Children's Book Group, July 2006
Paws, Claws, Scales and Tales
The theme for this month's children's book group was the theme the Santa Monica library has adopted for its summer reading program: Paws, Claws, Scales and Tales. Which gave a decent amount of elbow room to the children making their book choices. Pretty much anything with an animal in it would qualify, and what story doesn't have one of those? And then of course that "tales" addendum would open the topic up to include pretty much anything in the way of fiction.
The turnout for the meeting was strong. Many of our regulars were out of town on vacation trips, but, as Sylvia the children's librarian pointed out, we had lots of new friends this time. "I'm a new friend!" little India, Nicole's older daughter, piped up. She pointed to her younger sister August. "And she's a new friend, too!"
With that kind of beginning, how could we go wrong?
Sylvia started off the meeting by reading Mabela the Clever, an African folk tale retold by Margaret Read MacDonald. This beautifully illustrated story begins with some field mice being invited to join the cat club. Not being the sharpest tools in the rodent shed, they eagerly agree. Only Mabela harbors some suspicions. The mice are marched along by the cats, and warned never to look back. This has always seemed a strange sort of injunction to me, by the way. Why does it come up so often, and why is it so brutally punished? Lot's wife, Orpheus longing for Eurydice...why was that yearning or curious glance back perceived as so terrible? This story protests against such a rule, and I must say I approve. Mabela keeps an eye out and saves the day for herself and her friends, though not the cats. Well, a victory for one team is inevitably a loss for another. But still, if the other team is luring you over in the hope of devouring you alive, you can't really feel that bad for them if they lose, can you? Or maybe I'm just funny that way.
After Sylvia had finished, Miles, a first-timer at the meetings, presented his book: How Droofus the Dragon Lost His Head, by Bill Peet. This brought back to me melancholy memories of Wump World, a sweet but massively depressing story by the same author which I read and was permanently traumatized by as an impressionable young girl. I tried to get over it now, since Miles was having a good time; and indeed, this book looked like cheerier fare. "I like the cool pictures," Miles explained, flipping through a few for us. And what did he like best about the book? "That he didn't lose his head." He didn't? "Well, he lost it just for a moment." Even I want to read it now. I hope the library has another copy.
India, another first-timer, then presented her book: Robert Sabuda's stunning Encyclopedia Prehistorica: Dinosaurs. Sabuda has done several other books -- Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz. Yes, I know he's not the author of those works, but to call his adaptations pop-up books just seems to damn him with faint praise. They're works of art disguised in book form, and if you open up just one of them you'll immediately understand why I'm reluctant to have them classed with Peek-A-Moo and other perfectly fine but utterly ordinary pop-up works. India's book is the dinosaur book to give to the rare child who doesn't like dinosaurs. You'll have an immediate convert. The information is flawless and skillfully presented, and every page has miniature pop-up books within the main pop-up book. Marvelous. You'll hardly be able to stand to give it away once you buy it, and in fact you shouldn't give it to someone too young. The pop-ups are fairly sturdy but very intricate, and the colors are so beautifully blended as to be irresistible. It would be a shame to put this book into the hands of someone who might harm it and then weep bitterly over the loss. Get a copy for yourself and read it on the sly until your little one's a little older.
Anyway. India had greatly enjoyed this book, and would cheerfully have told us about every page of it. She contented herself with one or two of the highlights. "Don't mess with Mama!" she cried gleefully at one point, demonstrating the workings of one of the books within the book and reminding us of something that should be obvious but that is also so easily forgotten: always treat mothers with respect, especially if they weigh several tons more than you do and have teeth the size of bananas. Then she turned to the page graced by a purple and red ankylosaurus. I know that sounds like it shouldn't work, but it does, it really does. The ankylosaurus, for those readers who have moved several decades past their dino-nerd days, is that wonderful beastie with the club-like tail. "If someone got hurt by this guy," India said in her lovely matter-of-fact British way, "he would just die!"
India's sister August then took the stage. India hovered in the background, and occasionally in the foreground. "I'm just going to stay with her if she needs me," she insisted, but it was pretty obvious that August, though she's only about the size of a newly-hatched robin and every bit as cute, needed no help from anyone. I wasn't able to catch the title of it, but her book was also a pop-up -- a very clever one, created by the same person who wrote and illustrated another book that my son just tearlessly packed away, since he's now too big for it. I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to write to August yourself if you want the author or title of her book. I have to sit here and be overwhelmed by the fact that my son has outgrown what used to be one of his favorite books. He used to sit in his stroller and read it while I would jog along behind, muttering Greek verbs to myself and trying to avoid puddles. There was this one page with a little duckie, and he would always stop at it and tell me...
Okay, never mind. August's book was very nice, is what I meant to say. There were peacocks and tigers, and alligator babies jumping out of eggs. "What do you like best about this book?" August's mother, Nicole, asked her in an effort to make this a group experience rather than August sitting in front of us all and rereading a favorite volume. "That it's mine," she said. Which I'm pretty sure I'll be cherishing the memory of until I'm ninety, at least.
Brian, the oldest of three siblings in a family that manages to be well-behaved and wonderfully goofy at the same time, then presented his book. You know the Dragonology book? Sure you do, if you're a parent. Your kid's been begging for it since he learned how to breathe. Well, Brian presented the Dragonology guide to tracking and taming dragons. What kind of tips did it offer, I wondered out loud (since you never know when this kind of thing might come in handy). "Riddles," he answered. "Dragons like riddles."
"What do dragons eat?" Nicole said, in the same tone of mild but definite concern.
"It depends on the dragon," Brian said.
"People?"
"Yes," Brian said, and then modified judiciously, "sometimes."
Ah.
Joe, Brian's younger brother, then presented a book about Balto the sled dog. It was a true story. Balto helped bring medicine to a town in Alaska in 1925, when most of the inhabitants had been stricken with some desperate illness. The 53-mile trip took twenty hours. There's a statue of Balto in Central Park, and as Joe and his family had recently visited New York City, they had brought with them to today's meeting a picture of themselves posed smilingly next to a solemn, stony Balto. "Is Balto still alive?" Joe asked his mother. "I don't believe so," she said. I got dizzy trying to figure out what 81 would be in dog years.
Mara then got up to present -- but I've forgotten to mention that ever since Brian stepped down to let the next person present, August (she of the baby-alligator pop-up book) had decided that it must be her turn to sit in the special chair again. She's only two, so that whole one-per-customer deal is a very opaque idea. Her mother took her aside to get an early start on the craft materials, but she wasn't so distracted that she didn't pipe up "My turn!" every time someone finished their presentation.
Sorry. All right, then. Mara had read Dr. Doolittle's Zoo. India was fascinated from the outset. "Why did they name him Do Little?" she asked. "Doolittle is his last name," Mara pointed out, adding, "I'm not sure why the author named him that." "Is this a fiction book?" India went on. Mara thought hard, and all the grownups in the room sympathetically remembered our own childhood struggles with the words "fiction" and "nonfiction" -- which one means it's true again? "Yes," Mara answered finally, and we all applauded.
Andrew got up to talk about Dinosaurs Before Dark, the first book in the Magic Treehouse series. If you're a parent, you've heard of these books; if you're not a parent, you haven't, and shouldn't pick one up unless you're in the market for a cheap and easy combination of sedative and birth control. This book was also Andrew's first chapter book that he ever read all by himself. Wild applause naturally followed this announcement. Andrew, if you're reading this: we're very proud of you, and hope to hear more good news about your adventures in reading.
Phillip, Andrew's older brother, then told us about the book he'd read, Summer of the Monkeys. He gave quite a detailed description of this book, all of it sounding intriguing and eminently readable. Unfortunately, all that sticks with me at this late date is the mathematically sound formula I gleaned from one particular episode he discussed: namely, monkeys stealing some guy's pants while said guy is drunk = instant comedy, regardless of what may be happening in the rest of the book (or the rest of the world, for that matter).
Maggie, Brian and Joe's sister, had read Eleanor Estes' classic Ginger Pye. Ginger Pye is a cat, and with a name like that, I'm sure he's a very nice one. Plus why else would anyone want to write a whole book about him? I mean, I guess if a cat was a really big jerk, it might make an interesting story, but then you'd have to have some kind of redemption episode at the end. Come to think of it, I believe I've just summed up Esther Averill's The Fire Cat, so now you don't have to go to all the trouble of reading it unless you want to. And you should, if only to see the extremely cute illustrations of the eponymous cat (whose given name, by the way, is Pickles). But that's what we're talking about now. Ginger Pye isn't in need of redemption. He does need ransoming or something, though, because in the book named after him, he gets kidnapped. And on Thanksgiving, too. I mean, how unfair is that? Especially to the mom. She'd probably been working for days making that dinner, and now no one's going to want to eat it. But everything turns out okay. Maybe not for the dinner, but at least for the cat. Maggie presented the tantalizing bones of the book's plot in her inimitable Maggie fashion, and we all applauded. "Thank you," she said modestly. "And I'd like to thank my mom for typing this..." More applause.
Ordinarily James would have talked about his book right around the same time that his brothers Phillip and Andrew talked about theirs. But his book was special today, because it tied in with the craft project that his mama was nice enough to organize, so we saved it for last. It was called I am an Ankylosaurus (no, not the one by Tolstoy -- the other I am an Ankylosaurus). The plot was fairly simple and straightforward, but did contain one gripping passage when a mother dinosaur bashed another dino who was trying to steal an egg. Life lessons all over the place today, I'm telling you.
James' mama Tammy then talked about her book, which was a wonderful craft book called Wild About Reptiles. It's one of those rare books where the crafts are at once appealing and easy, so even a klutz like me can look at them and say, "Hey! I could do that! If someone helped me with the directions! And the scissors!" Tammy had tried out the Flying Dragon Glider from this very volume, and decided that we were up to it, and so we all adjourned to the other side of the room and enjoyed ourselves hugely with lovely colored paper and drinking straws. I frankly can't think of a better ending to any meeting than this, and highly recommend it if you're at a loss after that Power Point presentation your boss was so insistent about.
Next month: Wild Card!
Got a question or comment?
Write to the Book Lady.
If you found this essay helpful,
please visit the Filthy Lucre page
