Tra-lalaa! Here We Go Again!

My children discovered Dav Pilkey’s Captain Underpants books when my son was in second grade. Cuddling together on the sofa, I read the stories to the kids, complete with vocal effects. I often found myself laughing out loud at Pilkey’s more subtle expressions of humor and getting surprised glares from the kids. They got the potty jokes, the superhero flying about in his underwear battling lunch ladies and purple potties. I enjoyed the chapter headings, the fast pacing that poked fun at the reader’s expectations, and the constant, somewhat crazed use of alliteration.

The eighth Captain Underpants was published in 2006, and I was excited when I discovered that the ninth book, Captain Underpants and the Terrifying Return of Tippy Tinkletrousers, was about to come out in August. I got the book from netgalley and started to read.

Pilkey’s omniscient narrator is never far from the action, watching, tongue in cheek, as the plot progresses through expected and unexpected twists. He starts telling a story and then remembers: “But before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this story.” Pilkey used time travel in the series before, but in this one he goes back in time to tell the story of how Harold and George met and got to be friends. Time travel is the main source of tension in this book -- the narrator tells us that Tippy’s jump back in time is going to create the famous Banana Cream Pie Paradox. If you have not heard of this famous paradox, do not be alarmed. All is explained, complete with illustrations.

Like the rest of the series, the ninth installment contains George and Harold’s comic books, filled with age-appropriate illustrations and spelling mistakes. There’s also the usual amount of slapstick comedy and potty humor. I personally love it. I wanted more of the chapter headings that I enjoyed in the previous books. In this book some titles just signaled the passage of the days, but I can see how this style works better for a book about the unreliability of time.

I am not fond of back stories, and I was not crazy at first about following the difficulties of George and Harold as kindergarteners, but as the book wound up to its dramatic end, I realized that Pilkey created the perfect Banana Cream Pie Paradox. I cannot wait for the tenth book to come out. I want to know how he’s going to get his characters out of the perfectly funny and ridiculously insane mess in which he left them.

People refer to the Captain Underpants series as a good choice for reluctant readers. I agree, but I think there’s something in them for everyone to enjoy. Even, or perhaps especially, for adults. If you do not laugh enough in your daily life, pick one of these up, remember what it was like to be a child, and get a good hearty chuckle at some of those potty jokes. It's healthy for you.


Do you have an age-inappropriate book that makes you laugh?

Reading for Writing

On the way back from Los Angeles, I started reading Jennifer A. Nielsen’s The False Prince. I had read a raving review about the novel on the Book Smugglers blog where Thea compared it favorably to Megan Whalen Turner’s The Thief, which I had also loved. And so I had high hopes. Contrary to my expectations, I was not blown away. Instead, I learned a lot as a writer.

The False Prince is written in short paragraphs and easy-to-read language. The chapters end with cliffhangers which tempted me to keep reading. Sage, the protagonist, is a likable character, strong, smart and rebellious, just like I’d expect a fourteen year old boy. And I loved the story: four boys competing to be the next prince of a fairytale-like country.

There were several things which disappointed me about the novel. There is a beginning of an internal conflict: Sage is not certain he wants to be king and is not sure that he will make a good king. But this moral dilemma did not unfold enough. I was not convinced that Sage believed either of the other boys would make a better king, and I could not understand his reasons for thinking he would not be good enough. He certainly seemed the obvious choice, if only because he is the narrator. To me, the other boys felt under-developed and bordering on stereotypical: the sick, the strong, and the smart.

The internal conflict especially seemed to me hampered by the fact that Sage hides a secret which is only revealed to us by the end of the book. After a chapter or two, I suspected what this secret is. After five chapters, I was sure. I think this secret, which I won’t reveal just in case you plan to read the book, is what most prevents the novel from fulfilling its potential. It is the greatest block to revealing Sage’s thoughts, prohibits him from truly growing as a character, and diminishes the suspense of the novel.

The lack of suspense also arose from the fact that the villain is an obscure character who barely appears in person in the book. Veldergrath’s notoriety perhaps received some credibility because his name resembles Voldemort’s, but the assurances within the novel that he is evil come from Conner, a character who I did not read as reliable and who clearly had ulterior motives. None of the characters challenge the certainty of Veldergrath’s villainy anywhere in the novel, and he is removed, without proof or trial, from his position by the end.

Adam Gopnik from The New York Times Book Review, called The False Prince a “page turner, not a page earner.” The book did help me pass the time of the drive back from LA, and in the end it did make me think a lot about writing techniques and editing. For being entertained for a few hours, and for this opportunity to learn as a writer, I am always grateful. For these two purposes, it was a fabulous book.

Independence and the Absent Mother

Yesterday afternoon I sat by the kitchen table and cried as I finished reading Sharon Creech’s middle-grade novel Walk Two moons. I had picked it up the week before in a used bookstore. On the back cover, a quote from the School Library Journal promised “A richly layered novel about real and metaphorical journeys.” I started reading the novel wondering what it will be like.

Sal, the narrator, tells of the trip she took with her grandparents to Lewiston, Idaho to see her mother who had left on a bus trip a few months before. She promised to return but hadn’t. Sal hopes to arrive on or before her mother’s birthday and to convince her mother to come back home.

As they drive, Sal tells her grandparents the story of her friend Phoebe and her family who are all “thumpingly tidy and  respectable.” Sal describes Phoebe’s mother as “ Mrs. Supreme Housewife” and her father as “Father with a capital F.” But Phoebe also notices that underneath her enthusiastic baking and cleaning, Phoebe’s mother is unhappy. When Phoebe’s mother disappears with merely a note promising to return in a few days and a freezer filled with prepared meals for her family, Sal has a bad feeling. It is her experience that mothers promise to return but don’t.

Another friend, Ben, lives with his uncle and aunt, with no mention made of where his family is. Three absent mothers: Sal’s mother, Phoebe’s mother, Ben’s mother. And questions abide. Why did Sal’s mother stop writing to her? Why did she leave? How could she leave? And as a mother, I could not help but feel upset. Why all these absent mothers? How could Sal’s mother, who so clearly loved her, leave her? What is this story teaching children? I asked myself. That mothers are not to be trusted? That they can leave any moment? That mothers are inherently unhappy being just mothers? That if the child does not notice the mother’s unhappiness, does not appreciate her, then the mother might leave?

In children’s literature, parents are often missing: dead, or emotionally unavailable. This allows the main character to solve problems on his or her own. Thus Harry Potter is an orphan and his adult helpers either die or are incapable of helping him. Taran, of Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain series, is an orphan. The children going to Narnia live apart from their parents (and Aslan either is not present or is presumed dead). In the novels, these characters move from youthful dependence to independence. But at what cost? 

Sal’s story takes her on a journey halfway through the United States and inside her own heart, through anger, guilt, denial, fantasy, and finally acceptance. I cried at the end, and I forgave Sharon Creech for the missing mothers. And yet my question remains: could we as writers find a way to allow our young characters to grow with the support of a family behind them?

What do you think?

Faith Makes the Luck, By The Great Horn Spoon!

Last year, my son recommended that I read Sid Fleischman’s novel By the Great Horn Spoon. He had read it in class as part of the Gold Rush unit and enjoyed it. I agreed but did not immediately follow up on my promise. The picture on the cover showed a muscular bearded man battling a hairy giant. Wrestling is not my favorite topic, nor do I feel particularly enthralled by the gold rush (though I am a huge Jack London fan). After a lot of enthusiastic prodding by the young reader, I finally picked up the book last week and started to read. And I’m so glad I did!

By the Great Horn Spoon is one of those rare books that encourages free thought, creative problem solving skills and faith in oneself. Jack, the main character is a young boy who leaves for California during the gold rush in order to find enough gold to allow his Aunt Arabella to keep her house in Boston. He is accompanied by his butler, Praiseworthy, who discovers Jack’s plot to run away to California and decides to help him.

Praiseworthy and Jack run into many adventures and twists of fate, but they always find resourceful ways to deal with obstacles, whether they are concealing themselves in potato barrels on the ship after their fare money is stolen, rescuing a pig from being butchered and eaten, searching for a treasure map, or digging a grave. And luck follows in their footsteps as though it already knows that resistance is futile: if one thing won’t work the partners will try another, till they strike it rich and rescue Aunt Arabella’s house and memories from being sold.

Jack is faithful to his friends and ever ready to try something new, even if it is bitter coffee mixed with ground acorn. He is a curious boy, hardworking, and brave. But it is Praiseworthy who I found to be a character to remember and learn from.

My favorite scene turned out to be the one illustrated on the cover. Praiseworthy has never wrestled anyone, but he has confidence in his abilities to beat the Mountain Ox who “had a neck like the stump of a tree” and whose chest looked “as big around as a flour barrel.” And why? Because “it stands to reason that the Mountain Ox never read a book in his life. He’s no doubt a mere brawler.” Praiseworthy, himself a great reader, had  back in Boston read a book about boxing, and he intends to use that knowledge to good purpose. As he explains: “since I’ve outread him, I see no reason why I can’t outwit and outbox him.”

To Praiseworthy, the knowledge acquired by reading is empowering. As a reader and a writer, I believe that is true. I love books that inspire me and lead me to trust in myself and my talents, and By the Great Horn Spoon sure does both.

What Happens Next???

Yesterday I finished reading Incarnate by Jodi Meadows. The novel came out at the end of January this year, and I had read so many adoring reviews of it that I simply had to buy myself a copy. And my high expectations were more than met.

Incarnate takes place in the world of Range, where the same million souls have existed and were reborn for five thousand years, keeping their memories from all their past lives. Babies born remember being adults, remember dying many times over. There aren’t really children in Range. Not in the playful, exploratory meaning of childhood. And everybody in Range knows everybody else. There is no mystery to who people are and little room for personal development and growth.

One day, however, one of these souls fails to reincarnate, and Ana is born. Ana longs to find out why she was born and whether she will be reincarnated. The only eighteen year old in a world where people carry the experiences and knowledge of thousands of years, Ana is a breath of fresh air, a girl with a new outlook, new questions, new ideas. And as such she is also a danger.

After eighteen years of living with a mother who did not care for her and treated her as an inferior being, a nosoul, Ana leaves for the main city, Heart, where she hopes to find some answers to her questions. Acutely aware of her newness in this old and jaded world, Ana views everything that happens to her through the eyes of a child.

Like a child, Ana takes responsibility for events which might or might not be related to her. She thinks it is her fault that the soul of Ciana was not reborn, and that she must be the one to discover why and how that happened. She blames herself for failing to save more souls during the dragon attack later in the novel. She feels that it is up to her to discover and understand why sylph and dragons attack Heart.

And also like a child, she is the only one who sees the people around her with new eyes. Through the kaleidoscope of Ana’s mind, the people of Range are free of five thousand years of history -- they can be anything they want to be.

On her website, Jodi Meadows predicts that the second book of her trilogy will come out in winter of 2013 and the third in 2014. I am having a hard time curbing my impatience till the books come out. I don’t often read novels at the forefront of literary development, and I find myself wondering what did readers of Ursula K. LeGuin’s Earthsea Chronicles do while waiting for the next book? How did Tolkien readers manage the wait for the end of the Ring Trilogy? Seems it can be lucky to come late on the scene of a great work of literature. Then again it can be a good fortune to be one of the first explorers in a new land.