Child & YA Lit.

The End

2008-12-07T12:31:00.000-08:00

This class has been quite spectacular for me. I have learned a lot and made more connections with children's literature than I thought possible. I had no idea that there were so many variations on one fairy tale, or better yet, that we could find those fairy tales displaced in our everyday lives. I had never read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass. Until this class my only views of Alice came from Disney and they did not do her justice. I think I appreciate children's literature more, though I have never taken it for granted. I don't think I knew just how important it is to the imagination or art or history. I had a light bulb moment with coincidence and how prevalent it is through any work of literature. I think authors might use it a little too much as an easy way out. In a writing workshop I took one time, I was told to never end a story with, and then I woke up, or something to those lines. But that is how Alice and Dorothy come back through their portals. That is their 'return' part of their journey. I don't think it is a cop out at all. Dream is very important to us. It keeps us dreaming, and when we are dreaming we are experiencing. I have learned about didactic literature and how it really is all around us, it is just how blatant the author is with it that really matters. I have journeyed alongside Lyra from the move from innocence to experience and loved every minute of it. Truly this was a journey worth taking from the pages of a children's book.

Storytelling

2008-12-07T11:52:00.000-08:00

I read Sam's blog about storytelling - that the most important part of the story is the events that take place in it. I'm not sure I can agree with this. I have a strong attachment to characters. Without good, solid characters it doesn't really matter what happens to them. Maybe I'm arguing that there can't be one important component to story because there are so many layers that are involved. It is more like a well oiled machine. Still as a writer, I can't deny my characters are the driving force of my story. I plot out a couple of chapters ahead what might happen to them, but even that is subject to change if I don't think the character would actually do or say that. My writing revolves around their moods and feelings, how they interact with each other. The events of the story is more like transportation, it is a vital devise that helps get them from place to place, but it isn't the core. I have heard from other authors that their characters take on a life of their own and that they end up taking the reins of the story. Now I haven't gone that far yet, but who knows? Maybe that is how it is suppose to be from a more seasoned writer than me. I do know that the creation of characters is more like a birthing process. It takes time and effort, lots of hard work. What goes into a story about a character is only a fraction of what the author has written elsewhere about the character. Most have little mini biographies about each character stowed away somewhere. They are that important to the story.

Art

2008-12-07T11:34:00.000-08:00

Art. Museums are filled to the brim with it. Tourists come from miles around to gaze at it. But what draws us to it? (Huh, unintentional pun, sorry) Is there a purpose to it? And why the heck is it a theme in our children's literature class?
Think back to Alice's Adventure's in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, and the graphic novel Alice in Sunderland. How different those stories would be without their illustrations. What is a book without pictures? It pains me to say this, but sometimes words aren't enough. Writing in itself is an art form. It should be natural for words and pictures to go together. Even now, you are staring at an example of their perfect union. This blog would be far less interesting and fun without these pictures to go along with my words. What a team they make! They give an extra boost to the reader's imagination. True, I have heard the argument that a reader might want to use their own imagination to dream up the characters, and that is perfectly fine too. That is why not all books have pictures. Not all readers are up for the extra challenge!

Fallen

2008-12-07T11:06:00.000-08:00

"There are two great powers, and they've been fighting since time began. Every advance in human life, every scrap of knowledge and wisdom and decency we have has been torn by one side from the teeth of the other. Every little increase in human freedom has been fought over ferociously between those who want us to know more and be wiser and stronger, and those who want us to obey and be humble and submit" (Pullman 532).

I don't see this as a fight between man and God, or angels. This if a fight amongst men. Because knowledge is power, those who have it have tried to deceive those who don't for centuries. During the time of the crusades, the Catholic Church was at its pinnacle of power. Most of the common class people couldn't read. Therefore, they had to rely on and trust their church leaders to interpret the Bible for them. But this put too much power in the fallible hands of men. The church leaders became greedy and hungered for more, more money and more power. They settled over the land like locusts. They wanted to rule the people and to control them. The people had to obey, to be humble and to submit.

This picture was nothing like that one from Genesis when God would walk and talk with Adam in the Garden of Eden. Adam was not stolen from or taken advantage of. Adam was like a child. He was young compared to God and still learning.

Now the church leaders could only be battled by one force, knowledge. It took many years, but finally Martin Luther nailed his proclamation to the church doors and so began a time of knowledge. With the people in possession of the scripture verses, they didn't have to rely on the church leaders anymore. They grew stronger and wiser, and eventually this is the group of people who sat sail across the Atlantic to colonize America in the name of freedom of religion.

Female villians in children's stories

2008-12-07T10:53:00.000-08:00

In fairy tales, the reigning villain is the stepmother followed closely by the wicked witch. Both characters are generally older women who are on the south side of attractive. Most of the time they are down right ugly apposed to the protagonist's beauty. However in recent years, a new type of witch/stepmother has stepped into the spotlight. Beautiful and seductive, the White Witch from the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, may be cold-hearted but she knows how to turn a man's head and play with his mind. Taking up the role as evil step-mother, who just happens to be the real mother, Mrs. Coulter from The Golden Compass is also a woman with power who manipulates with a cold countenance. Remember that all her secret experiments were done in the North? And she liked to watch? Yes, the ugly wicked witches and stepmothers of old have been changed into cruel women of stone cold beauty. Reminding us, maybe, why roses have thorns.

Children's and Young Adult Literature

2008-12-05T18:25:00.000-08:00

One theme that the class did not touch on, that I thought it would, was the difference between children and young adult literature. In fact, even while reading His Dark Material's series, the books were referred to as children's books. The majority of the class reading was focused on children's literature from fairy tales to Alice's Wonderland to Dorothy's OZ. But where does the distinction lie with the two age groups? What is the difference in material or writing style? If you dismiss the fairy tales, the distinctions are easier to find. Themes of love and death are explored more in depth in a teen's novel vs. a child's. Of course the material is more mature as well. Drugs, sex, violence, language, and thematic elements can be prevalent in a YA novel, but wouldn't dare invade a children's novel in this day and age. The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and Amber Spyglass are much darker novels that touch on coming of age, but center around survival and the battle between good and evil. I see the children's books do this as well, but not to the blatant degree that YA novels flaunt these themes. You have to look much closer in children's books to find this, they tend to be much more subtle.

What comes from dreams...

2008-12-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

Dream

2008-12-04T18:18:00.001-08:00

Life, what is it but a dream?" Who else could speak these immortal words but the master of words himself, Lewis Carroll? The last line from Through the Looking Glass seems simple enough, but what is it really getting to? If we take this as a literal reading than we are living in a dream world, like from the Matrix. Everything we see, hear, touch, smell, or taste is nothing more than make believe. A phantom world created by an unknown author. Of course this author would have created what we sense from his imagination. Six degrees of separation! Everything is connected! Interesting, huh? But what if we take the meaning a different way? When we go to sleep at night, we dream. Our dreams help us work out the daily stresses of our lives. But dreams are also fuel for our imagination. It's beautiful. It was actually a dream that I had that gave me the idea for the novel I am working on. I jumped right out of bed and ran straight to my computer. The dream was so clear and wonderful. This is how I see dreams, as beautiful inspiration. Doing what my brain can't always do when it is awake!

Imagination

2008-12-04T17:53:00.000-08:00

Every child exceeds in one subject. Imagination. They think up far away places to go that may not exist or they make believe themselves to be a pirate or an astronaut, a doctor or a princess. With imagination, they can go anywhere and be whomever they want to be. It is a wonderful time. But some adults don't understand this key element to childhood. They can squash a child's enthusiasm for the imagination. A good children's book can counteract this attack. The plucky characters and fantastic worlds has the power to take a child far away from family strife. But not every child is so fortunate. Even in America, the literacy rate in some parts of the country is appalling. I can't imagine growing up as a child without the ability to read. It hurts just thinking about not growing up with Bruce Coville, Bill Wallace, Jane Yolen, or Tamara Pierce. These people were my role models. They are masters of imagination. They are adults who have learned to go forward into to childhood and to live on the sweetness of words. Those who can truly appreciate the gift of imagination, enrich and lengthen their lives.

Coincidence

2008-12-03T21:45:00.001-08:00

One of our themes for children's literature is coincidence. Why is that? I think Phillip Pullman does an excellent job explaining that on page 491 of the Subtle Knife. "Both of them sat silent on the moss-covered rock in the slant of sunlight through the old pines and thought how many tiny chances had conspired to bring them to this place. Each of those chances might have gone a different way. Perhaps in another world, another Will had not seen the window in Sunderland Avenue, and had wandered on tired and lost toward the Midlands until he was caught. And in another world another Pantalaimon had persuaded another Lyra not to stay in the retiring room, and another Lord Asriel had been poisoned, and another Roger had survived to play with Lyra forever on the roofs and in the alleys of another unchanging Oxford." Because, without coincidence, we would have a completely different story. Maybe, even, no story at all. The coincidences are the spices in a story. They make it flavorful, interesting, and fun. They keep us wanting more. They keep us turning the pages to find out what happens next. What are the chances? One in three.

History is a Portal and Story its Guide

2008-12-01T19:07:00.000-08:00

Smoke haloed around the man’s head. His lips curled around a fat cigar and he exhaled in contemplation. His mind thrummed with new visions of far away places. A world overflowing with nonsense and fun. An escape from the stiff upper lips that surrounded him in his world. He sighed. If only. But this backwards world was forbidden to him. Only a child could enter. Only a child could understand. So he would send one. The best one, Alice Pleasance Liddell. Yes, he could see it now. The dark clouds of imagination rolled in unexpectedly. They were full and heavy with ideas. The white rabbit, the caterpillar, the Queen of Hearts with her fierce temper. The words roamed around his mind as the images paraded by, the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, Tweedledum and Tweedledee always with their thoughts so in sync. The images and words weaved in quick succession of one another until he didn’t know which was which. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. He embraced all the beautiful crazy characters with his imagination and then he let them go. They trickled out of his head and drifted gently down embedded into the rich creamy white paper. In his heart he knew they would be beloved to many generations of children to come. He had left his mark in history.
Can you see him? Peer back through time and look at all the lives that came before him, before us. History is a portal. It sweeps us up and whisks us off to another time and place. It is a place that gives freedom to the imagination. It is a place where a little girl tumbles down a rabbit hole to discover new adventures and where a boy can slice open a gap into another world with only a subtle knife. These ideas, after all, blossomed from real historical people, people like Homer, Shakespeare, Mary Shelley, and of course Lewis Carroll and Phillip Pullman. These people actually lived! They left a name for themselves, etched into history books and literature, never to be forgotten. History contains vast multitudes; there is comedy, romance, tragedy, and irony. These genres link the two studies hand in hand.
Bringing history and literature closer together than most might think is repetition. History repeats itself. In wars especially a reader will find dates and battles similar. Literature repeats itself as well. It’s impossible to say where or when the origin of an idea actually occurred. Cupid and Psyche is remarkably akin to Beauty and the Beast, Hans My Hedgehog, or East of the Sun, West of the Moon. These are all displaced myths where the bride is taken by a beast or invisible husband that she must lie next to at night, but must never gaze upon his face. Of course, curiosity wins out over obedience every time and the wife takes a peek at her husband. Another version closer to Beauty and the Beast is that the wife doesn’t return home when she is suppose to, another form of disobedience. Either way, this story is repeated through time in folk lore, fairy tales, graphic novels, movies, poems and novels such as Pride and Prejudice. History and children’s literature are a coin with two sides. It is quite impossible to have one without the other.
During 7th and 8th grade, I home-schooled and the approach I took to learn history was through literature. That was my schooling program. I read wonderful historical fiction novels that were quite accurate. I loved to learn this way. Even better, I learned to be self taught. As Henry James once said, "It takes a great deal of history to produce a little literature." Nothing could be closer to the truth. History is how we teach ourselves not to repeat the same mistakes. But it is more than that – like literature, history doesn’t simply teach us how to live right, but how to truly experience life. History and literature are an integral part of our make-up and our culture.
Alice in Sunderland takes that concept a step further. All the way through Talbot's graphic novel he demonstrates, either through fact or fiction, that everything is connected. Chance and happenstance become a major theme as Talbot brings multiple strings of history and ties them to one town called Sunderland, which just happens to sound like Wonderland. (Coincidence, he says, I think not.) At the end of the graphic novel, Talbot is supposed to reveal which story he told was false. He opens the envelope and nothing is inside. “Er…sorry. In all the excitement, I forgot to include one. They’re all true” (301)! However; through the class reading it was discovered that he had misquoted a Charles Dickens’ line. This gives way to some doubt about the validity of the rest of the book.
Except does it matter if it is true? The book taught and entertained, therefore, according to Aristotle, it did its job. And who knows how much of history is true anyway? History is not written by the losers of wars or the farmers and factory workers of the world. Nor was it written by the women. History is, after all, naturally bias. The facts get mixed in with the fantasy, but the fantasy only makes it more interesting. Therefore, isn't literature and history one and the same? Isn’t all a displacement? When “dull reality takes on the mantle of myth” (Talbot 304) isn’t what we are left with are stories?
Brian Talbot’s words explain this wonderfully, “Stories! Stories we’ve seen and stories we become” (304)! Our lives are displaced myths and so is our history. In His Dark Materials series, the ghost of an old woman gives advice to Mary Malone saying, "Tell them stories. They need the truth. You must tell them true stories, and everything will be well. Just tell them stories" (Pullman, 864). We tell stories to get to the truth. We need the truth as badly as we need the stories. They sustain us. It is what history is all about – portals, truth, and stories. The stories take us back when needed and take us forward when called for. In the end, history and literature are the “elementary particles” of true stories.

Growing up too soon

2008-12-01T17:21:00.000-08:00

" 'And once she got afraid when I wasn't there to help her. I was at school. And she went out and she wasn't wearing very much, only she didn't know. And some boys from my school, they found her, and they started...'
Will's face was hot. Without being able to help it he found himself walking up and down and looking away from Lyra because his voice was unsteady and his eyes were watering. He went on: 'They were tormenting her just like those kids at the tower with the cat....They thought she was mad and they wanted to hurt her, maybe kill her, I wouldn't be surprised. She was just different and they hated her. Anyway, I found her and I got her home. And the next day in school I fought the boy who was leading them. I fought him and I broke his arm and I think I broke some of his teeth - I don't know. And I was going to fight the rest of them, too, but I got in trouble and I realized I better stop because they'd find out - I mean the teachers and the authorities. They'd go to my mother and complain about me, and then they'd find out about how she was and take her away. So I just pretended to be sorry and told the teachers I wouldn't do it again, and they punished me for fighting and I still said nothing. But I kept her safe, see. No one knew apart from those boys, and they knew what I'd do if they said anything; they knew I'd kill them another time. Not just hurt them. And a bit later she got better again. No one knew ever.'
'But after that I never trusted children any more than grownups. They're just as keen to do bad things' "(Pullman 489).

Doesn't sound like something children would do? When we think of a child, generally we think of little angels, innocent creatures that are meant to be protected. The reality of mob mentality affecting children or boy soldiers in Africa seems almost too horrific to be true. But in our quest to discover what a child is, it is a harsh truth that must be examined. At the same time I think a child has to be pushed a lot harder than an adult to finally come to the point of killing another person or beating another. Peer pressure is nothing compared to what some children go through before they finally snap. It takes a lot for that fierce self protecting drive to kick in, and then there is not much that any of us aren't capable of doing. I suppose it is the savage side to human nature. One has only to read Lord of the Flies or The Subtle Knife to see how capable a child is when push comes to shove.

History

2008-11-24T19:40:00.001-08:00

Can you see them? Peer back through time and look at all the lives that came before us. History is a portal. It sweeps us up and whisks us away to another time and place. I was always fascinated by the Renaissance, during the Tudor reign, Queen Mary of Scots, the Trojan War, Caesar, and Alexander the Great. These people actually lived! They left a name for themselves, etched into history books, never to be forgotten. History contains vast multitudes, there is comedy, romance, tragedy, and irony. Thus it links with literature. They go hand in hand. During 7th and 8th grade, I home schooled and the way I learned history was through literature. That was my program. I read wonderful historical fiction novels that were quite historically accurate. I loved to learn this way. As Henry James once said, "It takes a great deal of history to produce a little literature." And it is so true. The way I see literature in everything, I see history too. Each study teaches us not mainly h0w to live right, but how to experience life. Alice in Sunderland takes that a step further. Through Talbot's graphic novel, he demonstrates, either through fact or fiction, that everything is connected. But does it matter if it is true? Who knows how much of history is true. History is not written by the losers. It is naturally bias. Therefore isn't literature and history one and the same? Isn't it all stories? Look at pg 864 in His Dark Materials series, "Tell them stories. They need the truth." We tell stories to get to the truth. I think this is what history is. I think this is why it is such an important theme in our children's literature class.

Results from freakingly acurate daemon test I took.

2008-11-21T19:36:00.000-08:00

Independent Soul

You are calm and logical, but not unemotional. You are an introvert, at heart, preferring to read alone than be subjected to the crush and noise of a big party or bar. You have a few friends and family, whose presence you welcome - to a point. Even they can wear on your nerves eventually, and you need to retreat back into your personal space for a while so you can recharge. Your energy comes in bursts, after which you need a long nap or a couple of evenings at home to recuperate.
You are comfortable with yourself, and reasonably confident. You want the friendship and goodwill of others, but you are not willing to sacrifice your principles in order to get it. If your close friends need something that you can provide, however, you will be the first to offer it.
You are a good and sympathetic listener, and are aware of your friend's emotional states. With your very close friends, you will open up, but rarely - you don't like to burden people with your problems. At the same time, though, you are honest and are not willing to alter the truth for the sake of convenience. Among strangers you are reserved, and may resort to making jokes to disguise your true feelings.
While you are not afraid of conflict, you do not seek it, either. When you are hurt or insulted, you feel that you have a choice to make. You can choose to take the up on it and defend yourself, or you can let it pass. Your decision may depend on how well you know the person, how personally you take the insult, or simply what mood you are in that day. Your friends may not always know how you are going to react, for that reason. Whatever you reaction, though, you will be logical, rational and unnervingly accurate: a measured strike.

Your daemon's form would represent your calm, introverted nature, your cool logic, and your impatience with crowds of people. He would probably whisper ironic comments in your ear, give logical advice and try to hide his soft side from everyone, even you.

Suggested forms: Peregrine Falcon, Snowy Owl, Snow Leopard, Siberian Tiger, Osprey.

P.S. I blogged about what form I thought my daemon would take before I took this quiz. Crazy huh? I pasted the link below. Be sure you have the time to take it, there are 65 questions.

http://www.okcupid.com/tests/the-golden-compass-daemon-test

My daemon

2008-11-20T18:19:00.000-08:00

If I had a daemon, which would be a part of my soul in animal form, I think he would be a siberian tiger. Fierce, intelligent, and majestic, my daemon would fight with me when things got rough and stay up late on those long study nights. Longing for adventure, we would travel the world and take in so many sights. Our understanding of the world would be broadened from rich texts and richer experiences. He would be wild at heart, but at times childishly playful. My true heart and companion. His name would be Arawn, meaning unrestrained wildness.

Dreaming dreams of childhood...

2008-11-18T21:04:00.000-08:00

The dream that captured my sleeping hours last night has no subtle underlying connections with children's lit. In fact, it's pretty blatant. My friends and family had gathered during the day to eat and hang out. Except, no one was paying attention to me. I don't me that I need to be the center of attention at all time, I'm just not like that. I mean that I would try to talk to a friend or my mom and everyone would just ignore me, like I was invisible. So I decided to take my dog for a walk. Because, even asleep, I know my dog would never ignore me. So I put the leash on my golden retriever, Millie, and we head out into the neighborhood. As we start walking, we come across a creepy old house that is dilapidated and made of wooden shingles. Barking is coming from the house, and naturally I speed up. Suddenly, I am in the house next door looking out from a balcony at the old house. My clothes are different and my dog is no longer Millie, but Toto from the Wizard of Oz movie. Little fury thing. So cute. Anyway, Toto is now on the ledge and heading toward the scary house. I rush after him and now see a big dog chewing his way through the house next door's roof. I am freaking out because I just know that that big dog is going to eat little Toto. And then I wake up. I have dogs on the brain apparently. P.S. I know the picture I have here is neither Millie or Toto, but I love this little dog!

Non-sensical poetry!

2008-11-06T10:15:00.000-08:00

"Jabberwocky" is a great non-sense poem, but my favorite poets of this genre are Shel Silverstein and Jack Prelutsky. My all time favorite non-sense poem is "I wave goodbye when butter flies" by Prelutsky.

I wave good-bye when butter flies

and cheer a boxing match,

I've often watched my pillow fight,

I've sewn a cabbage patch,

I like to dance at basket balls

or lead a rubber bad,

I've marveled at a spelling bee,

I've helped a peanut stand.

It's possible a pencil points,
but does a lemon drop?
Does coffee break or chocolate kiss,
and will a soda pop?
I share my milk with drinking straws,
my meals with chewing gum,
and should I see my pocket change,
I'll hear my kettle drum.

It makes me sad when lettuce leaves,
I laugh when dinner rolls,
I wonder if the kitchen sinks,
and if a salad bowls,
I've listened to a diamond ring,
I've waved a football fan,
and if a chimney sweeps the floor,
I'm sure the garbage can.

Six impossible things before breakfast...

2008-11-03T22:10:00.001-08:00

1. Pigs that can fly.

2. Stampede of soccer moms through downtown Bozeman.

3. My brother gets bit by a radio-active dog and now has the power to sonic bark.

4. I get in a spitting contest with Calamity Jane.

5. Our English 304 class gets transported into another dimension where cats chase dogs and President Bush Jr. is running for a third term.

6. William Shakespeare is stopping by for tea tomorrow.

Topic Paper

2008-11-03T21:45:00.000-08:00

Ever since I was a little girl I have been fascinated by words. In second grade I read my first book, Charlotte's Web, and with the encouragement of a great teacher, I found my calling. I wanted to be an author. I grew up thirsty. I combed the library while my friends enjoyed their extended lunches. I wanted a new book. One was always around the corner, I could feel it. My fingers would brush against a cover and would thrum with excitement. This is it, they would tell me. This is the new adventure you've been searching for. Somehow, growing up - I shifted my reading preferences. I liked Bill Wallace at first and all the crazy animal stories he would invent, and then it was Bruce Coville I hungered for and his books of aliens. As I got older I became interested in history and my taste developed into historical novels for teens. (Regardless of the previous blog's rant, I do like history.) From there, it was fantasy and horror, romance and adventure, mystery and mythology. I explored them all. But I was done with children's books. I don't know when it happened. I can't tell you the day I put away my childhood toys and chose volleyball or (sigh) boys instead. But it happened. I still read young adult novels on occasion. But what is the difference between a YA novel and a children's novel. Where does the shift occur? Is it the material, the level of appropriateness? The fairy tales we read for children weren't always age appropriate. It is this difference I wish to explore in my coming term paper. The shift from children's literature (if that can be defined) to young adult literature. - And why it is not taken as seriously as adult novels? These questions and more are what I will be delving into in the weeks to come.

Alice in Sunderland or Alice in Boredomland?

2008-11-03T21:33:00.001-08:00

Ok, so admittedly, I am only halfway through this book, but there is a reason. (yawn) The pictures are amazing and the references to Lewis Carroll and Alice are interesting, but the graphic novel is packed full of history. It's not an interesting tid-bit here and there, it drones on page after page full of tedious historical facts. And I like history! But too much of a good thing is still too much! I think Talbot is missing the point of Carroll and Alice. Lewis Carroll threw random facts in to prove they were dry and changed didactic poems into non-sense like "Jabberwocky." So why Mr. Talbot for all the information? Why the sudden need to teach? Especially to such an unwilling audience? - (the one guy in the entire theater who looks like he is more comfortable in a pub drinking beer than watching a play?) Frustration is my companion through the longest graphic novel in history! - apparently it touches on everything that ever happened in history is the reason for the length! And it all is connected to Sunderland! Everything is connected.

Looking back through a looking glass....

2008-10-26T12:44:00.000-07:00

In the last line of Alice in Wonderland, Alice's older sister is thinking ahead and how Alice's adventures might last longer than a dream. "Lastly she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days." Now Alice must grow up, but if she must, then she is going to keep that child-like simplicity and pass it on to her own children, at least in the eyes of the author. This brings to mind the nostalgia that adults are sometimes overwhelmed by when thinking back on childhood or home. This longing to go back, to live in a world different from our own, but the impossibility of it all. In Through the Looking Glass Alice would laugh at such things and say, "There's no use trying, one ca'n't believe in impossible things." And the White Queen would reply, "I daresay you haven't had much practice. When I was your age I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." Could children's books be adults way of believing in impossible? If only for a moment, maybe.

Who are you?

2008-10-26T12:12:00.000-07:00

The question of identify is raised in both Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. When Alice first tumbles down the rabbit hole, she is off balance. In this, I mean she doesn't know who she is anymore. When asked about her adventures, she replies that she can only tell the story from first entering Wonderland because she doesn't know who the she was before that. She also wonders if now she is a different girl, like some one in her school. The caterpillar asks her point blank, "Who are you?"And she replies by saying, "I - I hardly know, sir, just at the present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have changed several times since." She is out of sorts with always changing sizes and then in the next book she loses her name completely. Could this be a model for a young girl growing up and not knowing who she is growing up into? A lot a changes occur during that time, mentally and physically. Of course Alice is only seven years old and many years from going through puberty. So it must be something else. I read my first novel at seven. Could that be it? Could literacy be the metamorphic factor here? Is Alice no longer a child because she can now read fluently?

My Book and Heart shall Never Part

2008-10-24T15:19:00.001-07:00

Beauty, curiosity, poignant, and gracefully clumsy. The film alighted on each of these. To be a child in an adult world. What it is like to have no other choice but to follow, and yet... And yet there are no barriers on the mind. To learn but not to question is impossible. Because once the floodgates of learning are opened, a wave of words rushes forward, never stopping. This force of literacy can be destructive, or it can build upon the edifices of greatness. Either way, it is a force to be reckoned with. And for the most part, it begins when we are only children. Children whose veil of innocence has yet to be lifted from their trusting eyes. Children who laugh with more zeal and smile with more love than any adult could possibly comprehend. The world seen through their eyes is vastly different than that of an adult's eyes. Nothing is complicated. A little red riding hood is just a hood and nothing more. There is no underlying meaning, no deep significance in the color red. But none of us are Peter Pan, and therefore we all grow up and read more into a story than we once did. It is true we lose some of the magic, but we gain something as well. Knowledge. The film spoke of how once a child learns to read, he or she has partaken of the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The veil is lifted. And to put it in the words of Dr. Seuss, "Oh, the places you'll go!"

Beard as blue as sky

2008-10-07T15:30:00.000-07:00

The lesson of this story is suppose to warn wives against disobeying their husbands. It's suppose to discourage curiosity in young women. But I think it does just the opposite. Who would want to live in ignorance when her husband is actually a psychopathic murderer? Not me. I think the wife was right use that little key to take a peak into that forbidden room. This way, she is frightened, but survives. Her life is threatened, but she prevails. Her brothers save her from her horrible husband and from that, she is able to repay them and her sister for their help. She is also in a position to marry whoever she chooses now; to live the life of a fairy tale princess. I would consider Bluebeard the horror story even among the grimmest of the fairy tales. It's the Psycho of its time. I mean this guy goes through wives like some men go through shirts! I wonder if this story actually caused some wives to fear their husbands and go through their stuff.

Vasilisa the Fair and Baba Yaga

2008-10-06T13:53:00.000-07:00

Vasilisa is the Russian version of Cinderella. There is a slight similarity with Hansel and Gretel as well, but that is only because of the witch woman in the middle of the forest, but for the most part, Vasilisa most resembles Cinderella. Her mother has died and her father has gone away and left her with her evil stepmother and stepsisters. She must act as their servant and is treated poorly. She goes to the forest (or ball) and has an experience that changes her life. In the end she is elevated in status by the tsar (or prince) who wants to marry her. The doll that is her mother's blessing could also be seen as her godmother or fairy helper.

Now to Baba Yaga. She appears in various Russian stories and like Vasilisa, many go to her for help. While she may be known as a witch, she is also wise and able to help if the mood so strikes her. However; she is just as likely to stick you on her spatula and shove you into her oven for dinner than as to help you. A person has to show that they are cunning enough and determined enough to get what they want and leave Baba Yaga's place alive. She has enormous power and is seen controlling the elements of the earth. Example being her servants which are the three horsemen who are various positions of the Sun. Baba Yaga is all knowing and close to an oracle figure from Greek mythology. One has to be brave enough to ask, and wise enough to listen in order to learn their fate and escape certain death when dealing with Baba Yaga.

All dressed up and....locked in a tower.

2008-10-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

Petrosinella (An Italian Fairy Tale)

*Take note the descriptive quality of this story that you don't often find in fairy tales.

So great is my desire to keep the Princess amused, that the whole of the past night, when all were sound asleep and nobody stirred hand or foot, I have done nothing but turn over the old papers of my brain, and ransack ail the closets of my memory, choosing from among the stories which that good soul Mistress Chiarella Usciolo, my uncle's grandmother (whom Heaven take to glory!) used to tell, such as seemed most fitting to relate to you; and unless I have put on my spectacles upside down, I fancy they will give you pleasure; or, should they not serve, as armed squadrons, to drive away tedium from your mind, they will at least be as trumpets to incite my companions here to go forth to the field, with greater power than my poor strength possesses, to supply by the abundance of their wit the deficiencies of my discourse.

THERE was once upon a time a woman named Pascadozzia, who was in the family way; and as she was standing one day at a window, which looked into the garden of an ogress, she saw a beautiful bed of parsley, for which she took such a longing that she was on the point of fainting away; and being unable to resist her desire, she watched until the ogress went out, and then plucked a handful of it. But when the ogress came home, and was going to cook her pottage, she found that some one had been at the parsley, and said, "Ill luck to me but I'll catch this long-fingered rogue, and make him repent it, and teach him to his cost that every one should eat off his own platter, and not meddle with other folks' cups."
The poor woman went again and again down into the garden, until one morning the ogress met her, and in a furious rage exclaimed, "Have I caught you at last, you thief, you rogue! prithee do you pay the rent of the garden, that you come in this impudent way and steal my plants? by my faith, but I'll make you do penance without sending you to Rome!"
Poor Pascadozzia, in a terrible fright, began to make excuses, saying that neither from gluttony nor the craving of hunger had she been tempted by the devil to commit this fault, but from her being pregnant, and the fear she had lest the child should be born with a crop of parsley on its face; and she added that the ogress ought rather to thank her, for not having given her sore eyes.
"Words are but wind," answered the ogress; "I am not to be caught with such prattle; you have closed the balance-sheet of life, unless you promise to give me the child you bring forth, girl or boy, whichever it may be."
Poor Pascadozzia, in order to escape the peril in which she found herself, swore with one hand upon another to keep the promise: so the ogress let her go free. But when her time was come, Pascadozzia gave birth to a little girl, so beautiful that she was a joy to look upon, who, from having a fine sprig of parsley on her bosom, was named Petrosinella. And the little girl grew from day to day, until when she was seven years old her mother sent her to school; and every time she went along the street and met the ogress, the old woman said to her, "Tell your mother to remember her promise." And she went on repeating this message so often, that the poor mother, having no longer patience to listen to the music, said one day to Petrosinella, "If you meet the old woman as usual, and she reminds you of the hateful promise, answer her, "Take it!"
When Petrosinella, who dreamt of no ill, met the ogress again, and heard her repeat the same words, she answered innocently as her mother had told her; where upon the ogress, seizing her by her hair, carried her off to a wood, which the horses of the Sun never entered, not having paid the toll to the pastures of those Shades. Then she put the poor girl into a tower, which she caused to arise by her art, and which had neither gate nor ladder, but only a little window, through which she ascended and descended by means of Petrosinella's hair, which was very long, as the sailor is used to run up and down the mast of a ship.
Now it happened one day, when the ogress had left the tower, that Petrosinella put her head out of the little window, and let loose her tresses in the sun; and the son of a prince passing by saw those two golden banners, which invited all souls to enlist under the standard of Love; and beholding with amazement in the midst of those gleaming waves a siren's face, that enchanted all hearts, he fell desperately in love with such wonderful beauty; and sending her a memorial of sighs, she de creed to receive him into favour. Matters went on so well with the prince, that there was soon a nodding of heads and a kissing of hands, a winking of eyes and bowing, thanks and offerings, hopes and promises, soft words and compliments. And when this had continued for several days, Petrosinella and the prince became so intimate that they made an appointment to meet, and agreed that it should be at night, when the Moon plays at hide with the Stars; and that Petrosinella should give the ogress some poppy-juice, and draw up the prince with her tresses. So when the appointed hour came, the prince went to the tower, where Petrosinella, letting fall her hair at a given signal, he seized it with both his hands, and cried, " Draw up!" And when he was drawn up, he crept through the little window into the chamber.
The next morning, before the Sun taught his steeds to leap through the hoop of the Zodiac, the prince descended by the same golden ladder, to go his way home. And having repeated these visits many times, a gossip of the ogress, who was for ever prying into things that did not concern her, and poking her nose into every corner, got to find out the secret, and told the ogress to be upon the look-out, for that Petrosinella made love with a certain youth, and she suspected that matters would go further; adding, that she saw what was going on, and feared they would be off and away before May. The ogress thanked her gossip for the information, and said she would take good care to stop up the road; and as to Petrosinella, it was moreover impossible for her to escape, as she had laid a spell upon her, so that, unless she had in her hand the three gallnuts which were in a rafter in the kitchen, it would be labour lost to at tempt to get away.
Whilst they were talking thus together, Petrosinella, who stood with her ears wide open, and had some suspicion of the gossip, overheard all that passed. And when Night had spread out her black garments to keep them from the moth, and the prince had come as usual, she made him climb on to the rafters and find the gallnuts, knowing well what effect they would have, as she had been enchanted by the ogress. Then, having made a rope-ladder, they both descended to the ground, took to their heels, and scampered off towards the city. But the gossip happening to see them come out, set up a loud halloo, and began to shout and make such a noise that the ogress awoke; and seeing that Petrosinella had fled, she descended by the same ladder, which was fastened to the window, and set off running after the lovers, who, when they saw her coming at their heels faster than a horse let loose, gave themselves up for lost. But Petrosinella, recollecting the gallnuts, quickly threw one on the ground, and lo! instantly a Corsican bulldog started up,-O mother, such a terrible beast!-which with open jaws and barking loud flew at the ogress as if to swallow her at a mouthful. But the old woman, who was more cunning and spiteful than the devil, put her hand into her pocket, and pulling out a piece of bread, gave it to the dog, which made him hang his tail and allay his fury. Then she turned to run after the fugitives again; but Petrosinella, seeing her approach, threw the second gallnut on the ground, and lo! a fierce lion arose, who, lashing the earth with his tail, and shaking his mane, and opening wide his jaws a yard apart, was just preparing to make a slaughter of the ogress; when, turning quickly back, she stripped the skin off an ass that was grazing in the middle of a meadow, and ran at the lion, who, fancying it a real jackass, was so frightened that he bounded away as fast as he could.
The ogress, having leaped over this second ditch, turned again to pursue the poor lovers, who, hearing the clatter of her heels and seeing the cloud of dust that rose up to the sky, conjectured that she was coming again. But the old woman, who was every moment in dread lest the lion should pursue her, had not taken off the ass's skin; and when Petrosinella now threw down the third gallnut, there sprang up a wolf, who, without giving the ogress time to play any new trick, gobbled her up just as she was, in the shape of a jackass. So the lovers, being now freed from danger, went their way leisurely and quietly to the kingdom of the prince, where, with his father's free consent, he took Petrosinella to wife; and thus, after all these storms of fate, they experienced the truth, that

"One hour in port, the sailor freed from fearsForgets the tempests of a hundred years."

Basile, Giambattista. "Petrosinella." The Pentamerone, or The Story of Stories. John Edward Taylor, translator. London: David Bogue, 1850.

*Note from blogger.

Child? Book? Nature?

2008-10-06T10:42:00.000-07:00

What is a book? A book is a magical place you can go for a grand adventure. Creatures of all kinds exist in books. Good fairies, wicked stepmothers, Innocent children, and spoiled princesses. It is a place anyone can go to and feel alive. Words leap off the page and swim in your veins. They can leave a person breathless and yearning for more. Books are entertaining and educational. They touch a person's mind and leave them dreaming. A book is Wonderland, Oz, Narnia, Neverland, Middle Earth, or Hogwarts. It is a place inside of you that never grows up and always wants more.

What is nature? Nature is big and foreboding. It is scary and makes a child feel small and helpless. It is a place to get lost in. The trees are tall and some animals have teeth. Some animals are there to help, but it is hard to tell at times. Nature is dangerous and full of peril. Adventures wait in dark forests to lure young ones, just as ogres and witches wait for a snack. What is a child? Some one who is small and innocent. They are often taken advantage of by adults. They are naive at times. They are tasty morsels for wicked witches. They love to laugh and have fun. They are adventurous and daring. They sometimes disobey and have to reap the consequences. They are full of life and are beautiful.

It's raining men, is that a good thing?

2008-10-06T10:20:00.000-07:00

Parents can be so cruel. It starts out with the miller. In order to boost his credit with the king, the miller brags that his daughter can spin straw into gold. Well what do you think the king wants now? He sees dollar signs! He commands the miller's daughter to be brought to the castle and orders her to do the impossible. She weeps and her tears bring Rumpelstiltskin to investigate. Twice he helps her in exchange for material possessions, but on the third time she has nothing left to offer. So the deal with the devil is struck. Rumpelstiltskin will take her first born child. So the miller's daughter becomes a queen and she gives birth. A string of bad parents, I swear. Well the queen, does at least, what her father wouldn't do for her, she tries to save her child from her bad choices. The name game follows. The queen rambles off any name she can think of for three days straight. The only reason she gets it right on the third day, is because Rumpelstiltskin was jumping around his camp bragging to the woods that the queen will never guess his name and one of her servants overheard. In a world of controlling male figures, it's quite impressive that the miller's daughter has her happy ending. Her father used her to elevate his status, the king threatened to kill her if she didn't make him richer, and the little gnome creature wished to whisk away her only child if she didn't guess his name. It was a hard world for women at the time this story was thought up and in some ways it still is.

The Frog King

2008-10-06T09:44:00.000-07:00

A spoiled princess and a lonely frog. Do fairy tales get any better than this? She is beautiful and vain. She gets what ever she wants and she is a master of manipulation. I'm sure she perfected the 'cry until I get my way' act at a very early age. Her word is as empty as her head and yet this frog still finds her worth his time. He may be a frog now, but we all know how the story ends. He is really a prince! He retrieves the golden ball for her, and in return she treats him cruelly. She doesn't want to share her dinner or her room with him, doesn't want him as a companion, and eventually throws him against the wall, scrambling his poor froggy brains until he magically returns to human form. Which happens to be really hot prince human form. Now she wants him as a companion and more. Talk about shallow! The princess is definitely the worst of human nature with more character flaws than a snake has scales, but Heinrich, the prince's faithful servant is the best facet of human nature. He had to bind his chest to keep his heart intact after the prince disappeared. awe! The story ends with the bindings breaking at his joy of the prince's safe return. My advice to the prince, ditch the princess, there are better fish in the sea, and keep the friend, good friend are hard to come by.

Displaced Fairy Tale

2008-09-25T14:54:00.000-07:00

It had been almost twenty years since Becca and Abraham Spitzer had dedicated their lives to one another. Becca could trace each year in the lines that were beginning to form on her face. She was almost past the age of hope. Her chances of conceiving a child were almost gone. It was 1929. Her husband was a rich merchant in Poland at the time, but for all the money in the world, he didn’t know how to bring Becca out of her melancholy. The couple went to see countless doctors and had weekly meetings with their Rabbi, but it seemed nothing from God to medicine could bring them a child of their own. Abraham tried to cheer his wife with thoughts of adoption, but she only scorned the idea and sank deeper into her depression.
One day, Becca was so sick she spent the entire morning in the bathroom. Well, it didn’t take them long to figure out the good news. At the age of 39, Becca was finally pregnant. The baby was born eight months and two weeks later a healthy baby girl with endless blue eyes and thick sable curls. They named her Eva. And she was their miracle baby.
The Spitzer’s watched their daughter grow lovelier every day. Turmoil brewed ominously in the outside world, but in their bliss, the family ignored the signs of danger to come. It was 1939 when Germany invaded Poland. The dark shadow of hate lingered just outside the Spitzer’s doorstep. For two years they watched as distant relatives and neighbors were “evacuated.” Rumors of great horrors twisted throughout the emptier streets of their town, but Abraham refused to believe them. He was a rich man and he followed the occupiers’ laws. He believed no harm could come to him or his family. But the times were fickle, and to be secure in his beliefs, he decided to act.
He knew many influential people through his trade and he contacted them for help. Strings were pulled and plans were made to keep his family alive. Money was a great motivator and Abraham knew how to use it. So they stayed.
In 1942, on Eva’s twelfth birthday, soldiers burst through their front doors. Becca screamed and gathered Eva protectively up into her arms. Abraham stood watching in shock. There must be some mistake, he kept repeating. But there was no mistake. By the end of that dreary day, the little Spitzer family was loaded into a cattle car and sent far from home.
The train stopped a day later. Whispers reached their ears of a place called Majdanek. Abraham had never heard of it before, but he still clung to the hope that his connections would keep his family out of harm’s way. The minute they stepped off the train, Abraham was ushered into a line made up of mainly men. Eva called out to him, but she and her mother were roughly shoved in another line and were forced forward toward some crude wooden barracks. Her father was gone, but Eva still held tightly to her mother. The thick wooden door of the barracks swung open and some soldiers gestured for them to go inside. It was dark and musky. Eva buried her head into the folds of Becca’s dress, while her mother whispered soothing words. The doors were shut behind them and the women were left in the dark empty room. Gasps of fear sounded throughout the crowd; followed by a sharp hissing sound from up above.
Cries, screams, pleading, and prayers permeated the chamber. The gas sank lower and clawed its greedy fingers into the first woman’s lungs. She gasped and garbled as tears streamed down her face. Becca watched horrified, knowing in seconds it would be their turn. She pushed her daughter to the corner of the room and flung her to the floor. Covering Eva with her body, Becca cried out and told her to breathe through the fabric in her skirt. Then the world went dark.

Seventeen year old Marcus Kozka was out hunting that day. His family had been in hiding ever since the German invasion. Now was the time to replenish their dwindling food supply. He held the bow firmly in his grip. He carefully tracked the doe that he had injured earlier that day. Unfortunately, his skills with a bow and arrow were still left wanting. But it was quieter than a gun and therefore safer to hunt with. His path led him to an unknown part of the forest. The overgrowth was quite thick here and at times he had to take his hunting knife out and slash at the more stubborn branches.
Eventually he came to a clearing. The smell hit him first, harsh and fetid. All thoughts of the deer evaporated from his mind. He knelt down low on the outskirts of the meadow and waited; pulse hammering in his veins. After awhile he crept out of his hiding spot, certain that no one was around. He noticed the ground curved downward, and he followed the direction to the edge of a pit. His heart plummeted to the ground. Body stacked upon body. Men, women, children, their arms and legs tangled in the web of death. Some still had the look of horror frozen to their faces. Others, looked like they had just fallen asleep. He noticed one little girl still had rosy cheeks. He looked at her again.
Could she still be…? He left the question hanging in the air and leaped into the vast ocean of death. His hand searched for a pulse. He felt the slow, but steady beating of her heart. Hope bubbled to the surface of his mind. He pulled her from the fissure in the earth and onto the sweet soft grasses. But sometime she had stopped breathing. Frantically he pressed his lips to hers and breathed softly into her lungs. In response, her lungs took in the air hesitantly, and then continued on their own. Marcus sat back in relief. He watched as the girl carefully opened her deep blue eyes to look at him.
“I’m Eva,” she whispered.
The return trip was one of ambivalence. Marcus was glad he was able to save Eva, but from her story he discerned that she would be the only survivor in her family. His parents welcomed her into their home, and together they worked to outlast the storm of war that raged on around them.

Child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony...

2008-09-19T16:30:00.000-07:00

And so is born the tale of Snow White. Her beauty intrigues us, her innocence astounds us, and her story entertains us. She captures the hearts of seven working class men, and even a prince. But her good looks and sweet nature only act as fuel to the queen step-mother's vain and envious heart. The evil queen would stop at nothing to snuff out little Snow White's brilliant life. And Snow White is all too trusting. The seven dwarfs tell her again and again not to let anyone into the house while they are away. Snow White may be trusting and innocent, but she is also a disobedient child who gets in far over her head. She falls for the evil queen's tricks every time. Not once does Snow White pull a Gretel and outsmart the wicked old woman. Snow White always comes out the damsel in distress and never is she once in control of her own life. It's a good thing that Snow White had "tender feelings" for the prince too, otherwise he would have become her big bad wolf and stolen her away to his castle. This could have been a very different fairy tale, if Snow White 'only had a brain.'

Don't trust little old ladies with candy!

2008-09-16T15:38:00.001-07:00

Hansel and Gretel prove how ingenious children really are, and how evil adults can really be. In times of famine, a mother pelican will pierce her own breast and feed her chicks in this way. In Hansel and Gretel, the parental units are not nearly so self-sacrificing. The step-mother (by far the greatest villain in any fairy tale) feels the entire family is going to starve to death given the shortage of food supply. Her bright idea is to ditch the kids. You've seen it before on movies when a boat is sinking or a blimp is going down. What do you do? You get rid of dead weight in order to save yourself. By the way, this is very Darwinian to all you evolution fans out there. Survival of the fittest. Anyway, the husband gives in because, well it is also common knowledge that henpecked husbands are wimps when it comes to nagging wives. There it is. So the children get the boot. Sure Hansel outsmarts them the first time, but the end result is him and his sister lost in the woods, starving. Well what do they come across, but a house made of food! And not just any food, but sugary food. Yum! Now I disagree with some critics that this is a cautionary tale against gluttony. I dare any critic to go out in the woods and starve and not want to devour a house. No this is more a wolf in sheep's clothing type of tale. The children should be able to trust a little old lady for help, as they should have been able to trust their step-mother. But in this story, children learn that not all adults have their best interests at heart and that the world is, in fact, a cruel place to live.

Little Glass Slipper

2008-09-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

I see the little glass slipper that could only fit one woman in all the kingdom, as an argument for soulmates. In Cinderella, the prince dances with this beautiful mysterious woman at the ball. He falls in love. (Love at first sight.) But she disappears. He is only left with one slipper; one half of the whole. He goes through the entire kingdom searching for her. And he knows she is worth the hunt. There is only one woman out there for him. Before her, cupid was a myth, but now he is seeing hearts. She is his one and only. He found the other shoe, or slipper as the case may be. But the point is, he found his mate, his other half. This is why the glass slipper will only fit Cinderella. It has nothing to do with magic or fairy godmothers or evil stepsisters getting their just rewards. This is about true love, pure and simple. They are soulmates. Call me an idealist, but that is how I see it.

Just Rewards

2008-09-16T15:11:00.000-07:00

In the modern culture, we value beauty and intelligence. Our models, singers, and actors are certainly seen as the 'fairest of them all.' Our scientists and doctors compete against other countries to produce cures and vaccines the fastest. We give people with more education a higher status and titles than uneducated people. But in Beauty and the Beast, virtue and kind heartedness is seen as the trait to have. However, the reward for a good heart is beauty and intelligence. Making being a good person take the back seat. Beauty was already smart, pretty, and kind. She didn't need Beast to make her life perfect. Yet because she chose to look past appearances and I.Q, she landed the smart, rich, pretty prince of every little girl's dreams. Her reward was still as shallow as the American Culture. The story begins by setting her apart with her tenderness and unselfishness, but by the end of the story, she is just like everyone else! The grand fairy even warns her not to let all that power go to her head. Too bad there was never a Beauty and the Beast 2, I would have liked to see if Beauty became the Beast. Would the jewels and fine things eventually go to her head or would she remain the Beauty she always was? Furthermore, can a person be as good as Beauty? As a character, she is very unbelievable. What kind of a human is that self-sacrificing, hard working, unselfish, never bitter? I for sure have never met a Beauty.

Oral tale of Little Red Riding Hood

2008-09-12T10:20:00.000-07:00

The False Grandmother
Once upon a time a girl was walking through the woods with a basket of goodies for her grandmother, when she met a wolf.
"Good day," said the wolf. "Where are you going so early in the morning?"
Now the girl did not know that the wolf was a wicked animal, so she told him that she was going to visit her grandmother, who lived on the other side of the woods. She continued merrily on her way. The wicked wolf ran on ahead and arrived at the grandmother's house before the girl. He crept inside, leaped on the poor grandmother, and ate her up, saving only a pitcher of blood and a piece of flesh. He then climbed into the grandmother's bed, and waited for the girl. The girl soon arrived, and knocked at the door.
"Just let yourself in," said the wolf, disguising his voice. "You must be hungry from your long walk through the woods. Do eat some of the meat that's on the kitchen table.
And the girl ate from her grandmother's flesh.
"You must be thirsty from your long walk through the woods. Do drink from the pitcher that's on the kitchen table.
And the girl drank from her grandmother's blood.
"You must be tired from your long walk through the woods. Do come to bed with me.
And the girl climbed into bed with the wolf.
She soon saw that it was not her grandmother in the bed with her, and she became frightened. Not knowing how else to escape, she said, "I have to go to the privy."
"You can just do it in the bed," answered the wicked wolf.
"I don't have to go little. I have to go big," said the girl.
"All right," said the wolf, "but hurry right back as soon as you are done.
The girl ran out of the house, and she ran past the privy, and she ran through the woods, and she did not stop until she was safely back at home.

A tale as old as time

2008-09-09T16:53:00.001-07:00

What is the purpose of children's literature? Is if for pure entertainment? Something that makes your pulse accelerate and your toes curl? Does it have to have a happy ending or can the villain win the day? Maybe there has to be a lesson involved; some virtue or other that children take home with them, that shape them into the men and women they will become? Perhaps there is no purpose at all. Just threads of imagination that roll out of an adults hands and mouth and into the ears of those who listen best. Children. I, personally, find myself very blessed that I am still in a purgatory of sorts. I have left childhood behind, but have not yet entered the world of "grown-ups." I can still listen to a children's story and not question it's validity or possibility, but simply enjoy it for what it is. It's fun and entertaining, but don't be mistaken, these qualities do not make the literature shallow or trivial. Our cultures, past and present, are ingrained in the stories we tell our children. Stories that fuel the imagination and send the reader spiralling down a rabbit hole or other portals to fantasy and dreamlike landscapes. This in itself is a very important key that separates human from animal. The possibility of creativity and beauty in itself is enough for me to sit up and pay attention to literary works made not only for children, but for any youthful spirit willing to take a chance.