s teeth.” The “Values” tip comes from a section called “The Basics,” the “Bribes” one from a section for ages 3-6. There are also sections for birth to age three, ages 6-12, ages 12-18 and even ages 18-25. The sections for younger children are the best. Recommendations for older kids tend to drift toward preachiness: one for ages 12-18 is, “Encourage Your Teen to Do Something to Improve the World,” and another is, “Teach Your Teen Stress-Management Skills.” Parents would need to be near-saints to implement all of Solter’s ideas – think of how many parents themselves turn to alcohol to cope with stress – but it can be helpful to read the book, decide which of its ideas are practical for your family (and in what way), and then try to use Solter’s suggestions within your own family dynamic.
Family dynamics are stressed quite differently during travel than they are by substance abuse, but travel stressors are significant in their own way – if not potentially life-threatening. Good Morning America travel contributor Emily Kaufman offers perkily upbeat suggestions to make family trips more pleasant in The Travel Mom’s Ultimate Book of Family Travel. She divides the book into two parts: “Creating the Family Vacation of Your Dreams” and “Destinations.” The first part of the book emphasizes planning; discusses the pros and cons of cars, planes and trains (“boredom bags” filled with things to do are a great idea); and talks about multigenerational and educational trips. The second part is generally more interesting, because it suggests specific destinations for various types of family trips and gives Web addresses to use for further information. Kaufman has ideas for beach and winter vacations, resort trips and cruises, camping, city visits and more. Her ideas are scarcely comprehensive – her sole suggestion for a “once-in-a-lifetime” overseas trip is a visit to London – but her understanding of details of specific forms of travel is impressive. For example, she says that on cruises, you should “buy the drink plan for the kids. When you first board the ship, you may think it is pricey to prepay for unlimited soft drinks, but after ten drinks that never get finished, you will be glad that you did.” Not all of Kaufman’s ideas will be appropriate for all families, but one of her comments applies universally: “Be realistic in managing what your kids can handle.”
The Travel Mom’s Ultimate Book of Family Travel. By Emily Kaufman. Broadway Books. $14.95.
If only all family issues could be solved as neatly as these two books indicate! If only you could simply follow a step-by-step guide to keep your kids safe from dangerous substances and your whole family happy while traveling! The idea is nonsense, of course, but both these books deserve credit for helpfulness and for pointing the way toward solutions that – when appropriately modified for individual family circumstances – can help address some very real everyday concerns.
Developmental psychologist Aletha Solter sets out to help parents do all the right things that anti-drug forces always recommend: teach kids to feel good about themselves without using artificial substances, maintain close family relationships so children don’t feel they have to belong to a possibly dangerous group, help kids develop coping strategies that do not rely on drugs, get them to respect their bodies, etc. To Solter’s credit, she does not simply throw out catchphrases and tell parents to use them with their children. Instead, she reduces each of her 100 tips to two pages of recommendations, written in simple, direct language. The two-page limit is a rather artificial approach that underplays some ideas while overplaying others, but Solter’s ideas are good ones. Under “Live Your Values,” for example, she not only talks about altruism and honesty but also suggests “modeling nonconformity – [this] teaches your children that it’s okay to be different.” Under “Don’t Use Rewards or Bribes,” she suggests getting children to cooperate by giving them reasons for what you are asking or by finding ways (even silly ones) to make activities enjoyable: “Let’s take turns brushing each other’s teeth.” The “Values” tip comes from a section called “The Basics,” the “Bribes” one from a section for ages 3-6. There are also sections for birth to age three, ages 6-12, ages 12-18 and even ages 18-25. The sections for younger children are the best. Recommendations for older kids tend to drift toward preachiness: one for ages 12-18 is, “Encourage Your Teen to Do Something to Improve the World,” and another is, “Teach Your Teen Stress-Management Skills.” Parents would need to be near-saints to implement all of Solter’s ideas – think of how many parents themselves turn to alcohol to cope with stress – but it can be helpful to read the book, decide which of its ideas are practical for your family (and in what way), and then try to use Solter’s suggestions within your own family dynamic.
Family dynamics are stressed quite differently during travel than they are by substance abuse, but travel stressors are significant in their own way – if not potentially life-threatening. Good Morning America travel contributor Emily Kaufman offers perkily upbeat suggestions to make family trips more pleasant in The Travel Mom’s Ultimate Book of Family Travel. She divides the book into two parts: “Creating the Family Vacation of Your Dreams” and “Destinations.” The first part of the book emphasizes planning; discusses the pros and cons of cars, planes and trains (“boredom bags” filled with things to do are a great idea); and talks about multigenerational and educational trips. The second part is generally more interesting, because it suggests specific destinations for various types of family trips and gives Web addresses to use for further information. Kaufman has ideas for beach and winter vacations, resort trips and cruises, camping, city visits and more. Her ideas are scarcely comprehensive – her sole suggestion for a “once-in-a-lifetime” overseas trip is a visit to London – but her understanding of details of specific forms of travel is impressive. For example, she says that on cruises, you should “buy the drink plan for the kids. When you first board the ship, you may think it is pricey to prepay for unlimited soft drinks, but after ten drinks that never get finished, you will be glad that you did.” Not all of Kaufman’s ideas will be appropriate for all families, but one of her comments applies universally: “Be realistic in managing what your kids can handle.”
September 21, 2006
(++++) FOR ONE, FOR ALL -- THEN AND NOW
Everybody’s Revolution: A New Look at the People Who Won America’s Freedom. By Thomas Fleming. Scholastic. $19.99.
The United States of America: A State-by-State Guide. By Millie Miller & Cyndi Nelson. Scholastic. $7.99.
Everybody’s Revolution is a history book with a difference – a big difference. Although it tells some of the same stories of the American Revolution that other books tell, it does so from the perspective of the participants and their families, taking into account their ethnicity, age, gender and more. This gives the well-known tales an entirely new and very fascinating slant. For example, everyone knows about the mercenary Hessians who helped the British against the American colonists. But how many people know that 20% of the fighters in the Continental Army were German-Americans? And everyone knows about the waves of Irish immigration following the Potato Famine in the 19th century – but how many know that one-third of those fighting for American independence in the 18th century were of Irish ancestry? There were Dutch fighters against the British, and Huguenots – the French Protestants oppressed and murdered by French Catholics in Europe – and even several thousand Jews, although few Jewish people lived in the colonies at that time. Thomas Fleming does much more than list ethnicities and religions: he shows how they influenced the war’s outcome. Patrick Henry and John Paul Jones were Scottish, for example, but many important contributors to the Revolution are less well known: Irish-Americans Maurice O’Brien and Charles Carroll, German-Americans Peter Muhlenberg and Nicholas Herkimer, and many more. Fleming tells these people’s tales in brief, to-the-point verbal sketches, as well as the stories of Casimir Pulaski and Thaddeus Kosciuszko (Polish), Henry Wisner (Swiss), and many others. A few people get longer, more detailed biographical sketches, such as Bernardo de Galvez of Spain, who was governor of Louisiana and later became a general who harried the British in Louisiana and Mississippi. There are chapters here on black fighters, women fighters and child fighters, too, in a book that shows how the desire for freedom overcame many people’s deep-seated differences.
And where are we today? The United States of America: A State-by-State Guide gives a brief and clear overview. Millie Miller and Cyndi Nelson devote one page to each state, plus pages to the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico, giving a map in the center of each page and highlights about each location in the margins around the map. Alaska, for example, has both the nation’s northernmost point (Point Barrow) and its westernmost one (Cape Wrangle). The waters of Florida have more kinds of fish than anywhere else in the entire world. The Red Delicious apple originated in Iowa, from the shoots of a tree struck by lightning. Basketball started in 1891 in Massachusetts. Michigan is called the Wolverine State, but the wolverine is extinct there. The nation’s driest state is Nevada. And on and on the facts go, presented simply and in easy-to-read format, none taking up much space in the book or much time to read, but the collection of them showing just how variegated and wide-ranging a land the United States has become since the people of many other lands joined to help give it birth.
The United States of America: A State-by-State Guide. By Millie Miller & Cyndi Nelson. Scholastic. $7.99.
Everybody’s Revolution is a history book with a difference – a big difference. Although it tells some of the same stories of the American Revolution that other books tell, it does so from the perspective of the participants and their families, taking into account their ethnicity, age, gender and more. This gives the well-known tales an entirely new and very fascinating slant. For example, everyone knows about the mercenary Hessians who helped the British against the American colonists. But how many people know that 20% of the fighters in the Continental Army were German-Americans? And everyone knows about the waves of Irish immigration following the Potato Famine in the 19th century – but how many know that one-third of those fighting for American independence in the 18th century were of Irish ancestry? There were Dutch fighters against the British, and Huguenots – the French Protestants oppressed and murdered by French Catholics in Europe – and even several thousand Jews, although few Jewish people lived in the colonies at that time. Thomas Fleming does much more than list ethnicities and religions: he shows how they influenced the war’s outcome. Patrick Henry and John Paul Jones were Scottish, for example, but many important contributors to the Revolution are less well known: Irish-Americans Maurice O’Brien and Charles Carroll, German-Americans Peter Muhlenberg and Nicholas Herkimer, and many more. Fleming tells these people’s tales in brief, to-the-point verbal sketches, as well as the stories of Casimir Pulaski and Thaddeus Kosciuszko (Polish), Henry Wisner (Swiss), and many others. A few people get longer, more detailed biographical sketches, such as Bernardo de Galvez of Spain, who was governor of Louisiana and later became a general who harried the British in Louisiana and Mississippi. There are chapters here on black fighters, women fighters and child fighters, too, in a book that shows how the desire for freedom overcame many people’s deep-seated differences.
And where are we today? The United States of America: A State-by-State Guide gives a brief and clear overview. Millie Miller and Cyndi Nelson devote one page to each state, plus pages to the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico, giving a map in the center of each page and highlights about each location in the margins around the map. Alaska, for example, has both the nation’s northernmost point (Point Barrow) and its westernmost one (Cape Wrangle). The waters of Florida have more kinds of fish than anywhere else in the entire world. The Red Delicious apple originated in Iowa, from the shoots of a tree struck by lightning. Basketball started in 1891 in Massachusetts. Michigan is called the Wolverine State, but the wolverine is extinct there. The nation’s driest state is Nevada. And on and on the facts go, presented simply and in easy-to-read format, none taking up much space in the book or much time to read, but the collection of them showing just how variegated and wide-ranging a land the United States has become since the people of many other lands joined to help give it birth.
(++++) NAIVETE CONQUERS ALL
Pure Dead Batty. By Debi Gliori. Knopf. $15.95.
This fifth book in Debi Gliori’s “Pure Dead” series (the Scottish phrase more or less means “really and truly”) is the least successful, but it squeaks into a (++++) rating with Gliori’s bravura performance in the final 100 pages, knitting together all the far-flung plot strands while leaving enough threads hanging to help set up the inevitable sequel. But there are 200 pages of meandering adventure before that final burst of triumph. Gliori can do better, and has: in Pure Dead Magic, Pure Dead Wicked, Pure Dead Brilliant and Pure Dead Trouble. All the books chronicle the story of the decidedly odd Strega-Borgia family, which lives in a huge and crumbling house with 95 rooms and 56 chimneys, on the edge of an unpronounceable Scottish lake inhabited by The Sleeper (Loch Ness Monster to you, although the lake is not Loch Ness).
The nominal hero and heroine here are Titus, age 13, and Pandora, age 11, but the new book’s title refers to their two-year-old sister, Damp, who is a born witch and acquires an irritatingly talky bat familiar in this novel. The kids’ parents are feckless as usual, only more so, with Luciano hauled off to prison on a trumped-up charge of mass murder (mostly because people do have a tendency to turn up dead around his home), and Baci pregnant yet again – with an already-conscious unborn baby lovingly referred to as Someone Else Entirely.
Pure Dead Batty sounds better in a brief description than it is when read. This book is all over the place, which is one of its problems: at the Strega-Borgia house, in prison with Luciano, and on a mysterious island located somewhere outside time and space (except not really). Much of the book revolves around the children’s missing nanny, Flora McLachlan, who is revealed in this book to be an immortal on speaking terms with Death (a chapter called “Death at Sea” has nothing to with anyone dying in an ocean). The various mythical beasts that live with the family make numerous cameo appearances, often vomiting – an activity others here engage in frequently as well (Gliori does overdo this bit this time). And there are incompetent cops, an incompetent and grossly fat Satan – sorry, S’tan – who wants his own TV show, and Luciano’s evil and deformed half-brother, Don Lucifer, showing up as well.
Gliori doesn’t seem to take the first 200 pages of this book anywhere – or, rather, she takes them too many places. At one point, she says of the household’s teenage dragon, “Ffup Lost the Plot completely,” which actually means “lost her grip on reality” but seems to describe the book as well. Gliori is smart enough to dispose of the weakest character at last: Marie Bain, a truly horrible cook who exits in a wholly suitable way, but whose main sin (from a reader’s point of view) is simply that she is boring. A soon-to-be-declared replacement cook is introduced and seems much better. But Gliori cannot replace Baci, who has also become boring – a mere baby factory. Gliori seems to know there’s something wrong with the character. In this book, Titus says, “Not only was his mum utterly gullible, but in all probability she was totally nuts as well.” And the narrative comments on “Signora Strega-Borgia’s amazing lack of powers of observation” and notes elsewhere that one scene proves, “were proof required, that she has the observational skills of an oyster.” This is past endearing and nearly past enduring. Nor is Luciano much better – once a chapter arrives called “Luciano Wises Up,” readers are likely to mutter, “It’s about time.”
Gliori has an unusual and highly amusing franchise going here, and has – until this book – kept it moving along smartly, balancing humor and tension quite well. Pure Dead Batty loses its balance, but the final third of the book indicates that Gliori has a good sense of how to get it back. Just wait for next time.
This fifth book in Debi Gliori’s “Pure Dead” series (the Scottish phrase more or less means “really and truly”) is the least successful, but it squeaks into a (++++) rating with Gliori’s bravura performance in the final 100 pages, knitting together all the far-flung plot strands while leaving enough threads hanging to help set up the inevitable sequel. But there are 200 pages of meandering adventure before that final burst of triumph. Gliori can do better, and has: in Pure Dead Magic, Pure Dead Wicked, Pure Dead Brilliant and Pure Dead Trouble. All the books chronicle the story of the decidedly odd Strega-Borgia family, which lives in a huge and crumbling house with 95 rooms and 56 chimneys, on the edge of an unpronounceable Scottish lake inhabited by The Sleeper (Loch Ness Monster to you, although the lake is not Loch Ness).
The nominal hero and heroine here are Titus, age 13, and Pandora, age 11, but the new book’s title refers to their two-year-old sister, Damp, who is a born witch and acquires an irritatingly talky bat familiar in this novel. The kids’ parents are feckless as usual, only more so, with Luciano hauled off to prison on a trumped-up charge of mass murder (mostly because people do have a tendency to turn up dead around his home), and Baci pregnant yet again – with an already-conscious unborn baby lovingly referred to as Someone Else Entirely.
Pure Dead Batty sounds better in a brief description than it is when read. This book is all over the place, which is one of its problems: at the Strega-Borgia house, in prison with Luciano, and on a mysterious island located somewhere outside time and space (except not really). Much of the book revolves around the children’s missing nanny, Flora McLachlan, who is revealed in this book to be an immortal on speaking terms with Death (a chapter called “Death at Sea” has nothing to with anyone dying in an ocean). The various mythical beasts that live with the family make numerous cameo appearances, often vomiting – an activity others here engage in frequently as well (Gliori does overdo this bit this time). And there are incompetent cops, an incompetent and grossly fat Satan – sorry, S’tan – who wants his own TV show, and Luciano’s evil and deformed half-brother, Don Lucifer, showing up as well.
Gliori doesn’t seem to take the first 200 pages of this book anywhere – or, rather, she takes them too many places. At one point, she says of the household’s teenage dragon, “Ffup Lost the Plot completely,” which actually means “lost her grip on reality” but seems to describe the book as well. Gliori is smart enough to dispose of the weakest character at last: Marie Bain, a truly horrible cook who exits in a wholly suitable way, but whose main sin (from a reader’s point of view) is simply that she is boring. A soon-to-be-declared replacement cook is introduced and seems much better. But Gliori cannot replace Baci, who has also become boring – a mere baby factory. Gliori seems to know there’s something wrong with the character. In this book, Titus says, “Not only was his mum utterly gullible, but in all probability she was totally nuts as well.” And the narrative comments on “Signora Strega-Borgia’s amazing lack of powers of observation” and notes elsewhere that one scene proves, “were proof required, that she has the observational skills of an oyster.” This is past endearing and nearly past enduring. Nor is Luciano much better – once a chapter arrives called “Luciano Wises Up,” readers are likely to mutter, “It’s about time.”
Gliori has an unusual and highly amusing franchise going here, and has – until this book – kept it moving along smartly, balancing humor and tension quite well. Pure Dead Batty loses its balance, but the final third of the book indicates that Gliori has a good sense of how to get it back. Just wait for next time.
(++++) FUN WITH FISH AND SWEAT
Planet of the Hairless Beach Apes: The Eleventh “Sherman’s Lagoon” Collection. By Jim Toomey. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
Frazz: 99% Perspiration. By Jef Mallett. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
Whether you prefer slapstick or clever humor with a touch of heart, you can find something to your taste in the many comic-strip collections from Andrews McMeel. These two books are cases in point: each is delightful in its own way, but their ways are very, very different.
Jim Toomey’s Sherman’s Lagoon just keeps chugging along through its own alternative universe of absurdity, featuring Sherman the lazy but constantly predatory shark; his better (and fiercer) half, wife Megan; their shark baby, Herman; and a supporting cast consisting of various forms of food for Sherman and family (hairless beach apes – humans, that is – as well as fish and crustaceans and pizza and the occasional anchor), plus Hawthorne the hermit crab, Ernest the fish nerd and hacker, Fillmore the poetry-writing sea turtle, Thornton the perpetually hibernating beach bum of a polar bear, and…well, you get the idea. An appreciation of the finer points of humor is not necessary here, since there aren’t any finer points to consider in Sherman’s Lagoon. One series of strips is about a cloned alien who constantly insults everyone, whose genetic material arrives on a meteorite that crashes into the lagoon one day – he ends up as puree. Sherman has E-mail problems with his service, which is not AOL but EOL (Ethiopia On-Line). Megan cooks and bakes according to post-prison Martha Stewart recipes – Fillmore ends up getting a file in his piece of cake. Hawthorne creates business cards for Sherman to make the shark seem like the head of a major corporation, then issues a fake press release, sells fake stock in the fake company and finds the real FBI (fish division) investigating – the agent eventually telling Sherman, “If you weren’t so lazy, you’d be dangerous.” That’s not a bad motto for the whole strip, actually.
There’s nothing lazy at all about Frazz, the well-to-do songwriter who stays in touch with everyday life by working as a janitor at Bryson Elementary School. The strip’s premise doesn’t make much sense, but it does explain why everyone holds the frizzy-haired Frazz in much higher esteem than most schoolkids and administrators hold most members of the janitorial staff. Jef Mallett goes in for highbrow jokes whenever possible, as when Frazz says that Apple doesn’t make the Palm Pilot – it makes the Pomme Pilot. When the kids don’t understand, he says, “Well, French speakers would get it.” To which one of the children replies: “French speakers get Jerry Lewis.” There are at least three levels of humor in that single four-panel strip. This second Frazz collection shows Mallett stretching himself as an artist: a Sunday strip in which one part of the narrative occurs along one line, a second part along a separate line, and the two lines intersect at the end, is especially impressive (and everyone stays in character through the whole thing, too). Not all the humor is cerebral, by any means: one student finds just the right color to turn a snow-frog that Frazz is building green – it turns out to be the cafeteria’s pea soup (three bowls). And some strips are purely visual, like one in which Frazz and a student are shown in swapped outfits in the third panel so Frazz can say, in the fourth, “You’d be amazed by what you can slip past people.” Yet Mallett’s strip is, on balance, more intellectually interesting than most – a very different experience from Sherman’s Lagoon, and equally funny in a very different way.
Frazz: 99% Perspiration. By Jef Mallett. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.
Whether you prefer slapstick or clever humor with a touch of heart, you can find something to your taste in the many comic-strip collections from Andrews McMeel. These two books are cases in point: each is delightful in its own way, but their ways are very, very different.
Jim Toomey’s Sherman’s Lagoon just keeps chugging along through its own alternative universe of absurdity, featuring Sherman the lazy but constantly predatory shark; his better (and fiercer) half, wife Megan; their shark baby, Herman; and a supporting cast consisting of various forms of food for Sherman and family (hairless beach apes – humans, that is – as well as fish and crustaceans and pizza and the occasional anchor), plus Hawthorne the hermit crab, Ernest the fish nerd and hacker, Fillmore the poetry-writing sea turtle, Thornton the perpetually hibernating beach bum of a polar bear, and…well, you get the idea. An appreciation of the finer points of humor is not necessary here, since there aren’t any finer points to consider in Sherman’s Lagoon. One series of strips is about a cloned alien who constantly insults everyone, whose genetic material arrives on a meteorite that crashes into the lagoon one day – he ends up as puree. Sherman has E-mail problems with his service, which is not AOL but EOL (Ethiopia On-Line). Megan cooks and bakes according to post-prison Martha Stewart recipes – Fillmore ends up getting a file in his piece of cake. Hawthorne creates business cards for Sherman to make the shark seem like the head of a major corporation, then issues a fake press release, sells fake stock in the fake company and finds the real FBI (fish division) investigating – the agent eventually telling Sherman, “If you weren’t so lazy, you’d be dangerous.” That’s not a bad motto for the whole strip, actually.
There’s nothing lazy at all about Frazz, the well-to-do songwriter who stays in touch with everyday life by working as a janitor at Bryson Elementary School. The strip’s premise doesn’t make much sense, but it does explain why everyone holds the frizzy-haired Frazz in much higher esteem than most schoolkids and administrators hold most members of the janitorial staff. Jef Mallett goes in for highbrow jokes whenever possible, as when Frazz says that Apple doesn’t make the Palm Pilot – it makes the Pomme Pilot. When the kids don’t understand, he says, “Well, French speakers would get it.” To which one of the children replies: “French speakers get Jerry Lewis.” There are at least three levels of humor in that single four-panel strip. This second Frazz collection shows Mallett stretching himself as an artist: a Sunday strip in which one part of the narrative occurs along one line, a second part along a separate line, and the two lines intersect at the end, is especially impressive (and everyone stays in character through the whole thing, too). Not all the humor is cerebral, by any means: one student finds just the right color to turn a snow-frog that Frazz is building green – it turns out to be the cafeteria’s pea soup (three bowls). And some strips are purely visual, like one in which Frazz and a student are shown in swapped outfits in the third panel so Frazz can say, in the fourth, “You’d be amazed by what you can slip past people.” Yet Mallett’s strip is, on balance, more intellectually interesting than most – a very different experience from Sherman’s Lagoon, and equally funny in a very different way.
(++++) OTHERWHERES AND OTHERWHENS
Storm Thief. By Chris Wooding. Scholastic. $16.99.
Annals of the Western Shore II: Voices. By Ursula K. Le Guin. Harcourt. $17.
Nominally fitting into the science-fiction genre, these books for preteens and young teenagers really would fit into the “self-discovery” genre if such were recognized. Their settings and occurrences may be otherworldly, but the issues their young protagonists face are very familiar indeed. It is thanks to the high skill of both the authors that neither book feels like a mere genre entry, and both transcend the facile “who am I and what will I become?” question.
Storm Thief is another frightening and intense tour de force by the author of the chilling The Haunting of Alaizabel Gray. Chris Wooding sets this novel in a place called Orokos, which is periodically and unpredictably lashed by “probability storms” that literally change everything – landscapes, streets, buildings and people. The hero, Rail, was struck by a storm once, and now needs a respirator to breathe. The heroine, Moa, is an outcast and criminal, the daughter of dead rebels against Orokos’ corrupt rulers. This bare description makes the book and its characters seem formulaic, but Wooding will not allow them to be so. The story revolves around something called a Fade-Science artifact that Rail and Moa find and that the city’s most powerful people want – and are willing to do just about anything to acquire. Although Rail and Moa pick up allies, such as a golem, spies and betrayal dog their steps everywhere: “Right at the moment, a boy was watching them from behind a pile of crates, a boy who had heard a rumour. A rumour that someone was paying good money for information about a dreadlocked, dark-skinned boy with a respirator and a pale girl wearing green pants.” Moa, it turns out, is needed to make the artifact function, so she and Rail have some value to Orokos’ rulers – and as a result, the two eventually learn why the probability storms occur, and how the storms fit into the history of Orokos, and about the “empty, hollow things, mindlessly following rules that we had laid down for ourselves,” that were the people who made Orokos what it eventually became. “You broke the world and nothing is different!” yells a horrified Moa. But the book ends, if not with a better world, at least with the possibility of one.
The world of Voices could use a great deal of improvement, too. Ursula Le Guin’s followup to Gifts takes place, like the earlier book, in an area called the Western Shore – specifically in a city called Ansul, a onetime center of trade and learning that was conquered 17 years earlier by desert-dwellers, the Alds, who deem reading and writing evil acts, punishable by death. Only one place in Ansul still has a few books: Oracle House, which the conquerors have left untouched because they believe demons live there. Actually, Oracle House is a sanctuary for 17-year-old Memer, who finds himself sent by his Waylord to live among the Alds and learn more about them. The Alds call Memer’s people heathens, which “meant people who don’t know what’s sacred. Are there any such people? ‘Heathen’ is merely a word for somebody who knows a different sacredness than you know.” This is a world that sounds disturbingly familiar, although Le Guin creates no direct parallels to our own, making it clear that this is a story of people who “have peace in [their] bones” and want only to live free from tyranny. But of what does tyranny consist? Le Guin asks this question often, and here as elsewhere, provides a thoughtful story that offers no definitive answer.
Annals of the Western Shore II: Voices. By Ursula K. Le Guin. Harcourt. $17.
Nominally fitting into the science-fiction genre, these books for preteens and young teenagers really would fit into the “self-discovery” genre if such were recognized. Their settings and occurrences may be otherworldly, but the issues their young protagonists face are very familiar indeed. It is thanks to the high skill of both the authors that neither book feels like a mere genre entry, and both transcend the facile “who am I and what will I become?” question.
Storm Thief is another frightening and intense tour de force by the author of the chilling The Haunting of Alaizabel Gray. Chris Wooding sets this novel in a place called Orokos, which is periodically and unpredictably lashed by “probability storms” that literally change everything – landscapes, streets, buildings and people. The hero, Rail, was struck by a storm once, and now needs a respirator to breathe. The heroine, Moa, is an outcast and criminal, the daughter of dead rebels against Orokos’ corrupt rulers. This bare description makes the book and its characters seem formulaic, but Wooding will not allow them to be so. The story revolves around something called a Fade-Science artifact that Rail and Moa find and that the city’s most powerful people want – and are willing to do just about anything to acquire. Although Rail and Moa pick up allies, such as a golem, spies and betrayal dog their steps everywhere: “Right at the moment, a boy was watching them from behind a pile of crates, a boy who had heard a rumour. A rumour that someone was paying good money for information about a dreadlocked, dark-skinned boy with a respirator and a pale girl wearing green pants.” Moa, it turns out, is needed to make the artifact function, so she and Rail have some value to Orokos’ rulers – and as a result, the two eventually learn why the probability storms occur, and how the storms fit into the history of Orokos, and about the “empty, hollow things, mindlessly following rules that we had laid down for ourselves,” that were the people who made Orokos what it eventually became. “You broke the world and nothing is different!” yells a horrified Moa. But the book ends, if not with a better world, at least with the possibility of one.
The world of Voices could use a great deal of improvement, too. Ursula Le Guin’s followup to Gifts takes place, like the earlier book, in an area called the Western Shore – specifically in a city called Ansul, a onetime center of trade and learning that was conquered 17 years earlier by desert-dwellers, the Alds, who deem reading and writing evil acts, punishable by death. Only one place in Ansul still has a few books: Oracle House, which the conquerors have left untouched because they believe demons live there. Actually, Oracle House is a sanctuary for 17-year-old Memer, who finds himself sent by his Waylord to live among the Alds and learn more about them. The Alds call Memer’s people heathens, which “meant people who don’t know what’s sacred. Are there any such people? ‘Heathen’ is merely a word for somebody who knows a different sacredness than you know.” This is a world that sounds disturbingly familiar, although Le Guin creates no direct parallels to our own, making it clear that this is a story of people who “have peace in [their] bones” and want only to live free from tyranny. But of what does tyranny consist? Le Guin asks this question often, and here as elsewhere, provides a thoughtful story that offers no definitive answer.
(++++) QUEEN BEE-ING
Queen B. By Laura Peyton Roberts. Delacorte Press. $15.95.
Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads. By Rosalind Wiseman, with Elizabeth Rapoport. Crown. $25.
In fiction, there are ways to work with, or work around, the Queen Bees of middle and high school: those super-popular, top-of-the-heap girls who are always surrounded by a court of admirers of both sexes, who become prom queens and homecoming queens and queens of just about anything else that interests them (usually not including academics). In real life, though, the Queen Bee phenomenon is rather more complicated than in novels, and its implications are a good deal more difficult to handle.
Laura Peyton Reynolds created an endearing heroine named Cassie in The Queen of Second Place. Now she brings her back in Queen B, which is filled with much typical high-school angst and social uncertainty. But Cassie is a good deal more interesting than most protagonists of books of this type, and Reynolds has a much more interesting way of telling Cassie’s story. Cassie, the Snow Queen runner-up, is determined to progress from “B” to “Bee” – Queen Bee, that is – while holding onto her new boyfriend, Kevin, and somehow managing to get through the school’s talent show, which she doesn’t really want to direct. Cassie doesn’t realize it at first – although readers quickly will – but her insecurities and basic good-hearted nature are not the ingredients of a Queen Bee. When Cassie misinterprets Kevin’s attentions to a new girl, and as a result ends up kissing old friend Quentin, the worry is so thick you can cut it with a knife. This is not Queen Bee territory. Yet on and on Cassie soldiers, through chapters called “Bonfire of the Minivanities” and “Cupidity” and “Anger Mismanagement,” trying to negotiate all the happenings in her own life while paying some attention to her family as well (her brother is lovesick and her father wants to become a househusband). In the short final chapter, Cassie decides to “Let It B,” or maybe B+, which is just fine for her – and very entertaining for readers.
Far less entertaining are the real-life Queen Bees and their male counterparts, Kingpins. Rosalind Wiseman’s Queen Bees & Wannabes explored the Queen Bee phenomenon and the world of those who, like the fictional Cassie, never quite make the “A” list. Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads is a sobering followup look at the kind of peer pressure and emotional insecurity that return adults to the days of seventh through 10th grade and create tension-filled conflicts. Wiseman and Elizabeth Rapoport (who edited Queen Bees & Wannabes) fill the new book with real-world examples of bad parenting from the same sorts of ego-stoked (and ego-stroked) people who never really grew up during or after high school. Unfortunately, these people are often in power positions in the real world (example: the coach who, when the team is losing, singles out your child to yell at); and their egos tend to get unhealthily wrapped up in what their own children are doing (example: the mother who composes nasty E-mails to your child because she thinks she can write them more cuttingly than her own child can).
Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads starts by exploring the way school-age groups persist into adulthood (“Mom Cliques” and “Dad Totem Poles”), gives a number of examples of egregiously bad behavior by self-absorbed parents, and then – most valuably – shows how to handle a variety of situations that are likely to arise. The simplest suggestions here are the best. For example, if you don’t want to volunteer for an activity, don’t say you can’t do it because you work – everyone works, either inside the house or outside it. There are also ideas on handling parties (including what to do when your child insists on inviting someone you can’t stand), discussing drinking and drugs and sex with kids, going out of town and leaving them alone, and many other issues. In these scenarios, the “Queen Bee” elements tend to disappear behind solid but unremarkable advice – but reemerge when you have to consider what, if anything, to say to another child’s parents about drinking, drugs or sexual activity that you have discovered. Not all the solutions here will work for every family, and none of them is as neat or trouble-free as solutions in fictional Queen Bee stories. But Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads can be helpful for parents trying to negotiate the minefield of an adulthood that sometimes seems not different enough from middle or high school.
Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads. By Rosalind Wiseman, with Elizabeth Rapoport. Crown. $25.
In fiction, there are ways to work with, or work around, the Queen Bees of middle and high school: those super-popular, top-of-the-heap girls who are always surrounded by a court of admirers of both sexes, who become prom queens and homecoming queens and queens of just about anything else that interests them (usually not including academics). In real life, though, the Queen Bee phenomenon is rather more complicated than in novels, and its implications are a good deal more difficult to handle.
Laura Peyton Reynolds created an endearing heroine named Cassie in The Queen of Second Place. Now she brings her back in Queen B, which is filled with much typical high-school angst and social uncertainty. But Cassie is a good deal more interesting than most protagonists of books of this type, and Reynolds has a much more interesting way of telling Cassie’s story. Cassie, the Snow Queen runner-up, is determined to progress from “B” to “Bee” – Queen Bee, that is – while holding onto her new boyfriend, Kevin, and somehow managing to get through the school’s talent show, which she doesn’t really want to direct. Cassie doesn’t realize it at first – although readers quickly will – but her insecurities and basic good-hearted nature are not the ingredients of a Queen Bee. When Cassie misinterprets Kevin’s attentions to a new girl, and as a result ends up kissing old friend Quentin, the worry is so thick you can cut it with a knife. This is not Queen Bee territory. Yet on and on Cassie soldiers, through chapters called “Bonfire of the Minivanities” and “Cupidity” and “Anger Mismanagement,” trying to negotiate all the happenings in her own life while paying some attention to her family as well (her brother is lovesick and her father wants to become a househusband). In the short final chapter, Cassie decides to “Let It B,” or maybe B+, which is just fine for her – and very entertaining for readers.
Far less entertaining are the real-life Queen Bees and their male counterparts, Kingpins. Rosalind Wiseman’s Queen Bees & Wannabes explored the Queen Bee phenomenon and the world of those who, like the fictional Cassie, never quite make the “A” list. Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads is a sobering followup look at the kind of peer pressure and emotional insecurity that return adults to the days of seventh through 10th grade and create tension-filled conflicts. Wiseman and Elizabeth Rapoport (who edited Queen Bees & Wannabes) fill the new book with real-world examples of bad parenting from the same sorts of ego-stoked (and ego-stroked) people who never really grew up during or after high school. Unfortunately, these people are often in power positions in the real world (example: the coach who, when the team is losing, singles out your child to yell at); and their egos tend to get unhealthily wrapped up in what their own children are doing (example: the mother who composes nasty E-mails to your child because she thinks she can write them more cuttingly than her own child can).
Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads starts by exploring the way school-age groups persist into adulthood (“Mom Cliques” and “Dad Totem Poles”), gives a number of examples of egregiously bad behavior by self-absorbed parents, and then – most valuably – shows how to handle a variety of situations that are likely to arise. The simplest suggestions here are the best. For example, if you don’t want to volunteer for an activity, don’t say you can’t do it because you work – everyone works, either inside the house or outside it. There are also ideas on handling parties (including what to do when your child insists on inviting someone you can’t stand), discussing drinking and drugs and sex with kids, going out of town and leaving them alone, and many other issues. In these scenarios, the “Queen Bee” elements tend to disappear behind solid but unremarkable advice – but reemerge when you have to consider what, if anything, to say to another child’s parents about drinking, drugs or sexual activity that you have discovered. Not all the solutions here will work for every family, and none of them is as neat or trouble-free as solutions in fictional Queen Bee stories. But Queen Bee Moms & Kingpin Dads can be helpful for parents trying to negotiate the minefield of an adulthood that sometimes seems not different enough from middle or high school.
(++) DON'T COUNT ON IT
Lehár: Der Graf von Luxemburg. Revised text edition by Michael Schottenberg. Alfred Eschwé conducting Radio-Symphonieorchester Wien and Festival-Chor KlangBogen Wien. CPO. $33.99 (DVD).
It can certainly be argued that Der Graf von Luxemburg, one of Franz Lehár’s most charming scores, can use an updating. After all, the Ruritanian world of the operetta, in which an arranged marriage-and-divorce is needed so that a woman can obtain a noble title and therefore be an appropriate match for the titled older man who desires her as his wife, is long, long gone.
Unfortunately, this 2005 production of a botched revision of the original book by Alfred Maria Willner and Robert Bodanzky isn’t the sort of update this marvelous work deserves. Set as a quasi-La Bohème in the mid-20th century, the work is so silly and so lacking in coherence that only the gorgeous music makes the DVD worth having at all.
In Michael Schottenberg’s reductio ad absurdum, the Count (Bo Skovhus) isn’t a count at all, but the author of a still-unfinished book called Der Graf von Luxemburg – who is therefore called by that title by everyone. The original Russian noble, Basil Basilowitsch, here called Basil Basilowitsch-Kokosov (Andreas Conrad), becomes a consul who wants Angèle, here called Angelika (Juliane Banse), as his mistress, not his wife, but for some never-clear reason wants her to be married and divorced first – married not for a three-month period, as in the original work, but for 48 hours. Basil, whose betrothed becomes a dea ex machina in the original, is in this version already married to Anastasia Iwanova Kokosowa (Eva Maria Marold).
The operetta’s second couple gets recast, too: here the man is not painter Armand Brissart, but student artist Manfred Prskawetz (Rainer Trost); he is paired with dancer Julie (not Juliette) Vermont (Gabriela Bone), and the two have known each other for only two days when the work opens. The hectic pace and compressed time scheme are perhaps supposed to make things seem to move along smartly, but all they really do is create confusion – to which the uneven microphone placement adds its own problems (for instance, Skovhus is almost inaudible through much of the first act).
The rearrangements of Lehár’s set pieces don’t help, either. For example, there is a charming scene in the original in which Basil, doubting Angèle’s love, asks Juliette to intercede for him by explaining to Angèle what a skilled dancer and playboy he was in his youth. In the Schottenberg version, this becomes a Basil-Julie duet whose purpose is to poke fun at Basil’s inflated view of himself while subjecting him to physical comedy. Charm has turned to cheap laughs.
Speaking of cheap laughs, that’s all there is to the third act here: it is played as a bedroom farce, with lots of people running in and out of rooms while, in the hotel lobby, Kokosowa strips to her underwear – even as she seeks out her errant husband because she loves him so much.
How incoherent. What a mess.
Much (though not all) of the music, thankfully, has been left intact, and this production is successful exactly to the extent that the music is untouched. (This leads to some odd moments, as when the lead female is called Angèle in arias but Angelika in dialogue.) Alfred Eschwé conducts briskly and precisely, and the orchestra and chorus are top-notch. All the primary singers are enthusiastic, with Skovhus and Banse especially good in their heartfelt duets – some of Lehár’s loveliest. Even in the love scenes, though, Schottenberg cannot resist ham-handed tampering: the beautiful songs in which the Count recognizes his temporary wife through her Trèfle incarnat (pink clover) perfume are undermined when it turns out that this is really the scent of Basil’s aftershave, through which Kokosowa realizes Basil is in the hotel. (Kokosowa’s introductory aria, unfortunately, is dropped and replaced, because the original deals with her determination to marry Basil after a years-long engagement – a state of affairs at variance with Schottenberg’s inferior reworking of the book.)
Der Graf von Luxemburg – the Willner-Bodanzky version, that is – is emphatically worthy of more frequent performances than it receives. It could still work either as a fairy tale of an earlier time, or in an updated form. But not in Schottenberg’s, which neither preserves all the music (which should be the No. 1 requirement for any revision of such a wonderful work) nor creates a story more believable to a modern audience than the original was. This DVD is little more than a hint of what a modernized version of Der Graf von Luxemburg could be.
It can certainly be argued that Der Graf von Luxemburg, one of Franz Lehár’s most charming scores, can use an updating. After all, the Ruritanian world of the operetta, in which an arranged marriage-and-divorce is needed so that a woman can obtain a noble title and therefore be an appropriate match for the titled older man who desires her as his wife, is long, long gone.
Unfortunately, this 2005 production of a botched revision of the original book by Alfred Maria Willner and Robert Bodanzky isn’t the sort of update this marvelous work deserves. Set as a quasi-La Bohème in the mid-20th century, the work is so silly and so lacking in coherence that only the gorgeous music makes the DVD worth having at all.
In Michael Schottenberg’s reductio ad absurdum, the Count (Bo Skovhus) isn’t a count at all, but the author of a still-unfinished book called Der Graf von Luxemburg – who is therefore called by that title by everyone. The original Russian noble, Basil Basilowitsch, here called Basil Basilowitsch-Kokosov (Andreas Conrad), becomes a consul who wants Angèle, here called Angelika (Juliane Banse), as his mistress, not his wife, but for some never-clear reason wants her to be married and divorced first – married not for a three-month period, as in the original work, but for 48 hours. Basil, whose betrothed becomes a dea ex machina in the original, is in this version already married to Anastasia Iwanova Kokosowa (Eva Maria Marold).
The operetta’s second couple gets recast, too: here the man is not painter Armand Brissart, but student artist Manfred Prskawetz (Rainer Trost); he is paired with dancer Julie (not Juliette) Vermont (Gabriela Bone), and the two have known each other for only two days when the work opens. The hectic pace and compressed time scheme are perhaps supposed to make things seem to move along smartly, but all they really do is create confusion – to which the uneven microphone placement adds its own problems (for instance, Skovhus is almost inaudible through much of the first act).
The rearrangements of Lehár’s set pieces don’t help, either. For example, there is a charming scene in the original in which Basil, doubting Angèle’s love, asks Juliette to intercede for him by explaining to Angèle what a skilled dancer and playboy he was in his youth. In the Schottenberg version, this becomes a Basil-Julie duet whose purpose is to poke fun at Basil’s inflated view of himself while subjecting him to physical comedy. Charm has turned to cheap laughs.
Speaking of cheap laughs, that’s all there is to the third act here: it is played as a bedroom farce, with lots of people running in and out of rooms while, in the hotel lobby, Kokosowa strips to her underwear – even as she seeks out her errant husband because she loves him so much.
How incoherent. What a mess.
Much (though not all) of the music, thankfully, has been left intact, and this production is successful exactly to the extent that the music is untouched. (This leads to some odd moments, as when the lead female is called Angèle in arias but Angelika in dialogue.) Alfred Eschwé conducts briskly and precisely, and the orchestra and chorus are top-notch. All the primary singers are enthusiastic, with Skovhus and Banse especially good in their heartfelt duets – some of Lehár’s loveliest. Even in the love scenes, though, Schottenberg cannot resist ham-handed tampering: the beautiful songs in which the Count recognizes his temporary wife through her Trèfle incarnat (pink clover) perfume are undermined when it turns out that this is really the scent of Basil’s aftershave, through which Kokosowa realizes Basil is in the hotel. (Kokosowa’s introductory aria, unfortunately, is dropped and replaced, because the original deals with her determination to marry Basil after a years-long engagement – a state of affairs at variance with Schottenberg’s inferior reworking of the book.)
Der Graf von Luxemburg – the Willner-Bodanzky version, that is – is emphatically worthy of more frequent performances than it receives. It could still work either as a fairy tale of an earlier time, or in an updated form. But not in Schottenberg’s, which neither preserves all the music (which should be the No. 1 requirement for any revision of such a wonderful work) nor creates a story more believable to a modern audience than the original was. This DVD is little more than a hint of what a modernized version of Der Graf von Luxemburg could be.
September 14, 2006
(++++) STORIES OF OUR LIVES
The American Story: 100 True Tales from American History. By Jennifer Armstrong. Illustrated by Roger Roth. Knopf. $34.95.
Porch Lies: Tales of Slicksters, Tricksters, and Other Wily Characters. By Patricia C. McKissack. Illustrated by André Carrilho. Schwartz & Wade. $18.95.
The stories that a nation tells about itself provide one of the surest insights into its national character. Many countries have stories that run far, far back, that tell of old triumphs in war, of great civilizations built, of conquest and heroism and grand deeds of the dim past. The United States in its current form has a much shorter history, and while we have our own sets of tales of heroism and national struggle, our country seems to place unusual emphasis on smaller stories – tales of individuals who made a difference, of small groups of people overcoming great odds. Our large-scale policies may go awry – they often have! – but the underlying national character, of individualism and an often-naïve optimism, seems to remain. Certainly it is reflected in both these outstanding books.
The American Story picks up small tales, and some larger ones, from 1565 (“First City”) to 2000 (“The Election”). The tales are tremendously varied, told in only a few pages apiece, written in an appealingly straightforward style, and absolutely wonderful. Many readers will already know at least some part of at least some of the stories here, such as those from 1775 (“The Midnight Ride” – Paul Revere’s) and 1871 (“The Great Chicago Fire”). Other tales have become part of national lore, although not always accurately: 1892 (“Lizzie Borden”) and 1929 (“St. Valentine’s Day” – the infamous Chicago gangster massacre). But as well as Jennifer Armstrong tells these stories, she is even better with tales that are less than common knowledge. “New Friends” (1895) is a wonderful story about Helen Keller meeting Mark Twain. “Going Bananas” (1804) explains the first, disastrous attempt to import a fruit that Americans had never seen and had no idea how, or whether, to eat. “The Flying Cloud” (1851) is about what was at that time the fastest-ever sailing journey from New York to San Francisco – 89 days. “Murder by Moonlight” (1858) shows how Abraham Lincoln behaved as a lawyer. “The Fall of Man” (1743) is about the collapse of a church balcony, and the way it increased attendance. “The Woeful Plight of Mary Mallon” (1907) tells the story of the woman who would become known as Typhoid Mary. Some of these are tales of triumph; others tell of distress, difficulty and failure (how many nations’ stories highlight those outcomes?). Taken together, they offer a remarkable portrait of a country that, for all its many shortcomings, remains unique in the world.
One element of that uniqueness comes from the slaves brought to the United States from Africa – and their descendants. Patricia C. McKissack does a superb job of retelling tales of those unwilling Americans, or creating new stories that sound as authentic as the originals. Porch Lies is a romp filled with underlying seriousness. The 10 stories here are about con men, wastrels and ne’er-do-wells – most of whom are more than they seem to be. “The Earth Bone and the King of Ghosts” is about a man who successfully fools the most frightening specters imaginable. “The Devil’s Guitar” is about a case of musical mistaken identity, through which a would-be superstar learns it is better to go back to being himself. “The Best Lie Ever Told” shows how one short sentence can overcome stories spun out at great length. “By the Weight of a Feather” is a version of the Biblical pronouncement of being weighed in the balance and found wanting – but told without preachiness and with a strong affirmation of life. “Aunt Gran and the Outlaws” is a marvelous story of an old woman who welcomes two notorious criminals into her home and gets them to do good deeds, at least for a time. McKissack’s introduction neatly sets the scene by describing her own youth and the settings in which she heard stories like these. These are not factual tales like those in The American Story, but they are an equal part of what has given the United States its distinctive character.
Porch Lies: Tales of Slicksters, Tricksters, and Other Wily Characters. By Patricia C. McKissack. Illustrated by André Carrilho. Schwartz & Wade. $18.95.
The stories that a nation tells about itself provide one of the surest insights into its national character. Many countries have stories that run far, far back, that tell of old triumphs in war, of great civilizations built, of conquest and heroism and grand deeds of the dim past. The United States in its current form has a much shorter history, and while we have our own sets of tales of heroism and national struggle, our country seems to place unusual emphasis on smaller stories – tales of individuals who made a difference, of small groups of people overcoming great odds. Our large-scale policies may go awry – they often have! – but the underlying national character, of individualism and an often-naïve optimism, seems to remain. Certainly it is reflected in both these outstanding books.
The American Story picks up small tales, and some larger ones, from 1565 (“First City”) to 2000 (“The Election”). The tales are tremendously varied, told in only a few pages apiece, written in an appealingly straightforward style, and absolutely wonderful. Many readers will already know at least some part of at least some of the stories here, such as those from 1775 (“The Midnight Ride” – Paul Revere’s) and 1871 (“The Great Chicago Fire”). Other tales have become part of national lore, although not always accurately: 1892 (“Lizzie Borden”) and 1929 (“St. Valentine’s Day” – the infamous Chicago gangster massacre). But as well as Jennifer Armstrong tells these stories, she is even better with tales that are less than common knowledge. “New Friends” (1895) is a wonderful story about Helen Keller meeting Mark Twain. “Going Bananas” (1804) explains the first, disastrous attempt to import a fruit that Americans had never seen and had no idea how, or whether, to eat. “The Flying Cloud” (1851) is about what was at that time the fastest-ever sailing journey from New York to San Francisco – 89 days. “Murder by Moonlight” (1858) shows how Abraham Lincoln behaved as a lawyer. “The Fall of Man” (1743) is about the collapse of a church balcony, and the way it increased attendance. “The Woeful Plight of Mary Mallon” (1907) tells the story of the woman who would become known as Typhoid Mary. Some of these are tales of triumph; others tell of distress, difficulty and failure (how many nations’ stories highlight those outcomes?). Taken together, they offer a remarkable portrait of a country that, for all its many shortcomings, remains unique in the world.
One element of that uniqueness comes from the slaves brought to the United States from Africa – and their descendants. Patricia C. McKissack does a superb job of retelling tales of those unwilling Americans, or creating new stories that sound as authentic as the originals. Porch Lies is a romp filled with underlying seriousness. The 10 stories here are about con men, wastrels and ne’er-do-wells – most of whom are more than they seem to be. “The Earth Bone and the King of Ghosts” is about a man who successfully fools the most frightening specters imaginable. “The Devil’s Guitar” is about a case of musical mistaken identity, through which a would-be superstar learns it is better to go back to being himself. “The Best Lie Ever Told” shows how one short sentence can overcome stories spun out at great length. “By the Weight of a Feather” is a version of the Biblical pronouncement of being weighed in the balance and found wanting – but told without preachiness and with a strong affirmation of life. “Aunt Gran and the Outlaws” is a marvelous story of an old woman who welcomes two notorious criminals into her home and gets them to do good deeds, at least for a time. McKissack’s introduction neatly sets the scene by describing her own youth and the settings in which she heard stories like these. These are not factual tales like those in The American Story, but they are an equal part of what has given the United States its distinctive character.
(++++) HEARTWARMERS
The Swing. By Joe Cepeda. Arthur A. Levine/Scholastic. $15.99.
Ella Sets the Stage. By Carmela & Steven D’Amico. Arthur A. Levine/Scholastic. $16.99.
It’s the sweetness that stands out in these picture books. There’s not too much of it – over-sweetness is as bad for a recipe as under-sweetness – but there’s plenty for enjoyable consumption.
The Swing is about a girl whose parents embarrass her – not for the usual reason of their mere existence, but because of their propensity for losing things. They lose everything, whether it’s their own stuff or items they borrow from neighbors. Josey Flores is especially upset because her parents lose track of time, so they don’t give her any attention – not even when her dad has promised to push her on her new swing, which hangs from the oak tree in the yard. But that’s okay, thinks Josey – she’ll just swing on her own. And she does, higher and higher and higher, until she disappears into the oak tree and, wonder of wonders, finds a lantern stuck in its branches. Yes, it’s one of the things that Josey’s parents lost, and if there’s one thing up there, maybe there are others… At this point, the book gets downright silly, as Josey keeps going up into the tree and finding pretty much everything imaginable, from her mom’s wedding dress to a set of guitar strings to the family dog. There’s never an explanation of how anything got into the tree, or why the stuff stayed there until Josey and her swing went way, way up – but explanations are not the point of this mild and pleasant fantasy. What matters is that Josey’s family gets everything back, and so do the neighbors from whom Josey has borrowed things, and everyone has a party to celebrate. There’s no special meaning here, no deep implication, no lesson about being neat or being careful – The Swing is just for fun.
There is a lesson in Ella Sets the Stage, the latest charming book about Ella the Elegant Elephant, with drawings very much in the style of the Babar books of old. But the lesson is soft-pedaled and pleasantly delivered. In this book, Ella learns about talent, when the school plans a talent show and she realizes that she does not have any particular special ability. Ella tries singing, juggling and other activities, to no avail, then makes the best of a bad situation by joining the Talent Show Committee to help get everything set up for the other students. Soon she is the committee, making signs and ribbons and programs – and, at showtime, doing last-minute repairs and even helping rescue an act that goes awry. All the students get their prizes at the end – and then insist that Ella get one, too: a special prize for all the talent she showed in making the show a success. This is a nice be-true-to-yourself message, Ella is as charming as ever, and the book’s gentle humor should bring young readers back to it again and again.
Ella Sets the Stage. By Carmela & Steven D’Amico. Arthur A. Levine/Scholastic. $16.99.
It’s the sweetness that stands out in these picture books. There’s not too much of it – over-sweetness is as bad for a recipe as under-sweetness – but there’s plenty for enjoyable consumption.
The Swing is about a girl whose parents embarrass her – not for the usual reason of their mere existence, but because of their propensity for losing things. They lose everything, whether it’s their own stuff or items they borrow from neighbors. Josey Flores is especially upset because her parents lose track of time, so they don’t give her any attention – not even when her dad has promised to push her on her new swing, which hangs from the oak tree in the yard. But that’s okay, thinks Josey – she’ll just swing on her own. And she does, higher and higher and higher, until she disappears into the oak tree and, wonder of wonders, finds a lantern stuck in its branches. Yes, it’s one of the things that Josey’s parents lost, and if there’s one thing up there, maybe there are others… At this point, the book gets downright silly, as Josey keeps going up into the tree and finding pretty much everything imaginable, from her mom’s wedding dress to a set of guitar strings to the family dog. There’s never an explanation of how anything got into the tree, or why the stuff stayed there until Josey and her swing went way, way up – but explanations are not the point of this mild and pleasant fantasy. What matters is that Josey’s family gets everything back, and so do the neighbors from whom Josey has borrowed things, and everyone has a party to celebrate. There’s no special meaning here, no deep implication, no lesson about being neat or being careful – The Swing is just for fun.
There is a lesson in Ella Sets the Stage, the latest charming book about Ella the Elegant Elephant, with drawings very much in the style of the Babar books of old. But the lesson is soft-pedaled and pleasantly delivered. In this book, Ella learns about talent, when the school plans a talent show and she realizes that she does not have any particular special ability. Ella tries singing, juggling and other activities, to no avail, then makes the best of a bad situation by joining the Talent Show Committee to help get everything set up for the other students. Soon she is the committee, making signs and ribbons and programs – and, at showtime, doing last-minute repairs and even helping rescue an act that goes awry. All the students get their prizes at the end – and then insist that Ella get one, too: a special prize for all the talent she showed in making the show a success. This is a nice be-true-to-yourself message, Ella is as charming as ever, and the book’s gentle humor should bring young readers back to it again and again.
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