Books Can Be Valentines

I love reading Kate DiCamillo's posts on facebook. Each one is like her books: relatively short, nostalgic, with words that pack a punch.

Yesterday it was about the card her mom gave her every year on Valentine's Day. She never missed one, even as she neared the end of her life. Now that she's gone, Kate thinks about those cards, none of which she kept.

But then she said this: 

But I do have the books (Ribsy, The Cricket in Times Square, Lincoln, The Borrowers, All of a Kind Family, Paddington, The Twenty-One Balloons) she gave to me.
Those books were valentines, too, I suppose.
They are still valentines.

It made me so happy to read this because of what I have hidden away in my nightstand drawer, just waiting for tomorrow morning:

For Aaron: Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl
For Maxwell: Mercy Watson Goes for a Ride by Kate DiCamillo
For Bradley: Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes by Eric Litwin
For Clark: Animal Spots and Stripes by Britta Teckentrup

Books are not the only way I say I love you to my kids. But they are definitely one of the ways.

When I give a book, I'm saying:

Here's a gift of literacy, friendship, and stories that never die.

Whether they end up keeping the book or not (and to be honest, I'm kind of hoping they'll let it stay here when they leave), they'll take that love of reading with them.

It's one of the best and longest lasting gifts I can think of to give them.

P.S. Are you giving books for Valentine's Day?

P.P.S. Yes, I love it that one of the books I'm giving tomorrow happens to be by Kate herself. Our Mercy Watson collection is almost complete!

Flora & Ulysses by Kate DiCamillo

I've already talked a lot about this book: first, when Aaron and I heard Kate DiCamillo speak last September and she signed our copy of this book; and then again a few weeks ago when it surprisingly won the Newbery.

My thoughts have run the gamut with this book and have become all mixed up as I have considered my own thoughts, my children's response, and whether or not I think it deserved the Newbery.

When I first heard about the Newbery, I was thrilled (and I said so right here), but the more I have thought about it, the more I wonder if my feelings of elation were more related to how much I love Kate DiCamillo and less about how much I loved this book.

This isn't to say I didn't like the book. I did. In fact, there are scenes and sentences that I could read again and again and never get tired of because of the sheer wittiness and hilarity of them. But I also think my original gushing has subsided a little bit, and overall, I am not quite as enchanted.

But before I get into that any further, let me tell you about Flora . . .

Flora is a self-proclaimed cynic. Diligent reading of issues of The Illuminated Adventures of the Amazing Incandesto! and TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! and The Criminal Element is Among Us have made her pretty well prepared for practically anything (including her parents' divorce). Nothing can touch her. Nothing can surprise her. Until one day, she watches her neighbor, Tootie Tickham, vacuum up a squirrel in her front yard. That surprises her. (And this scene produced my very favorite lines in the entire book: "'Watch out!'" [Flora] shouted. 'You're going to vacuum up that squirrel!' She said the words, and then she had a strange moment of seeing them, hanging there over her head . . . There is just no predicting what kind of sentences you might say, thought Flora.")

Flora ends up reviving the squirrel by using a modified version of rescue breathing and CPR. It soon becomes obvious that she has saved no ordinary squirrel: he is incredibly strong, he types, he composes poetry, and he flies. (And his name is Ulysses.) But Flora's mother has no interest in her daughter keeping a super squirrel, and she becomes bent on getting rid of Ulysses by any number of foul means. This forces Flora to label her mother as "the arch nemesis." Before long, a hilarious cast of characters are involved (temporarily blind William Spiver, Mr. Claus (a psychotic cat), a much-beloved shepherdess lamp named Mary Ann, Flora's shy and socially awkward father, trusty neighbor Tootie, and slightly senile Dr. Meescham). And right at the center of everything are Flora and Ulysses.

My opinion of this book is far from objective. Since I read it aloud to my five-year-old and almost four-year-old, I looked at everything from their perspective. And this is what I saw: the beginning and ending were funny, exciting, and engaging. They begged for me to read more. They wanted to see what happened next. But they lost interest in the middle portion of the book. In fact, there were nights when Maxwell chose to go to bed and I just read to Aaron by himself.

The middle deals with a lot of issues: Flora's mother is selfish and unsympathetic (by the end, she's going a little crazy and doing a lot of smoking to help herself deal with the insanity around her); William Spiver (the temporarily blind boy) is confronting his own insecurities and frustrations over his mother's boyfriend; Flora's father is trying to figure out how to be a good dad when he's not around all the time; Flora is developing confidence in her own decisions (and also exploring her unusual feelings for William Spiver). In other words, it was a lot to either explain or ignore (as I saw fit), and if it hadn't been for the pictures and extremely short chapters, we may have given up completely in the middle. I think this would be a great book for 10-year-olds, but it was probably pushing it a bit for five-year-olds. (In my defense, I will say that I planned on reading it by myself, but since Aaron actually met Kate DiCamillo, he insisted we read it together.)

Since it won the Newbery during the time we were reading it, I think I became more critical while reading the last seventy pages. One of the main concerns critics raised about the eligibility of the book was the comic-strip illustrations throughout. Some thought the plot of the book was carried forward by the illustrations and that the story couldn't stand on its own without them. I didn't find this to be the case. The story always seemed to make perfect sense if I read the last sentence of the previous chapter, skipped over the comic strip, and read the first sentence of the next chapter.

. . . That is, it seemed to work until the very last one. In the sentences preceding the comic strip, Flora hears her mother scream and thinks she is worried about her precious shepherdess lamp. Then in the comic strip, Flora's mother says, "Please, George. Tell me that Flora is here!" which makes us (and Flora) realize that Flora is actually much more important to her mother than a silly old lamp. When the text picks back up, Flora is shocked by what her mother has revealed. But the whole thing makes absolutely no sense without the pictures in the middle. However, there is text included along with the pictures, so maybe a case could be made that it still works without the illustrations as long as you can consider the included text. I'd be interested to check out the audio and see how it handles the illustrated sections.

When I try to determine how I personally felt about the book (without considering my children's response or the Newbery criteria), I have to admit that I liked quite a lot of it.

I liked the humor, showcased so well in this paragraph:

 "It was certainly possible that Mrs. Tickham had a brain tumor. Flora knew from reading TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! that a surprising number of people were walking around with tumors in their brains and didn't even know it. That was the thing about tragedy. It was just sitting there, keeping you company, waiting. And you had absolutely no idea. This was the kind of helpful information you could get from the comics if you paid attention."

I liked the way individuality was acknowledged and valued:

Was Flora strange? [Ulysses] supposed so. But what was wrong with that? She was strange in a good way. She was strange in a lovable way. Her heart was so big. It was capacious. Just like George Buckman's heart.

I liked seeing hope prevail over cynicism:

Do not hope, Flora thought. But she couldn't help it. She did hope. She was hoping. She had been hoping all along.

So while it's not my absolute favorite book by Kate DiCamillo (it would be very difficult to knock Edward Tulane down from his pedestal), I liked it very much.

And really, my kids liked it, too. The ending was so well-executed, so triumphant, so exciting, they couldn't help but bounce up and down on the bed. And I had to laugh when we read this line about Ulysses, "And maybe there would be a poem about a horsehair sofa. And one about a vacuum cleaner," and Aaron exclaimed, "What?! He remembers the vacuum cleaner?!" And Max replied in a very matter of fact way: "Of course he remembers it. He's a super hero. He's like me."

Starstruck Over Kate DiCamillo

I can still remember my first Kate DiCamillo book (it was only like four years ago, so you would hope I could remember it). I listened to The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, and I couldn't believe how such a short, simple story could impact me so profoundly. I think that was one of the first moments where I realized that anyone who thinks children's literature can only be enjoyed by children is CRAZY.

Edward Tulane was soon followed by Winn-Dixie who was followed by Despereaux. Once my kids were old enough, we devoured Mercy Watson (they became our stand-by, comfort books) and Bink & Gollie. When I heard Kate DiCamillo had a new book coming out this year (Flora & Ulysses), I was so ecstatic, I wrote about it here.

A few weeks ago, I found out she would be speaking at our library, and do you think I was about to miss it? Not a chance.

I was going to go with a friend, but when she sadly ended up with a migraine, I asked Aaron if he wanted to go instead (it was only fair since Maxwell got to go when the Steads came two weeks ago).

In a word, Kate DiCamillo was delightful. She's short (just like me!) and funny. Her humor feels spontaneous even though I'm sure she's told many of the same stories and answered the same questions again and again.

We loved hearing about the inspiration behind Mercy Watson. One day (I think while she was traveling), she had a picture of a pig come to mind with the name "Mercy" under it. (When I related this story to Mike, he said, "Okay, that's a little weird," to which I retorted, "You've had plenty of strange ideas yourself, mister, and we all happen to love Mercy Watson around here, so I wouldn't be criticizing how she came about if I were you!"). Then awhile later, she thought of Mr. and Mrs. Watson and realized they weren't going to be pigs but humans. The last piece of the puzzle came one morning when she was driving her friend to the airport. Her friend came out to the car with a large piece of toast, which she proceeded to eat on the drive. Kate eventually asked her to save the rest until they were at the airport as she was getting greasy crumbs all over her brand-new car, but instead of stopping, the friend proceeded to give all the reasons why buttered toast was the perfect food.

I loved hearing this story because it demonstrated how stories come a piece at a time and how it's so important to pay attention to those little flashes because eventually they add up to something much bigger.

I had been planning on buying her newest book, but then the line was so long and I had another meeting I had to be to in the evening and I thought Aaron was probably getting tired and restless. But Aaron said he really wanted to stand in line and meet her. So we did, and I'm so glad.

Even though she hears it from everyone, I was glad that I personally could tell her how much we love her books. Our lives really have been so richly blessed because of them.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo

I read this book for the first time several years ago. I adored it. And at the time, I thought, I cannot wait to read this to my kids someday.

So once we had a few honest-to-goodness chapter books under our belt, I brought out my "baby."

And, unfortunately, it was not met with the same kind of unwavering high regard and love I held for it. The themes were just a little mature for a four-year-old and a two-year-old. I'll explain in a minute.

Edward Tulane is a exquisitely handsome china rabbit. He is owned by Abilene, a small girl who treats him as a real person and her very dearest friend. She loves Edward so much. But Edward is selfish and conceited and doesn't care one bit for Abilene's love. In fact, he finds it rather stifling. Then one day, an unfortunate accident takes place which lands Edward at the bottom of the ocean, permanently separating him from Abilene. Over the years, Edward gets passed from owner to owner, and each time, his heart opens up a little more until he finally understands what it means to truly love someone. But then he also learns what it means to have your heart broken.

I loved this book just as much as when I first read it.  Edward is such an interesting main character, partly because he really is a toy. He doesn't come to life when the humans are out of sight. He is stiff and immovable and doesn't talk (but the reader does know his thoughts). And yet, he is still very real with his own emotions and weaknesses and personality.

My boys didn't hate it by an means. They just didn't love it as much as Charlotte's Web or The Cricket in Times Square (which have been their two favorites, so far). Here are some of the reasons why it was a harder book for them:

1. They would have liked more pictures. There was a small picture at the beginning of each chapter, but it was often something not terribly interesting (an empty highchair or a hat or an umbrella). Then there was a full page picture every 2-4 chapters. So, not terribly often, and I think it was especially difficult for Maxwell to focus without something to train his eyes on. However, I definitely don't pick the books we read based on the number of pictures, and several of the ones we want to read next don't have pictures any more frequently. That's okay, they're getting better at visualizing on their own, which is what I want anyway.

2. The china rabbit was difficult to conceptualize, especially for Max. It would have been much easier for him to think of Edward as a real rabbit, which I think is how he thought of him most of the time anyway.

3. The themes of love and loss were a bit mature. At the beginning of the story, Abilene's grandmother, Pellegrina, tells a story about a princess who loved no one and consequently ended up being turned into a warthog and butchered by the castle's cook. The story is told for Edward's benefit because Pellegrina can see that, just like the princess, he also doesn't love anyone. Edward doesn't understand the story at first, but after he loses Abilene, he begins to see the value of love. With each subsequent owner, he loves a little bit more, and each time he is separated from the one he had grown to love, the pain hurts a little bit more as well.

My boys are young. Their experience with love and loss is limited. They feel the love of many around them, and they definitely love their family and friends, but thankfully, they haven't had to cope with much loss. So I don't think they could really understand or appreciate the beautiful pacing of this book as Edward's character grows. Nor did they feel their own hearts tugged with similar emotions the way I did.

4. There are also some mature scenes. These were things I never even thought of when I was reading it myself, but suddenly, reading it to my little boys, I wanted to shield them from the brutality and neglect of the alcoholic father, soften the sadness of Sarah Ruth's death, hide the hurt of Bryce's extreme poverty and loneliness, and keep them safe from the violence of the diner's owner. This is a children's book, so all the events I just mentioned are told about in a simple way with very little description, but sometimes, even with few words,  it is hard to mask the harsh realities of life.

Beyond these things though, we had some really fun moments while reading this book, particularly while we were in Colorado with my family and had enough time to snuggle up and read several chapters at a time. While we were reading, there were a couple of funny moments I can't help sharing:

At the end of one chapter, after Edward has just been kicked out of a train and had a tumble down a long hill, there was this sentence: "A lone cricket started up a song." Max piped in to ask, "Was that Chester?" (meaning, Chester, from The Cricket in Times Square). I just thought that was such a cute assumption.

And then, one of Edward's owners is a little boy named Bryce. For some reason, Max became fixated on this name, and he didn't like it. Anytime I said his name, Max had to add his two cents: "Bryce is a yucky name. I don't like it." Kids are so funny sometimes.

But speaking of Bryce, let me tell you, practically nothing tugs on my heartstrings more than a little lonely boy, especially a little boy with too much responsibility on his shoulders and not a friend in the world, which is what Bryce is. It's always been this way for me, even before I had little boys of my own. I have wanted to weep on more than one occasion when I have observed young boys who have been given a hard lot in life.

Anyway, I would still recommend this book. It is for sure one of my favorites of all time. But I would say, if you want to read it to your children, it might be good to save it until they are at least in kindergarten.

This post is linked to The Children's Bookshelf and the Kid Lit Blog Hop.