I’m in love with Jason Reynold’s forthcoming Ghost. Both the book and the title character. Reynolds’ presentation of this feisty, complicated, and endearing young man is deftly demonstrated through his first person narration of this winning middle grade book. It is the story of a young black boy in middle school who has experienced something dreadful, but who doesn’t want attention paid to him because of that. This is a boy who aspires to being a basketball player (though he hasn’t exactly tried to do it) and then, out of the blue, discovers that he has a talent for running. This is a boy who, before he knows it, is part of an elite track team and, by the end of the novel, cares deeply about doing well in it.
In the close first person narration we are with Ghost as he reacts to bullies, to an horrific event that affects who he is, to his new track teammates, to his self-consciousness as to his neighborhood, to his poverty, to his coach, and to simple pieces of his day. Say sunflower seeds. Reynolds describes wonderfully Ghost’s delight in them, eating them, spitting them, and buying them at the local store with his delightful repeated exchange with the store’s owner. It is a small lively thread that winds through the story, deepening our understanding of Ghost as well as those around him. There is superb dialog, real situations, fabulous description (I can just see the shoes — those generic ones he reworks for running and the other pair that is critical to the plot so can’t say more here), and impressive characters. I am certain Coach, Ghost’s mother, his friends and foes at school, and his teammates will stay strong in my mind for some time to come. To me that is one way to consider good writing — does it stay in your mind? Reynolds’ here absolutely does.
Having trained with a coach as part of a track club decades ago I can vouch for the authenticity of the workouts, say those “fart licks” (the real term is fartlek —a Swedish word for exactly what Ghost and his team mates do). I can’t wait for further books featuring Ghost, his teammates, and those great adults in his life.
It was 152 years ago yesterday that the Reverend Charles Dodgson, aka Lewis Carroll, first told his tale of Alice. Since then its elements have been reinterpreted in innumerable ways, one being Jefferson Airplane’s druggy anthem “White Rabbit.” I was a teen the year it came out —1967— and not a fan. That misunderstanding of my favorite book from childhood as something that was the result of its creator’s use of drugs annoyed me then and still today. But I have to admit that I’ve mellowed about the song itself, especially when I see inventive covers for it.
The Jefferson Airplane’s original
Pink’s (Thanks Michael Sims!)
I’m so pleased that those in the U. S. will soon have an opportunity to see Shaun Tan’s brilliant Grimm fairy tale sculptures in the forthcoming The Singing Bones from Scholastic. I first heard of them several years ago when I met the German publisher Klaus Humann of Aladin Verlag who told me about a wonderful new project — having Shaun Tan illustrate (with small sculptures) Philip Pullman’s retellings of the Grimm fairy tales. Since I do read German (poorly) and was eager to see the book I ordered it from Germany and was not disappointed. (You can read my reaction here.) I wondered about this new book and so found more information on Shaun’s website.
Naturally I was very keen to bring my illustrations to readers in other languages, but other editions of Pullman’s Grimm Tales for Young and Old precluded this (and worked perfectly fine without them). In any case, there were also many other stories I wished to illustrate so I continued making more sculptures, drawing upon such tales as Thumbling, The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids and Snow White and Rose Red, as well as others less well known. Given the original tales are in the public domain, I decided to make my own book.
Fairy tale expert Jack Zipes has an informative essay and comprehensive bibliography in the new book. Philip Pullman introduced the Australian edition while Neil Gaiman did a foreword for the American one. The ARC is gorgeous so I can’t wait to see the finished book. This will be a fabulous gift book this coming holiday season.
I remember many years ago seeing a 60 Minutes interview with J. K. Rowling where she showed “Box 1” full of her notes for the Harry Potter books. Now I wonder how many boxes there are and if some of them are full of notes for the international wizarding schools that have recently been announced on the Pottermore site. (Rowling’s introduction to the schools is here.)
Being American, I’ve particularly been attending to those who are expressing dismay, disappointment, and great disturbance when it comes to the North American school, Ilvermorny and the earlier publication, “History of Magic in North America.” N. K. Jemisin’s post “It Could’ve Been Great” is particularly insightful as she considers the issue as both a fantasy writer and a Harry Potter fan. I also recommend Paula Young Lee‘s Salon article from yesterday, “Pottermore’s Problems: Scholars and Writers Call Foul on J.K. Rowling’s North American Magic” if you need to get a quick overview of the situation.
Because of my particular interest in how Africa is represented to children in America, I’ve looked into the response to another of the schools, Uagadou, in Africa. Digging around I came across this overview of the response, Timothy Burke’s “On Uagadou, the African Wizarding School” which he wrote partly in response to this Washington Post article, “J.K. Rowling got in trouble for how she talks about Africa. Here’s why she may have been right.” I recommend reading Burke’s post in its entirety as he does an excellent job unpacking many of the issues raised around this particular imaginary school, pointing out that:
You can tell a story that imagines fantastic African societies with their own institutions arising out of their own histories, somehow protected or counterfactually resistant to the rise of the West. But you have to do that through African histories, not with an audit of African absence and some off-the-shelf environmental determinism.
You can tell a story that imagines that imaginary wizarding schools arise only out of histories with intense territorial rivalries within long-standing state systems, but then you have to explain why there aren’t imaginary wizarding schools in the places in the world that fit that criteria rather than frantically moving the comparative goalposts around so that you are matching units like “all of Sub-Saharan Africa” against “Great Britain”. And you have to explain why the simultaneous and related forms of state-building in West Africa and Western Europe created schools in one and not the other: because Asante, Kongo, Dahomey, and Oyo are in some sense part of a state system that includes England, France and the Netherlands in the 17th and early 18th Centuries.
The response to the Japanese school, at least that in English, seems more muted (at least in terms of social media). No doubt far more was discussed in Japan (in Japanese), but I did find a couple of fans raising concerns about the name, writing in English. Here’s one. And here’s another:
Of all the names she could have chosen, why did JK Rowling come up with “Mahoutokoro”? Are all the foreign magic schools this carelessly named?
魔法所 literally just means “MagicPlace”. It seems like a very careless move on her part. I think she should have spent some time researching Japanese etymology, or at least consulted someone who might have one or two things to say about cool-sounding Japanese school names.
The last of the four new schools is the Brazilian one Castelobruxo. As with the Japanese school I’m limited in not knowing Portuguese in sensing the response. I did find this one here indicating that Rowling stumbled with this school as well.
All in all, I think that well-intended as she no doubt is, Rowling simply doesn’t seem to have the deep knowledge or understanding of the potential for serious offense necessary to develop worlds based on cultures different from her own, especially those that are too often seen through a white European lens such as she is providing. I do hope the critical response she has received thus far has her reconsidering all of this. Or at the very least, reworking them so they are less problematic. I agree with Lee who concludes:
Stories have the potential to create new possibilities, shaping dreams for a more balanced and harmonious future. What we’ve seen so far of the geographically-expanded Pottermore world suggests that Rowling has done the opposite: Whether consciously or not, she’s legitimized whiteness as a cultural institution and a power structure, replicating the patterns of historical colonialism by establishing wizarding schools in far-away places — North America, Brazil, Japan, somewhere in “Africa,” — as posts on the outskirts of the Empire. And so the latest stories, instead of being exciting and new, seem nostalgic for a time when the sun never set on the British Empire, even as Great Britain now threatens to break apart.
‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ said Alice, ‘a great girl like you,’ (she might well say this), ‘to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!’ But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.
That’s Alice using “great” as the British do to mean “big.” An American child would say she was too big to be crying so much. It has absolutely nothing to do with Alice being some sort of awesome individual. I write because I am fed-up with the tedious speechifying around this word, used to argue about returning to some sort of mythic greatness or awesomeness. If Alice was great in that Trumpian awesome sense, Carroll’s cutting her (literally) down to size. Here’s a brief twitter exchange I just had on this. Thanks, Philip.
This past week, through the kindness of Walden Pond Press, I was able to attend a screening of the Steven Spielberg adaptation of Roald Dahl’s The BFG. I went into it knowing little, as it is one of the few Dahl titles I have not read, attributable to my working full time, doing a part-time graduate degree, running competitively (did my second NYC marathon that year), and slowly giving up on my dream of becoming a children’s book illustrator the year it came out. When I heard about the movie last year I started reading the book, but soon gave up — I found the BFG’s made-up vocabulary highly irritating. However, knowing how much others love the book, the positive responses to the movie so far, and the impressive people involved made me eager to see it.
And now I am here to report that it is delightful. I don’t know if it is a great departure from the book (I now intend to give it another try), but it worked for me. Early on the BFG explains his difficulties with language and so it didn’t bother me. Overall, it is funny, sweet, mournful, and highly satisfying at the end. There are some fabulous scenes — the BFG’s home, his dream-work, and those in the palace. The latter, in particular the one involving frobscottle (here I am using that whimsical language myself:), provoked the biggest laughs-out-loud from me and others in the audience, some of whom were very, very young. I enjoyed what appeared to be a few subtle references to Spielberg’s iconic E.T. — at least so they seemed to me. But what really makes the movie is Mark Rylance’s BFG. The man is brilliant. I’ve seen him in a variety of productions — notably the farce Boing-Boing, his fabulous turn as Olivia in the RSC’s Twelfth Night , and the Wolf Hall television series — and think he is truly one of the great actors of our time. In this, for all the make-up and digital enhancements, the marvelous actor comes through in spades. I’d go see it again just for him if nothing else.
On Thursday I will head off to Orlando for ALA’s Annual Convention. And I will, like the other attendees, be thinking about those who lost their lives a week ago in that vibrant city. I am heartsick for them and for all those who knew them, for their communities, for everyone impacted by this dreadful loss. I am furious that yet again lives were cut short. Enraged that it happens over and over and over in this country. Disgusted that it seems never ending. Sickened that we have to prepare ourselves for the next one. Unable to comprehend that we in the US cannot keep assault weapons out of the hands of dangerous and disturbed people. That said I try to be optimistic and to hope that things will change for that better. That there will not be another one. That this from Anne Frank who would have been 87 last Sunday is true:
In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.
Words to hold close in these dark times.