Road to Tater Hill is the story of Annabel and the death of her baby sister Mary Kate. The story reminded me of Love, Aubrey, another Middle Grade Fiction Cybils nominee in which a mother grieves so deeply for her lost child that she neglects the child she has left alive. Also in both books the child who is neglected and also grieving finds a new friend to help her cope with her loss and her feeling of not being enough for her mother. In yet another similarity, Aubrey and Annabel both live with a grandmother who takes care of them while their mothers are recovering from their depression. (You can read Betsy-Bee’s and my take on Love, Aubrey here.)
Road to Tater Hill is also a story that extols the joy and comfort of a reading life. Annabel is a reader, and her new friend, Miss Eliza, also finds strength and consolation in books. In fact, just like in another of this year’s middle grade fiction books, When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead (Semicolon review here). the protagonist finds particular solace in reading one of my favorite books, Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time.
“I dragged out the reading of A Wrinkle in Time. Whenever I really liked a book, I couldn’t stop reading, but this time I didn’t want it to end. I read each page twice, sometimes three times, before turning it. I felt like I knew the characters, and I wanted to keep them as my friends. Once I finished the book, they would be gone.”
I enjoyed the way Annabel and her friend swapped books and reading recommendations. Miss Eliza introduces Annabel to my favorite poem, Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. Annabel shares her copy of A Wrinkle in Time with Miss Eliza. Reading friends are some of the best friends of all, aren’t they?
The Road to Tater Hill takes place in North Carolina in 1963. The novel is Ms. Hemingway’s first solo book. (She co-wrote a couple of other novels.) If the setting or the subject appeal to you, it’s worth a look. I like the photograph of an actual, whole girl on the cover of the book, by the way.
Neither in halls nor yet in bowers,
Born would he not be,
Neither in castles nor yet in towers
That seemly were to see;
But at his Father’s will,
The prophecy to fulfill,
Betwixt an ox and an ass
Jesus, this king, born he was.
Heaven he bring us till!
~Coventry Mystery Play, c.1200. Taken from The Christian Almanac, compiled by George Grant and Gregory Wilbur.
Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Lullay, thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
O sisters too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling for whom we do sing
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All children young to slay.
That woe is me, poor Child for Thee!
And ever mourn and sigh,
For thy parting neither say nor sing,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
~Coventry Carol, c.1500, commemorating The Massacre of the Innocents ordered by Herod the Great and told about in Matthew 2:16-18.
As if it weren’t bad enough with the mandated abortion coverage and the cuts in Medicare, there’s a huge disincentive for couples to get married. Maybe couples will get married and then hide their marriage from the government so that they won’t have to pay a whopping extra $10,000 per year in insurance premiums.
Z-Baby’s been listening to The Penderwicks this week. Actually the full title is The Penderwicks: a summer tale of four sisters, two rabbits and a very interesting boy by Jeanne Birdsall.
Me: What did you like about the story?
Z-baby: It was funny when Batty, the little one (she’s only four), is there, and her dog, Hound, eats the map. Then Hound throws up. And Batty points to the throw-up and says, “There’s the map.”
It was just really, really interesting. One reason I listened to it a lot was because I didn’t always finish it.
Me: Which character can you relate to the most? Which Penderwick sister is most like you? Do any of them remind you of your sisters?
Z-baby: I’m probably most like Skye. She’s kind of mischievous, and she’s always peeking (spying) on people and losing her temper. She just does a lot of things I do. Rosalind is a tiny bit like Betsy-Bee. Sometimes she’s a little bossy, and so is Betsy-Bee. Betsy-Bee is also a tiny bit like Batty because Batty is really shy, and so is Betsy-Bee. Betsy-Bee also writes stories like Jane.
Me: What in the story reminds you of your own experiences?
Z-Baby: I’ve burned cookies before! And I’ve probably wished that I didn’t so something, but after a whlie once I get used to it, I’m glad that I did. Skye meets Jeffrey and bumps into him , and at first she wishes that she didn’t. But then later she’s glad that she did.
Me: The title calls Jeffrey a “very interesting boy?” Do you think he’s interesting? What’s interesting about him?
Z-baby: Yes, he’s interesting. His mother wants him to go to military school. And he kind of tells her that he doesn’t want to, but he can’t get that into her head. He wants to be a musician, not a military person.
Me; Anything else you want to tell me?
Z-baby: It’s a really good book, and you should read it or listen to it.
Me: Would you like to listen to the sequel, The Penderwicks on Gardam Street?
Z-Baby: Yes. Get it the next time you go to the library.
“At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a sharp, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor.
Lank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were heard, –
‘Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood,
Stand dressed in living green.
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan rolled between.’
Never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. They were full of hope and fruition. Spite of this frigid winter night in the boisterous Atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.
~Moby Dick, chapter 22 by Herman Melville.
Moby DIck, or The Whale was first published in 1851.
Tonight we went to a performance by the musical theater class that some of my young people—Brown Bear Daughter (14), Artiste Daughter (20), Drama Daughter (18), and Karate Kid (12)—attend. The students all did a fantastic job, presenting songs and choreography such as “The Farmer and the Cowman Should Be Friends” from Oklahoma! and “My New Philosophy” from You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. The last song on the program was something called “Viva la Vida”, a song I’d never heard of. So I asked a friend about my age about it.
She said, “You’re not a Coldplay fan?”
“Not exactly,” I replied. “I’ve heard of Coldplay, but I can’t say I know this particular song.”
“Oh, you’ve heard the song,” she said.”You’re living and breathing; you’ve heard Viva la Vida.”
Then another friend, younger and quite knowledgeable about music of all kinds, began to tell me about her interpretation of the song’s lyrics. “Most people,” she said, “think it’s about the French Revolution. But it’s really about Satan and the end of his reign in the 1000 year millennium. You listen to all the BIblical references, and you’ll see.”
So I listened, as I watched the amazing choreography that the kids had put together, and then I came home and looked up the lyrics. (I did, in fact, recognize the song as one I had heard before, but I wasn’t that familiar with it. So I guess that means I’m still alive, barely.) There’s some controversy about some of the words, but here’s the gist:
I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep (sweep) alone
Sweep the streets I used to own
I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemies eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
“Now the old king is dead! Long live the King!”
One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand
I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry (Catholic) choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can’t explain
Once you’d gone it was never
Never an honest word
That was when I ruled the world
It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People could not believe what I’d become
Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be King?
I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry (Catholic) choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter won’t (will) call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world
Whoa-oa-oah! Whoa-oa-oah!
I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry (Catholic) choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter will (won’t) call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world
Oooh-ooh-ooh-ooh. Oooh-ooh-ooh-ooh.
Either Louis VIII is bemoaning his lost throne and lost power in the wake of the French Revolution, or Satan is reminiscing about when he used to “rule the world” with “never an honest word.” Or it’s both—and then some. I think that many modern day song writers write lyrics by throwing around images and metaphors into a kind of mish-mosh, and they are themselves surprised to see what comes out at the end. If you’ve got lots of Biblical images in your head, as the lyricists for Coldplay obviously do, then what comes out is going to have some kind of Biblical meaning (may be somewhat heretical, but nevertheless Biblical) even if you originally set out to write a song about the French Revolution because there’s not a lot of discipline or form to the lyrics themselves. No one tells the lyricists: “This is the meter and the rhyme scheme and the order you have to follow to write song lyrics.” And then the interpretation of the lyrics themselves is left up to the listener. If the song doesn’t really mean anything, specifically, then each listener can make up his or her own meaning. The whole exercise reminds me of when we used to spend hour arguing about the meaning of each specific image and incident in the song American Pie by Don McLean. (Now I’ve dated myself!)
“You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir,” said Alice. “Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called Jabberwocky?”
“Let’s hear it,” said Humpty Dumpty. “I can explain all the poems that ever were invented — and a good many that haven’t been invented just yet.”
This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first verse:
“‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.”
“That’s enough to begin with,” Humpty Dumpty interrupted: “there are plenty of hard words there. ‘Brillig’ means four o’clock in the afternoon — the time when you begin broiling things for dinner.”
“That’ll do very well,” said Alice: `and ‘slithy’?”
“Well, ‘slithy’ means ‘lithe and slimy’. ‘Lithe’ is the same as ‘active’. You see it’s like a portmanteau — there are two meanings packed up into one word.”
“I see it now,” Alice remarked thoughtfully: “and what are ‘toves’?”
“Well, ‘toves’ are something like badgers — they’re something like lizards — and they’re something like corkscrews.”
“They must be very curious-looking creatures.”
“They are that,” said Humpty Dumpty; “also they make their nests under sun-dials — also they live on cheese.”
Ah, that Lewis Carroll, he was ahead of his time! It is a rather catchy tune, and I can Humpty-Dumpty the lyrics with the best of them. And I’m expecting St. Peter to call my name to the sound of Roman Catholic choirs and Jerusalem bells.
Eyes of the Emperor by Graham Salibury. A Japanese-American boy in Hawaii, Eddy Okubo, experiences the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, lies about his age, and joins the Army. Because of his ethnic background, Eddy is given a special assignment that tests his commitment, patriotism, and endurance.
World War II for Kids: A History with 21 Activities by Richard Panchyk.
“The whole effort started by mistake. Several days after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, people in North Platte, Nebraska heard that their own Company D of the Nebraska National Guard would be passing through town on its way from an Arkansas training camp to the West Coast. A crowd gathered at the Union Pacific train station to greet the boys with cookies, candy, and small gifts. When the train arrived, it turned out it was transporting a Company D from Kansas, not Nebraska. After a moment of disappointment, someone in the crowd asked, ‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ And they began handing their gifts to the war-bound soldiers. The next day Miss Rae Wilson wrote the North Platte Daily Bulletin to suggest that the town open a canteen to greet all troop trains stopping there. ‘Let’s do something and do it in a hurry!’ she wrote. Beginning on Christmas Day 1941 and continuing through World War II, the town offered itself as the North Platte Canteen. For 365 days a year volunteers from the remote community of 12,000 and surrounding hamlets provided hot coffee, doughnuts, sandwiches, and encouragement for young soldiers passing through. Hundreds of families, churches, schools, businesses, and clubs pitched in to help raise money, buy supplies, and make food. They greeted every soldier on every train with gifts and good wishes. By April 1, 194 its last day, the North Platte Canteen had served more than 6 million GI’s.” Taken from The American Patriot’s Almanac, compiled by William J. Bennett and John T.E. Cribb. Semicolon review here.
What small act of kindness or charity is God asking you to do today? Do it. Don’t delay or find excuses; just do it. Who knows how God may multiply your small effort?
Road to Tater Hill is the story of Annabel and the death of her baby sister Mary Kate. The story reminded me of Love, Aubrey, another Middle Grade Fiction Cybils nominee in which a mother grieves so deeply for her lost child that she neglects the child she has left alive. Also in both books the child who is neglected and also grieving finds a new friend to help her cope with her loss and her feeling of not being enough for her mother. In yet another similarity, Aubrey and Annabel both live with a grandmother who takes care of them while their mothers are recovering from their depression. (You can read Betsy-Bee’s and my take on Love, Aubrey here.)
