Archive | November 2009

The Beast of Blackslope by Tracy Barrett

Nov30

The Beast of Blackslope is the second in The Sherlock Files series by Nashville author Tracy Barrett. (Interesting side note: Eldest Daughter knows Ms. Barrett since they both teach in the language department at Vanderbilt University.) Xena and Xander are American kids living in England with their parents, part-time detectives, and descendants of the famous Sherlock Holmes. Because they are Holmes’ great-great-great grandchildren, Xena and Xander have inherited his casebook with his cold case files, notes on cases that the great detective failed to solve. One of those unsolved cases, similar to The Hound of the Baskervilles, is the Case of the Beast of Blackslope, a beast that Sherlock Holmes himself was unable to locate or capture.

Now a hundred plus years later, the Beast has reappeared in the small village of Blackslope, and Xena and Xander are determined to solve the case this time. Is there really a Beast? If so, why has it returned to Blackslope? Why are the people in Blackslope so secretive about the Beast? What is everybody hiding? Does the Beast carry off humans who disappear never to be heard of again? Who will be next?

I would give The Beast of Blackslope to the younger end of the Middle Grade Fiction age spectrum: eight, nine, ten and eleven year olds who are reading well and are mystery fans. The book reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s Three Investigators series, a series I’ve not thought about in ages.

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
One or more of these books is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Petronella Saves Nearly Everyone by Dene Low

Nov30

First we meet Petronella:

“I preferred to be called Petronella. Eunice is such an unfortunate name, and I cannot imagine what came over my dear but deceased parents when they gave it to me. Perhaps some sort of simultaneous apoplectic fit.”

Then we are introduced to her unfortunate uncle and guardian Augustus T. Percival:

Uncle Augustus frowned. . . . “It seems I have an enormous appetite for all things of the insect and arachnid varieties.” He caught a passing fly in one swift movement of his hand, popped it into his mouth, and chewed happily.

James Sinclair is the hero of the piece and Petronella’s love interest:

James’s eyes twinkled, and his mouth curved in a smile that had smitten me since I was five and he was nine. If only he were not Jane’s brother—brother of my bosom friend—he might consider me as more than a younger sister. But fate plays cruel games with hearts and show no remorse. If I were to have him notice me at all, it should have to be as a sister, and I should have to be content with that or nothing, and to have nothing of James would be the cruelest fate of all.

And Jane, James’s sister, is Petronella’s bosom friend:

“Jane walked up to me and slipped her arm through mine. How she managed to look exactly the same as she had before the calamity I shall never know. But then, Jane always appears to have stepped out of a band box.”

In the end, Petronella does save nearly all of the above and, in addition, rescues Mother England itself from a nefarious plot to do incalculable harm to the entire population.

As the perceptive reader will have already discerned, the novel is set in Victorian England. The style and humor of the book owe something to Oscar Wilde and P.G. Wodehouse and maybe Lemony Snicket(?). I can’t imagine that this book will enjoy the same level of popularity as wimpy kids and vampire lovers, but for a certain sort of child with a certain sort of humor (and a large vocabulary), Petronella might just fit the bill.

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
One or more of these books is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Christmas with Mark Twain, c.1897

Nov30

Mark Twain was born on November 30, 1835.

“The approach of Christmas brings harrassment and dread to many excellent people. They have to buy a cart-load of presents, and they never know what to buy to hit the various tastes; they put in three weeks of hard and anxious work, and when Christmas morning comes they are so dissatisfied with the result, and so disappointed that they want to sit down and cry. Then they give thanks that Christmas comes but once a year.”
– Following the Equator

“It is my heart-warm and world-embracing Christmas hope and aspiration that all of us, the high, the low, the rich, the poor, the admired, the despised, the loved, the hated, the civilized, the savage (every man and brother of us all throughout the whole earth), may eventually be gathered together in a heaven of everlasting rest and peace and bliss, except the inventor of the telephone.” From Caroline Harnsberger’s Mark Twain at Your Fingertips.

Here’s hoping that your Christmas season celebration turns out to be less stressful and harassing than Mr. Twain’s seemed to be. What would he say about cell phones and email?

Advanced Reading Survey: Green Mansions by W.H. Hudson

Nov29

I’ve decided that on Mondays I’m going to revisit the books I read for a course in college called Advanced Reading Survey, taught by the eminent scholar and lovable professor, Dr. Huff. I’m not going to re-read all the books and poems I read for that course, probably more than fifty, but I am going to post to Semicolon the entries in the reading journal that I was required to keep for that class because I think that my entries on these works of literature may be of interest to readers here and because I’m afraid that the thirty year old spiral notebook in which I wrote these entries may fall apart ere long. I may offer my more mature perspective on the books, too, if I remember enough about them to do so.

Author:
William Henry Hudson was born to American parents who emigrated to Argentina and spent most of his adult life in England. He was an ornithologist who published studies of Argentine and British birds. His fiction and nonfiction books are greatly concerned with nature and the beauty of the natural world. Appropriately, a bird sanctuary is established in Hyde Park in London as a memorial to Mr. Hudson.

Characters:
Abel: a young Venezuelan man.
Rima: a bird-girl, survivor of a lost race.
Nuflo: the old man with whom Rima lives.
Runi: an Indian chief.

Summary:
A young man meets a mysterious and beautiful bird-girl in the depths of the Venezuelan jungle. The two fall in love, but the perfect love between them is spoiled by the appearance of both primitive envy and the encroachment of civilization.

Quotations:
“Caring not in that solitude to disguise my feelings from myself, and from the wide heaven that looked down and saw me—for this is the sweetest thing that solitude has for us, that we are free in it, and no convention holds us—I dropped on my knees and kissed the stony ground, than casting up my eyes, thanked the Author of my being for the gift of that wild forest, those green mansions where I found so great a happiness.”

“It was as if Nature herself, in supreme anguish and abandonment, had cast herself prone on the earth, and her great heart had throbbed audibly, shaking the world with its beats.”

“Our souls were near together, like two raindrops side by side, drawing irresistibly nearer, ever nearer; for now they had touched and were not two, but one inseparable drop, crystallised beyond change, not to be disintegrated by time, nor shattered by death’s blow, nor resolved by any alchemy.”

I’ve written about this book before in a post entitled Under the Radar: An Adult Fiction Trio.

Hymn of the Week: The First Noel the Angel Did Say

Nov29

Lyrics: Unknown, of Cornish origin, 1400’s(?).

Music: Traditional English Melody from W. Sandy’s Christmas Carols, 1833.

Theme: Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!
Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!
See, your King comes to you,
righteous and having salvation,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
Zechariah 9:9

In the 1956 Baptist Hymnal, the one I grew up with, the section of Christmas carols begins on page 63 with The First Noel. When I was a girl , The First Noel was my favorite Christmas carol. I liked the word “noel” (not “nowell”). I liked the picture of the shepherds and the wise men looking up and following the same Christmas star. I liked the song of praise for God’s creation and his redemption of mankind that made up the final verse.

Kenneth W. Osbeck: The repetition of the joyous “noel” in the refrain is equivalent to our singing out “happy birthday” to someone.

Ace Collins, Stories Behind the Best-Loved Songs of Christmas: “In England, The First Noel was sung each year by many peasants as they lit the Yule log. THerefore, this became the song that started the entire Christmas season. Especially for children, this carol meant the beginning of the most wonderful time of the year. Down through the ages the tradition of the Yule log arried with it the music of this folk carol. Though its words and music were not written down, The First Noel survived.”

IMG_1427.JPGThe first Noel the angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields where they lay, keeping their sheep,
On a cold winter’s night that was so deep:
Refrain:
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel.

They lookèd up and saw a star,
Shining in the east, beyond them far:
And to the earth it gave great light,
And so it continued both day and night:

And by the light of that same star,
Three Wise Men came from country far;
To seek for a King was their intent,
And to follow the star whersoever it went:

This star drew nigh to the north-west;
O’er Bethlehem it took its rest;
And there it did both stop and stay
Right over the place where Jesus lay:

Then entered in those Wise Men three,
Fell reverently upon their knee,
And offered there in his presence,
Their gold and myrrh and frankincense:

Then let us all with one accord
Sing praises to our heavenly Lord
That hath made heaven and earth of nought,
And with his blood mankind hath bought.

Sunday Salon: Books Read in November, 2009

Nov29

After by Amy Efaw. (YA Cybils nominee) Semicolon review here.

Absolutely Maybe by Lisa Yee. (YA Cybils nominee) Very sad teenager from a dysfunctional family ends up in LA looking for her dad along with two friends who have issues of their own. They’re lucky they don’t all end up working the streets or in juvenile detention.

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. Semicolon review here.

Make Way for Sam Houston by Jean Fritz. Semicolon review here.

Cybils Nominees Read:
The Last Invisible Boy by Evan Kuhlman. Semicolon review here.

Gone From These Woods by Donna Bailey Seagraves. Semicolon review here.

Extra Credit by Andrew Clements. Clements’ latest school story is about a tomboyish girl who becomes pen pals with an Afghan boy and his sister.

The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly. Semicolon review here.

Standing for Socks by Elissa Brent Weissman. Silly and implausible story about a girl who becomes famous for wearing mismatched socks. My girls do this all the time, and nobody notices.

Angel Cake by Cathy Cassidy. Boy crazy Polish immigrant, Anya, falls for bad boy Daniel . . . in Liverpool, England. This one was unbelievable, too, especially the ending.

Return to Sender by Julia Alvarez. Semicolon review here.

A Recipe 4 Robbery by Marybeth Kelsey. Semicolon review here.

Take the Mummy and Run: The Riot Brothers Are on a Roll by Mary Amato.

Lucky Breaks by Susan Patron.

Scat by Carl Hiaassen.

The Beast of Backslope by Tracy Barrett.

Operation Yes by Sara Lewis Holmes.

Black Angels by Linda Beatrice Brown. Semicolon review here.

Al Capone Shines My Shoes by Gennifer Choldenko. Semicolon review here.

Rescuing Seneca Crane by Susan Runholt. Semicolon review here.

Dani Noir by Nova Ben Suma. Semicolon review here.

Born to Fly by Michael Ferrari. Semicolon review here.

Newsgirl by Liza Ketchum. Semicolon review here.

William S. and the Great Escape by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Semicolon review here.

Bull Rider by Suzanne Morgan Williams. Semicolon review here.

I’m mostly reading middle grade fiction this month and in December, trying to get all the nominees read before Christmas so that we the judging panel can decide on five finalists. Wish me luck because I still have a big stack of books to read, and I’d like to review them all, too.

C.S. Lewis on Christmas

Nov29

Clive Staples Lewis was born November 29, 1898. On Christmas Day 1931, C.S. Lewis joined the Anglican Church and took communion.

“The White Witch? Who is she?
“Why, it is she that has got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she that makes it always winter and never Christmas; think of that!”
“How awful!” said Lucy.
~The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

It was a sledge, and it was reindeer with bells on their harness. But they were far bigger than the Witch’s reindeer, and they were not white but brown. And on the sledge sat a person whom everyone knew the moment they set eyes on him. He was a huge man in a bright red robe (bright as hollyberries) with a hood that had fur inside it and a great white beard that fell like a foamy waterfall over his chest. Everyone knew him because, though you see people of his sort only in Narnia, you see pictures of them and hear them talked about even in our world–the world on this side of the wardrobe door. But when you really see them in Narnia it is rather different. Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn’t find it quite like that. He was so big, and so glad, and so real, that they all became quite still. They felt very glad, but also solemn.
~The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

“In the middle of winter when fogs and rains most abound they have a great festival which they call Exmas, and for fifty days they prepare for it in the fashion I shall describe. First of all, every citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture, which in their speech is called an Exmas-card. But the pictures represent birds sitting on branches, or trees with a dark green prickly leaf, or else men in such garments as the Niatirbians believe that their ancestors wore two hundred years ago riding in coaches such as their ancestors used, or houses with snow on their roofs. And the Niatirbians are unwilling to say what these pictures have to do with the festival, guarding (as I suppose) some sacred mystery. And because all men must send these cards the market-place is filled with the crowd of those buying them, so that there is great labour and weariness.

******

Such, then, are their customs about the Exmas. But the few among the Niatirbians have also a festival, separate and to themselves, called Crissmas, which is on the same day as Exmas. And those who keep Crissmas, doing the opposite to the majority of the Niatirbians, rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast. And in most of the temples they set out images of a fair woman with a new-born Child on her knees and certain animals and shepherds adoring the Child. . . . But what Hecataeus says, that Exmas and Crissmas are the same, is not credible. For the first, the pictures which are stamped on the Exmas-cards have nothing to do with the sacred story which the priests tell about Crissmas. And secondly, the most part of the Niatirbians, not believing the religion of the few, nevertheless send the gifts and cards and participate in the Rush and drink, wearing paper caps. But it is not likely that men, even being barbarians, should suffer so many and great things in honour of a god they do not believe in.”
~God in the Dock, A Lost Chapter from Herodotus. Read the entire “lost chapter.”

I feel exactly as you do about the horrid commercial racket they have made out of Christmas. I send no cards and give no presents except to children.
~Letters to an American Lady.

He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity; down further still, . . . to the very roots and seabed of the Nature He has created. But He goes down to come up again and bring the whole ruined world up with Him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself underneath some great complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift, he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders.
Or one may think of a diver, first reducing himself to nakedness, then glancing in mid-air, then gone with a splash, vanished, rushing down through green and warm water into black and cold water, down through increasing pressure into the death-like region of ooze and slime and old decay; then up again, back to colour and light, his lungs almost bursting, till suddenly he breaks surface again, holding in his hand the dripping, precious thing that he went down to recover.
~Miracles.

The Son of God became a man to enable men to become the sons of God.
~C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

C.S. Lewis on Heaven.

Madeleine L’Engle Favorites

Nov29

Madeleine L’Engle was born November 29, 1918.

Favorite adult novel by Madeleine L’Engle: The Love Letters

Second favorite adult novel: The Severed Wasp

Third favorite adult novel: Certain Women. Semicolon review here.

Favorite Young Adult novel: The Small Rain. Semicolon review here.

Favorite of the Time Quartet books: A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Favorite male characters: Charles Wallace or Felix Bodeway, the Window Washer

Favorite female characters: Meg Murry, Polly, Vicky Austin, Katherine Forrester, all of them.

Favorite Austin family novel: A Ring of Endless Light

Favorite Murry family novel: A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Favorite nonfiction: The Summer of the Great-Grandmother

If you’ve never read anything by Madeleine L’Engle, I would suggest that you start with one of the following:

Science fiction/fantasy fans: A Wrinkle in Time
Adolescent girls: A Ring of Endless Light
Adolescent boys: The Young Unicorns
Artists and writers: Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art
Romance fiction fans: The Love Letters. Semicolon review here.
Students and fans of children’s literature: Trailing Clouds of Glory: Spiritual Values in Children’s Literature
For Christmas inspirational reading: A Full House(short story)

A Madeleine L’Engle Annotated Bibliography.
Madeleine L’Engle: In Her Own Words
Carol’s Meme for November 29th: Lewis, L’Engle, and Alcott.

Christmas in Concord, Massachusetts, 1863

Nov29

Louisa May Alcott was born on November 29, 1832.

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.

“I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an injured sniff.

“We’ve got Father and Mother, and each other,” said Beth contentedly from her corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, “We haven’t got Father, and shall not have him for a long time.” She didn’t say “perhaps never,” but each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, “You know the reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can’t do much,but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don’t” And Meg shook her head,as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.

“But I don’t think the little we should spend would do any good. We’ve each got a dollar, and the army wouldn’t be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want to buy UNDINE AND SINTRAM for myself. I’ve wanted it so long,” said Jo, who was a bookworm.

“I planned to spend mine in new music,” said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder.

“I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing pencils. I really need them,” said Amy decidedly.

“Mother didn’t say anything about our money, and she won’t wish us to give up everything. Let’s each buy what we want, and have a little fun. I’m sure we work hard enough to earn it,” cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.