Spinning Stories from Straw

I think Vivian Vande Velde and I have similar feelings about fairy tales–wonderful stories, except for all those parts that don’t make sense.  She explores all those weird bits of “Rumpelstiltskin” in The Rumpelstiltskin Problem, and to very funny effect.

This book excellently shows the versatility of fairy tales.  This is a book of six short stories, all retellings of “Rumpelstiltskin,” and all very different.  Sometimes Rumpelstiltskin is well-meaning–sometimes the villian–once even a woman.  We meet a host of different miller’s daughters, clever and stupid and greedy.  Some kings are nice and some are cruel.  Some stories have magic, some don’t.  But all the stories follow the basic premise of “Rumpelstiltskin,” and all are funny.

I think my favorite part of the book is actually the introduction, when Velde discusses the inspiration behind the book–and analyzes all those parts of “Rumpelstiltskin” that don’t really add up.  Why does the miller tell the king his daughter can spin straw into gold when she can’t?  Why does Rumpelstiltskin want a baby?  Why does the miller’s daughter want to marry the king, after he kept threatening to cut her head off?  Why did Rumpelstiltskin agree to the name-guessing contest when, according to their original agreement, he’s already won, and has nothing more to gain?

I love fairy tales.  But they often don’t make sense, and I enjoyed Vivian Vande Velde’s discussion, and then retelling, of one I haven’t thought as much about.

I do believe that classic fairy tales, especially the best known ones, must have something in them that makes us keep telling them.  Some core truth, or spark of an idea that appeals.  What do you think it is for “Rumpelstiltskin”?  In a way it’s a “deal with the devil” story, so perhaps it’s that story of being pushed to desperation, making a questionable deal, and then the forces of good still triumphing in the end.  Well, assuming you consider the miller’s daughter and the king to be on the good side.

And that depends how you interpret the story–or which of Vivian Vande Velde’s retellings you’re reading.

Author’s Site: http://www.vivianvandevelde.com/

Writing Advice from Gail Carson Levine

If I had read Writing Magic by Gail Carson Levine when I was twelve, I think it would have changed my life.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t published until I was several years past twelve, and I didn’t read it until I was in college.  But it was still an excellent read then.

Writing Magic, as you may have guessed, is a book about writing, by one of my favorite authors.  I reviewed her best-known book, Ella Enchanted, early on in this blog.  Writing Magic is a wonderful book for kids who want to write.  It’s filled with good advice of all sorts: save what you write; jot down ideas; pay attention to details; make your characters suffer sometimes.  She covers coming up with ideas, writing the actual story, and working through revisions.  The book discusses practical things like the best way to write dialogue, and discusses why you might feel inspired to write to begin with.  And there are writing prompts at the end of every chapter.

This is a great book on writing, and I think it would also be a lot of fun for anyone who has read Levine’s novels–at least, it was for me!  She illustrates writing lessons with examples from her own books–not only by plucking scenes out of the published books, but also sharing pieces of earlier drafts, or talking about what a story started out looking like, and how her ideas changed along the way.  I love knowing the story behind the story.

If you get to the end of the book and want more, there’s good news: Levine has a blog.  It’s a lot like an extension of this book, with discussions on aspects of writing (and writing prompts at the end of each post).  One thing I particularly enjoy about it is the emphasis on young adult/children’s fantasy.  It makes sense–that’s what she writes, after all–and it’s fun to see a genre written about which is not so much a focus in more literary writing books I’ve read, and not at all a focus in most of my writing classes.  And don’t feel that you have to write children’s fantasy to get anything out of her blog (or her book).  The advice is good across genres; it just has a flavoring of children’s fantasy, and is more likely to use fairy tales than Virginia Woolf to draw an example.

The only reason Writing Magic didn’t change my life was that it reached me at a point when I had already read other books on writing, taken a lot of writing classes, and just had already heard a lot of the advice Levine gives.  It was still helpful!  Just less life-altering than it would have been at a younger age.  The gift of this book is that she’s put all this advice I picked up piecemeal together in an engaging way that I think kids will find appealing and relatable.  It might have got me farther along faster in my writing to have all of this advice dropped in my lap at a younger age.  So if you know a kid who likes to write–send them to get advice from Gail Carson Levine.

Author’s blog: http://gailcarsonlevine.blogspot.com/ (and it’s linked over in my list too!)

The View from the Ground

Have you ever lost your keys?  Or a safety pin or a paperclip or maybe a spoon or a roll of thread?  Maybe they were borrowed.  Not by a houseguest–at least, not a human one.  The Borrowers series by Mary Norton tells the story of tiny people who live among us, hidden from sight.  Only a few inches tall, they live inside walls and under floorboards, and survive by “borrowing” odds and ends from the human world.

One of my favorite parts of the whole idea is the details on how the Borrowers live.  The stories are set in England, I think in the early 1900s (though it’s a bit vague) and despite being so much smaller than everyone else, the Borrowers have clothes and rooms and furniture that is all quite proper to the time.  Except, of course, that the walls of the rooms are made of stacked books, the table was originally a pill box, and the chest of drawers is made out of match boxes.  I love the ways ordinary objects are cleverly and creatively repurposed.  And it’s fun to imagine the adventures of a family who can (and do) live inside of a boot in one book, and float down a stream in a tea kettle in another.

The Borrowers series focuses on Arrietty, who I think is about fourteen (although I’ve been paging through the first few chapters and can’t actually find an age!) and her parents, Pod and Homily.  It’s the greatest crisis in the world for a Borrower to be seen by a human–but Arrietty has a fascination with humans, which leads to any amount of trouble.

There are five books in the series (plus a very short prequel named Poor Stainless), starting with The Borrowers.  They’re all good, but I think they get better from the second one on.  It’s in the second one that they leave their home in the old manor house and go out into the wider world for adventures–as mentioned, living in a boot for a while, and ending up in a tea kettle floating down a stream, among others.  Norton keeps the suspense up through the Borrowers’ need to evade humans who want to capture and exploit them, and through the ongoing hazards of surviving in the world when you’re much smaller than everyone else.

One aspect to the book that’s interesting and I think unusual, is that it’s actually a family having an adventure.  In most children’s fantasy, the child in the story has the adventure–think of Dorothy, Alice, Jane and Michael, Wendy or any of the children in Edith Nesbit’s books.  The parents are dead, or oblivious to any magic goings-on, or can be conveniently left behind for the length of the adventure.  In The Borrowers, however, we see a family unit of father, mother and daughter launch into the world.  It’s slightly more Arrietty’s story than anyone else’s, but Pod and Homily are the next two lead characters.

One note if you pick this up and find the first few pages slow going–there is a frame story to this, something about humans who saw the Borrowers telling the story to others.  I can tell you intimate details about the Borrowers’ adventures, but I’m extremely hazy on the frame story because I’ve never actually read it.  I probably should someday, but it’s never seemed as interesting, and at some point (probably by the time I’d read the first book or two) I discovered that it’s very easy to just flip ahead a few pages until I found the first chapter that was from Arrietty’s point of view.  So I could be missing a few details of the story, but I’ve never felt their loss if I am.

As it is, the books are a wonderful adventure with excellent characters and a completely different perspective on the world, from the vantage point of a few inches off the ground.

Because It’s There

I want to begin this review by saying that I have never been mountain-climbing.  Nor do I ever plan to go.  The truth is, I don’t even like steep hills (which, believe me, can be a problem if you live in San Francisco).  I can walk very happily for miles on flat ground, but give me a hill and it’s all over.  But this is why I love books.  I love that they let me live lives I would never actually live, whether that involves casting magical spells, visiting a distant planet, or climbing a mountain.

That last brings me to Banner in the Sky by James Ramsey Ullman.  You’ll notice I have a picture of Third Man on the Mountain.  Walt Disney changed the title for his movie version, and then they reprinted the book with the new title.  I like Banner in the Sky better–for one thing, I’m not sure what Disney’s title is even supposed to mean!

With either title, the book is about Rudi Matt, and about the Citadel.  Rudi is a teenager living in a small village in the Alps in the 1800s, and he dreams of climbing the Citadel.  It’s the one unconquered peak, the one no man has ever reached the top of.  No one has tried for years, since the failed expedition that killed Rudi’s father.  Rudi’s mother has forbidden him to become a mountain climber (and I do understand her viewpoint!) but when an Englishman comes determined to lead an expedition up the unclimbable mountain, Rudi is determined to go.

The book is as much about Rudi’s growth as it is about the mountain.  He learns that there’s more to climbing a mountain than just scrambling over rocks, learns about things like trusting others and never leaving a comrade.  He learns to follow his father’s footsteps in more ways than one.  My best guess on Disney’s title is that Rudi becomes a man on the mountain, rather than a boy–but I can’t quite figure out how Disney calculates him as the third one.

This makes it all sound like it’s deep and reflective, and occasionally it is–but there’s also plenty of scrambling over rocks, and getting caught on ledges, and even an avalanche or two.  It’s an exciting story as well as a meaningful one.

It reminds me a little bit of stories about Scott’s expedition to the South Pole.  Not because of the snow similarity, but because they’re both about men trying to achieve a feat that has been considered unachievable.  They’re about pursuing the impossible dream.  And while I personally don’t have any desire to climb a mountain or ski to the South Pole, when the story is told right, I can get very enthused about someone else’s dream.

Why does someone climb a mountain?  “Because it’s there” is always a good answer.  Because it’s there to be conquered.  For Rudi, it’s because he wants to take his climbing staff and his father’s red sweater, and plant them as a flag at the top of the Citadel–a banner in the sky.

Even though I need a good reason to climb a steep hill and can’t imagine climbing a mountain, Banner in the Sky makes me believe in Rudi’s dream, makes me see it as vital and important for him, and makes me want to see him succeed.

Through the Wardrobe

Narnia has been coming up a lot for me lately.  I went to see The Voyage of the Dawn Treader…my book club book pick was inspired by Narnia…the series was referenced on a blog I follow…  I decided the universe was telling me something (and that book club book especially made me want to go back to the original) and I decided to re-read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis.

I say “re-read” because I know I read it before, but I honestly couldn’t tell you how long ago it was.  Years and years, although the story is so familiar that in some ways it doesn’t feel that long.  For those who somehow don’t know the story (side-note–I once overheard a woman tell a librarian she’d never heard of the series, so it’s possible), it’s the story of four children who go through a wardrobe and find themselves in the magical country of Narnia.  There they meet the great lion Aslan and fight an epic battle against the White Witch.

It’s a wonderful story on many levels.  It’s a lovely children’s fantasy with dashing heroes, not too much blood, magical creatures like Mr. Tumnus and Mr. and Mrs Badger, and several stern admonitions that it’s very foolish to shut oneself inside of a wardrobe (I honestly think Lewis was worried about this, he repeats it so many times).  On a more symbolic level, there’s a clear Christ story enacted.  But it works on both levels, for however you want to take it.  I’ve always thought that was the mark of the best kind of book–a good story and a good message where neither one gets in the way of the other.

I enjoyed Lewis’ style very much.  Things happen so quickly.  Lucy, the first child into Narnia, gets there by page six.  As the adventures continue, they go on at a tumblingly-quick rate.  There’s even a point where Lewis writes, of an unpleasant night journey by sledge, “This lasted longer than I could describe even if I wrote pages and pages about it.”  Thankfully, he doesn’t bother, concluding, “But I will skip on to the time when the snow had stopped and the morning had come and they were racing along in the daylight.”

C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien were in the same writing group.  I’ve heard that Tolkien spent years and years on The Lord of the Rings, and Lewis wrote The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in a matter of weeks (something that I’ve also heard annoyed Tolkien no end).  I have to say, it shows for both of them.  Different viewpoints on writing could consider that a plus or a minus to either one, but my preference would have to be with Lewis.

Lewis begins the book with a lovely dedication to his goddaughter, the real-life Lucy.  In somewhat contradiction to the story that he wrote the book in a few weeks, he says that he wrote it for her but she grew up faster than it did and she’s now too old for it, “but some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”  Lewis clearly understood about the cross-age appeal of the best children’s stories.  We may go through an age where we think we’re too grown-up for “kids books,” but eventually we get old enough to realize we can come back to them.

St. Paul wrote, “When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me” (1 Corinthians 13:11).  C. S. Lewis added, “Including the fear of being thought childish.”  We don’t have to “think like a child or reason like a child” (paraphrasing Corinthians) to appreciate a story written for children.  We can enjoy it with new eyes, new understanding, and hopefully some of the old magic too.