Swiss Family Robinson, by Johann Wyss, circa 1889

Papa contrived a boat of cut apart barrels--this illustration is close to how I imagined it.

Sometimes a book combines with what is going in my life to double its impact. Such was the case with Swiss Family Robinson, by Johann Wyss. The Robinsons’ unceasing earnest industry in surviving the shipwreck that left them stranded on an island matched the serious frenzy going on in my own life as my co-workers and I struggled to establish a new jobs program in three different communities. We (and the Robinsons) could rest, but only for a short time…the work goes on…the work goes on.

My colleagues and I are working toward a specific goal and we expect things to slow down in a few weeks. What’s striking about narrator Papa Robinson, however, is that he keeps working because work itself is a virtue, a human duty. The island is a challenge to be explored, harnessed, controlled, changed, mastered, conquered—and relentlessly. Every animal was seen as a food source to exploit or make use of. Every plant was seen in terms of its uses—beauty was a secondary benefit to the provision of shade, fruit, grain, or fiber. With the energy of the true Christian Soldier, Papa sets forth to bring order and productivity to the chaos of nature. It is a truly 19^th century zeitgeist. Man is at the top and he will rule.

Mama Robinson, referred to as “the wife” or “the mother,” supplied endless pots of food from the most exotic of ingredients as if by magic. She never grimaced when Papa and the boys (four of them) brought back something new to cook—like kangaroo meat, shark steaks, penguin, frog, monkey, bison, and bear. She too was inexhaustible in her energy, grinding manioc root into flour, making cloth (and food) from scratch, planting, reaping, and sowing (as well as sewing). Mama and Papa have a cooperative  relationship—in a few sweet scenes, they wake each other up before the boys to…no, not that…talk over their plans for the day, so as to show a united front. In another obscure item, Papa seems to reveal that he sleeps in his own room. Perhaps the Robinsons concluded that adding to their shipwrecked brood would cause hardship, although they took in baby animals of all sorts (to tame for use).

We only see Mama through Papa’s eyes—we see his view of her and of everything. Is Papa a reliable narrator? Has he glossed over the truly gruesome predicament that has befallen his family? Is everyone’s incessant good cheer and enthusiasm more what he wants to present to the world than what he actually experiences from his family?

I am going to default on this question, because it simply does not matter. This book is not serious. It is a somewhat sober tall tale, like Paul Bunyan if he had been brought up properly. The stories are preposterous and implausible, but terrific fun. I kept reading to see what wrongly situated animal or plant they would come across next, what invention would come from Papa’s fertile mind, what new landscape might appear on their infinite island. And, what animal would they tame next? (The ostrich trained for the saddle was a bit too much for me.) The book rollicked all over the place—all with hearty enthusiasm.

 
I guess training an ostrich is more plausible than I thought--this was not the only photo of domestication.

The introduction to the book, in fact, points out that Wyss told these stories in endless variations to entertain his children. One of the children gathered up the stories into a collection, which was then translated and re-translated until this semi-seminal English version was published and became the standard for the English-speaking world. (Note how favorably the English are presented at any mention of them in the book.) So, a narrative structure was actually imposed on the story, like chaining together the Paul Bunyan stories with an artificial narrative. So, please don’t take this book too seriously and try to have it make sense. It just won’t.

I also came to view this story as a fantasy. I thought of it in terms of the fantasy a desperate person might spin if faced with loss and death—as in a shipwreck. I imagine Papa, hungry, having lost everything, spinning out this one last fantasy in which all his sons survived and thrived; food was infinitely available; Mama was by his side; imagination had no constraints. I liked this perspective, but it’s just something I made up myself.

Papa’s philosophy (added, perhaps, some years after Wyss told the tales) is summed up in a paragraph in the final part of the book: “...my great wish is that young people who read this record of our lives and adventures should learn from it how admirably suited is the peaceful, industrious, and pious life of a cheerful, united family to the formation of strong, pure, and manly character.” What Victorian could argue with that?

I recommend this book highly—not as a moral tale of sober survival, but as a series of romps in a fantastical landscape. There are lessons to be learned, but please keep them subsidiary to the fun!

Go to www.tcm.com and enter "Swiss Family Robinson" in the search line for an interesting and funny article about the Disney's filming of this story.

Good Books: An American Freedom

  Probably one of my four copies of Pride and Prejudice

I went to the library this morning to pick up some books from interlibrary loan. It took two days for one book to arrive and three days for the other two. I saw that they were on loan from the Southeast Ohio library system and thought..."it is so cool that there is this gigantic stash of books available to whoever wants them, freely and with no restraint."

With good books in the passenger seat of my beat up old Honda, I felt a rush of wealth. I am wealthy in the availability of books of every description, as valuable to me as all the rubies, emeralds, and diamonds in the world, worth more to me than a Rolls Royce Phantom, enjoyed almost as much sometimes as my human relationships. I glory in this country's magnificent library system and the truly democratic institution that it is.

I live in a poverty-stricken rural area. People say, how can you live there, what is there for you, don't you miss city shopping and services? So far, no. The local library (Herbert Wescoat Memorial Library of McArthur, Ohio) is excellent and can get almost any book I ever want, from the most obscure scholarly tome to the next book on my children's reading list, Swiss Family Robinson. The librarians are professional and friendly, interested in my book choices, and glad to offer recommendations and opinions. The local library is an amazing treasure house of knowledge, entertainment, and, yes, freedom; it is a priceless jewel in a long, long strand of libraries across the United States.
If we could freely check out precious gems and elaborate jewelry, I think the stones would begin to loose their luster--and their value. They are, after all, crystals, minerals, and rocks and do not touch the mind or the heart. A book, however, exerts a hold over me that lasts as long as I live. The more that books are available, the more they are loved. In that sense, a book is like kindness--the more you pass it around, the more there is for everyone--not like those gems, which are hoarded and hidden.

Until recently, I had a book shelf where I kept "books to be rescured in case of fire." I have a sticker on my front storm door alerting firefighters to save my pets and I have always wanted one for my books. Maybe I just have an exaggerated attachment--the books I love I have read many, many times. At one time I had four different editions of Pride and Prejudice. Each book is an experience of life, of places, of history, of the solving of human conflicts.

And sometimes the books are plain old fun. One of my books, by Kate Wilhelm, is called Oh, Susannah! I picked up the book by accident, read it soon after, and was immediately smitten. It's what I call a "suitcase mystery"--a book where several identical suitcases keep getting switched accidently. Susannah is also a science fiction book in which the question of what makes someone have an identity is explored. It's also hilarious--leaving my cheeks streaming with laugh-tears. I've gotten hours and hours of pleasure from this slim volume. (Wilhelm, by the way, is an amazing writer across many genres--check her out.)

I recently reorganized my books, pruning out the dead wood, moving others to new places of prominence. I kept adding books to the shelf of books to be saved in case of fire...then it became two shelves, then three...and finally I realized that I needed to let go of my book class system. All the books I kept are created equal and equally important. Woe to the firefighters who come to my home. All books will be saved.

But, back to the freedom thing. I know that in many parts of the world literacy is low and books are unavailable. Or, the books that are available are filtered through a sieve of ideology, religion, or legislated morality. These places deprive their people of creativity, fascination, exploration, spirituality, humanity. If you are reading this blog, you are probably somewhat of a word person or a book person. Who would you have become if you hadn't had access to books? I cannot imagine myself in any form of existence without them. For this alone, I am a patriot and honor the founders of our nation who refused to set up any kind of orthodoxy of religion or ideology. We were to be free. We were to conduct our individual searches for meaning and identity. We were to sample of life's offerings in person or vicariously. We were to have books. And that makes us the wealthiest nation on earth.

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien

While reading Fellowship of the Ring, I am totally lost in Middle Earth. I have been in the caves, on the mountains, in the trees, on the waters. My heart is filled with anxiety for characters I now love and for the success of the ring quest, the salvation of Middle Earth. As with The Hobbit, I am surprised at how engaging this book is. I have such hope and despair for the fellowship. The landscapes are rich, even the sere and lifeless. The time on the great river Anduin is so vivid I still feel as if water is under me. And the gorgeous/fearsome Galadriel is so beautifully drawn. Peter Jackson and Cate Blanchett did a wonderful job portraying her. This is the only well-developed female character so far. This is another of those guy-bonding stories…right in there with Deliverance and Animal House.

The balance between hope and despair is where my tension lies. None of the characters (even Gandalf) wants to go on this quest. None of them think it will succeed. Yet at every choice-point, there is resolution—the ring must go to Mordor and they are the ones that will take it. At each choice-point both the danger and the courage increase. And my heart seems to grow a bit wider open.

Frodo and the other Hobbits are less childlike in the book than in the Jackson movie. Merry and Pippin have solid adult skills. Sam is intelligent and skilled—it is part of his self-discovery to find that out. Frodo is self-reflective and therefore tragic. I am pulling for him and wish I could go to his side and bear the ring for him.

The ring itself is a major character in this book (and in the series, including The Hobbit). Sauron’s desire to get the ring back is only matched by the ring’s desire to be found by him. It has its own motivations. The one ring. Even this most basic description of the ring sounds ominous. The ring is treacherous and malevolent and pulls toward evil. The moment when Frodo steps forward in Elrond’s council to voluntarily take the ring is powerful. Is there ever a time when I would have that kind of courage?

Here’s a favorite quote of mine from Fellowship. Haldir says it in Chapter 6, “Lothlorien”: “The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

Anyway, great story-telling, compelling settings, engaging characters, resonating themes—what more could a book want. (Oh yeah, a woman or two!) Somehow, the non-human characters are the most fully human. I can’t wait to start into The Two Towers—in about two minutes.

The Talisman by Sir Walter Scott, 1825

Captain Picard as Richard--go figure.

The Talisman concludes the quartet of books by Sir Walter Scott on the list of children's literature I've been reading. On the whole, I can see why Scott was so wildly popular in Scotland and England in the early 19th century. His stories all involve bitter enemies, true love, aggressive action, wrongs unrighted, bad good people (like an evil priest) and good bad people (like a noble outlaw).

The Talisman continued Scott's habit of mistaken identity and disguise. Sir Kenneth, our hero, has at least four identities during the book, including, and ... I can't go on due to spoilers. Except for the royal family, consisting of King Richard (the Lion-Hearted) and his queen and Richard's cousin Edith, almost every principal character is either concealing something or is in concealment (disguise). (Even the king's most loyal servant talks in double meanings all the time.) It's fun! And in this book, each layer pealed off of Kenneth's identity took me totally by surprise. That's delightful for an old veteran reader like me. Especially in children's literature, I can often identify the surprises ahead of time.

The Talisman is set in the Middle East, probably Syria--certainly somewhere in the vicinity of Jerusalem, since that's where King Richard and his armies were headed. The Crusades. The Middle Ages (in the 1100s). King Richard led armies from several European nations on a holy quest to take Jerusalem back (back?) from the infidels (meaning the people who had always lived there?). Sir Kenneth is a loyal knight from Scotland, which places him at a disadvantage because Scots are scorned. Still he fights valiantly to establish a reputation for valor, courage, and honor. He fights for the love of his lady, Edith Plantagenet, who he loves from afar.

The book's backdrop is the disunity of the crusaders. The various countries get into power battles with each other and with Richard. Do they serve beside Richard, or do they serve under him? In the end, a final joust is held that decides the fate of many. To settle a dispute, a tournement is held far out in the desert; the result of the joust will reveal God's truth about the guilt or innocence of an accused (almost typed "accursed") knight.

Scot again presents a strange introduction to the book (all four books have strange introductions) in which he begs forgiveness for creating such an authentic piece of writing from his own imagination rather than from direct experience. He couldn't very well go back 700 years to verify his facts. But in spite of this, the settings in the book seem real. The descriptions of the desert landscape (see left, from the movie Lawrence of Arabia) and the tent city of the Crusaders and the costumes of the characters have a feel of authenticity, make a believable backdrop for Richard and Kenneth and the infidel characters also (Saladin, the doctor, others).

The difficulty of the two armies in understanding each other was almost comic, almost sad. The Christians knew their god, the Moslems knew theirs, and they had little real knowledge of each other. Their various religious practices were often seen through the eyes of someone from the opposite faith. Scott was relatively gentle with the infidels. He did not mock or condemn any of their practices. This is not a book for bigots. Take your faith as you find it and leave other people to find theirs, he seems to say. He holds a mirror up to both sides, and each is a bit embarrassed by what it sees of itself.

As usual, Scott's secondary characters are more interesting than his wooden and predictable main characters. An old hermit, a strange healer, a dwarf, even a dog, are painted beautifully. They weave into and out of the action like strands of gold thread in cloth.

I had trouble with King Richard, son of Henry II, absent monarch in the Robin Hood legends. I remember him so starkly from the movie Lion in Winter, with Peter O'Toole as Henry II and Katherine Hepburn as the queen, Eleanor of Aquitane. The secondary characters (and the secondary actors) paled next to Henry and Eleanor. Son Richard was portrayed as a brutal soldier, which was seen as a reaction against his implied homosexuality. That's Richard (Anthony Hopkins) at the right, with purported lover King Phillip. Richard was most governed by wrath. (Which, indeed, Scott did show in his book.) This makes it hard for me to see him as noble and lovable (nobody was lovable in Lion in Winter--everyone was pretty much a pig). Richard's brothers and parents are mentioned in the book, and I think to myself, "I knew what they looked like when they were young."

I also used Lawrence of Arabia, another Peter O'Toole movie, as a touchstone for the landscapes and peoples of the desert, the camels and caravans, oases and wastes. So, the creations of my mind added to and morphed with Scott's descriptions, taking the story even further into the world of the imagination, and at the same time made it more REAL! I must remember that the truth of imaginationo is true, but it is only one truth of many and not the whole truth of any.

Scott's writing got better as he aged. He was writing furiously at the time The Talisman was written, to publish enough to clear himself of debt. I think the speed helped him pick up the pace of his plot and descriptions. The Talisman was fully 100 pages shorter than the second and third books I read (Ivanhoe and Guy Mannering--Rob Roy was pretty short), but just as filled with action.

Women's roles? Meh. They live to inspire the men to deeds of duty and death. Edith is beautifully drawn as a demi-saint. Richard's queen is a little sex kitten who pouts at all the men. Alas. I crave the wonderful Rebecca from Ivanhoe, who was so real I could almost feel her heart beating.

Thumbs up, though, for The Talisman and for Sir Walter Scott. Reading these four books was a my own quest, my own crusade. Richard wanted to take Jerusalem; I want to get through my children's literature list before I die. We are both ennobled by our endeavors.

The Girl Effect and the Books I've Been Reading

Click on the link below to find out about The Girl Effect. It's maddening, inspiring, motivating. Today is the day for all bloggers to blog on this topic. Please excuse the self-indulgent/ranting quality to this off-the-cuff blog entry.

http://www.taramohr.com/girleffectposts/ 

I've been doing a pile of reading, and most of it is truly great stuff. But I always try to track the roles of girls and women in the material; in effect, to track the Girl Effect. In probably 80% of the books I've read in the past 2 years, female roles are passive, worshipworthy, ancillary, or non-existant. My most recent review is a case in point. The Hobbit and the Rings Trilogy, are books about guys, guy bonding. There are some important women's roles, maybe two (Eowyn and Galadriel), but for the most part women are minimized. There are no orc women, for example, and none of the elf warriors are women.

[RANT ALERT] In the most telling scene, able-bodied women are sent to hide in the caves while frail old men and wee boys are sent to fight. It's senseless! Faced with the end of humanity, half of the fighting force is sent to hide. This absurdity was picked up by Peter Jackson who shows the frightened faces of perfectly able women, helpless and segregated. None stand up to fight. Even Eowyn ends up in the caves. This is the ultimate in marginalization.

But I digress. What I find in my reading of children's literature is that even in books totally centered on girls, the books are more about training for stereotyped adult womanhood than they are about girls finding out how to do and be on their own terms. A case in point is Anne Shirley of Anne of Green Gables. She is highly flamboyant, one of a kind (oh that red hair!), but most of her drama focuses on problems of romance. Alone among many heroines, Anne holds out for a career--but only until she gets married. In the second to last book, so sadly, we find that Anne's writing is trivialized and she herself views it as unimportant, compared to making Gilbert and her children happy.

OK, ok, I'm not down-grading motherhood, wifeliness, or any of that. But why does it have to be all there is? Think of Nellie Bly sailing the oceans traversing many lands. She's seen as a footnote in history, if at all. After marriage, female achievement wanes, at least in most of the books on my list.

Another case in point is everyone's favorite, Laura Ingalls Wilder. She ends up deep in debt and deep in grief while Almonzo continues on his merry extravagances. It's not her place to complain to or correct her husband, repeating the pattern of her mother's life. But we block it out. No one remembers this part of the books.

I keep coming back to Pippi Longstocking. She's strong, inventive, smart, funny. It follows, then, that she is ugly, boyish, and somewhat of an outcast. Still, I'd rather go Pippi's way than Laura Wilder's or Anne Shirley's way. Ironically, one of the few books that I feel truly represents women as full characters, people of depth, was written by a man. I'm referring to Paul Scott's The Raj Quartet. The women in those four books are well drawn and full. They do not march lockstep down a pathway of expectations. And they bear their own consequences like men, or like people.

That's enough. I keep searching for value in the books I read, and most of them have plenty. The Rings Trilogy in particular is a fantastic piece of writing and leaves me richer and happier and sadder and so many other things. I laughed with Anne Shirley and wondered at the sights Laura saw. But I'm looking for just a little bit more, and if I find it, I'll be sure to let you know.