Progress and the Wisdom of Pa

The Long Winter tells the amazing story of a prairie town's survival during a seven-month long winter of blizzards. Slowly, the isolated town on the treeless prairie begins to run out of food and fuel. It takes all the creativity that the pioneers possess just to keep alive.

Ma got up and put another stick of hay on the fire. When she lifted the stove lid, a reddish-yellow smoky light flared up and drove back the dark for a moment. Then the dark came back again. The wild screaming of the storm seemed louder and nearer in the dark.

"If only I had some grease I could fix some kind of a light," Ma considered. "We didn't lack for light when I was a girl, before this newfangled kerosene was ever hear of."

"That's so," said Pa. "These times are too progressive. Everything has changed too fast. Railroads and telegraph and kerosene and coal stoves--they're good things to have but the trouble is, folks get to depend on 'em."

I wonder what Pa would say about our society today?

Taken from:
Wilder, Laura Ingalls. The Long Winter (1940), p. 192.

Tea Time with Betsy-Tacy

This tea time passage is from the book Betsy-Tacy. It's a delightful scene where five-year-old Betsy and Tacy have dressed up in grownup clothes and have gone "calling" on a neighbour, Mrs. Benson. Being such a good neighbour (one that bought the coloured sand from the girls in an earlier chapter), Mrs. Benson plays along nicely by treating the girls as though they really were lady callers.

"I hear you bought some sand, Mrs. Benson," said Betsy in the grown-up tone.

"Yes, I did. Would you like to see it?" asked Mrs. Benson, and she went to her desk and brought out the two bottles full of sand which Betsy and Tacy had coloured, the perfume bottle with the blue coloured stopper and the big fat jar.

"Mercy, what beautiful sand!" said Betsy.

"Isn't it!" cried Mrs. Benson. "I bought it from two little girls named Betsy and Tacy."

Tacy looked up then, her blue eyes dancing into Mrs. Benson's. "I know those little girls," she said.

"I thought maybe you did," said Mrs. Benson.

After a minute Mrs. Benson asked, "Wouldn't you like some tea?"

"Tea?" asked Betsy, so surprised that she forgot to talk like her mother.

"Afternoon tea," explained Mrs. Benson. "What ladies drink when they go calling."

"Oh, of course," said Betsy. "I'd love some. Wouldn't you, Tacy?"

So Mrs. Benson gave them some tea... cambric tea, she called it, and it was delicious. They had cookies with their tea, and Betsy and Tacy nibbled them daintily. But they ate them to the very last crumb.

Taken from:
Lovelace, Maud Hart. Betsy-Tacy (1940), p. 78-79.

Why I am Terrified of Leeches

I blame it all on Laura Ingalls Wilder's book, On the Banks of Plum Creek.

But without further preamble, here is the passage where Laura first discovers those horrible creatures...

Mary would not go into the dark water under the plum trees. The creek bottom was muddy there and she did not like to wade in mud. So she sat on the bank while Laura waded into the thicket.

The water was still there, with old leaves floating on its edges. The mud squelched between Laura's toes and came up in clouds till she could not see the bottom. The air smelled old and musty. So Laura turned around and waded back into the clean water and the sunshine.

There seemed to be some blobs of mud on her legs and feet. She splashed the clear water over them to wash them off. But they did not wash off. Her hand could not scrape them off.

They were the color of mud, they were soft like mud. But they stuck as tight as Laura's skin.

Laura screamed. She stood there screaming, "Oh, Mary, Mary! Come! Quick!"

Mary came, but she would not touch those horrible things. She said they were worms. Worms made her sick. Laura felt sicker than Mary, but it was more awful to have those things on her than it was to touch them. She took hold of one, she dug her fingernails into it, and pulled.

The thing stretched out long, and longer, and longer, and still it hung on.

"Oh don't! Oh don't! Oh, you'll pull it in two!" Mary said. But Laura pulled it out longer, till it came off. Blood tricked down her leg from the place where it had been.

One by one, Laura pulled those things off. A little trickle of blood ran down where each one let go.

Laura did not feel like playing any more.

I don't blame Laura. After that experience, I wouldn't want to play either.

Of course, the chapter isn't over. Laura goes home to discover exactly what those things are...

Ma said they were leeches and that doctors put them on sick people. But Pa called them bloodsuckers. He said they lived in the mud, in dark, still places in the water.

"I don't like them," Laura said.

"Then stay out of the mud, flutterbudget," said Pa. "If you don't want trouble, don't go looking for it."

And that is the reason why I am terrified of leeches. Not that I've actually had a whole lot of experience with leeches. But, that's probably because I've taken Pa's good advice...

(Oh, and my fear was probably reinforced by the movie, Stand By Me.)

Taken from:
Wilder, Laura Ingalls. On the Banks of Plum Creek (1937), p. 136-139.

How did I rate this book? Excellent book! (Despite the leeches)

That's Irony, Disney-style

Irony is one of those words that people find difficult to define. Usually it's easier to give an example. And, when I come across a good example of irony, I like to make note of it.

In this case, this example of irony comes from a side bar in a travel book for, of all places, Walt Disney World in Florida...

Fascinating Fact

Natural pest management is used throughout Walt Disney World. Disney releases 250,000 warrior insects--they get rid of harmful pests--each year, and even allows guests to take part via the Ladybug Release at Epcot. Interestingly enough, feral cats also roam Disney property, working hard to keep the rodent population down. Look out, Mickey!

Image that; having to keep the rodent population at bay in a place that owes its fame and very existence to a... mouse.

Taken from:
Veness, Susan. The Hidden Magic of Walt Disney World (2009), p. 78.

Tea Time with Mma Ramotswe

Here is an exchange between Mma Makutsi and Mma Ramotswe about tea pots. It's a passage like this one that makes me want to make my own pot of tea...

Mma Makutsi put on the kettle, her accustomed task, and lined up the two teapots at the ready.

"Be sure to use the big one for the ordinary tea," said Mma Ramotswe from the other side of the room. "That would be best."

Mma Makutsi hesitated. "But it is the one you have always used," she ventured. "I do not want to change things..."

Mma Ramotswe was insistent. "No, Mma. We have already discussed this. I am happy with that small teapot for my red bush tea. I am happy to change."

Taken from:
McCall Smith, Alexander. The Double Comfort Safari Club (2010), p. 200.

Well Known Character Traits

Alexander McCall Smith delights us with his latest installment of The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series. (And by latest, I don't mean it's dead!)

Whether we have known Mma Ramotswe for ten books prior to this one, or are a newcomer to the series, these two selections can be enjoyed... not just for an insight into Mma Ramotswe's character, but for pure literary enjoyment...

Let's begin with the opening chapter of the book. Oddly enough, Mma Ramotswe doesn't even make a physical appearance in this chapter. And yet, she is present, even if just in the thoughts of her husband, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni...

He had very few criticisms to make of Precious Ramotswe, his wife and founder of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, but if one were to make a list of her faults--which would be a minuscule document, barely visible, indeed, to the naked eye--one would perhaps have to include a tendency (only a slight tendency, of course) to claim that things that she happened to believe were well known. This phrase gave these beliefs a sort of unassailable authority, the status that went with facts that all right-thinking people would readily acknowledge--such as the fact that the sun rose in the east, over the undulating canopy of acacia that stretched along Botswana's border, over the waters of the great Limpopo River itself that now, at the height of the rainy season, flowed deep and fast towards the ocean half a continent away... All these facts were indeed both incontestable and well known; whereas Mma Ramotswe's pronouncements, to which she attributed the special status of being well known, were often, rather, statements of opinion. There was a difference, thought Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, but it was not one he was planning to point out; there were some things, after all, that it was not helpful for a husband to say to his wife, and that, he thought, was probably one of them.

We get a demonstration of this later in Chapter 14. Not from Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni's point of view this time, but from that of Mma Makutsi.

[Mma Makutsi] also navigated--which was not an exacting task given that the road to Francistown, which marked the end of the first leg of the journey, ran straight and true from Gaborone northwards and neither meandered nor diverted. "You go straight here, Mma," said Mma Makutsi. "That sign over there says Francistown. That is the route to take." Mma Ramotswe nodded. "Yes," she said. "These are good signs, don't you think Mma? They make it quite clear which way you should go."

Mma Makutsi, interpreting this as veiled criticism of her navigating, searched for an objection to this remark. "But what if there is a blind person?" she challenged. "What use would they be then?

"But a blind person shouldn't be driving," said Mma Ramotswe. And added, as if the matter required further resolution, "That is well known, Mma."

There could be no answer to that, and the subject was closed.

Taken from:
McCall Smith, Alexander. The Double Comfort Safari Club (2010), pp. 3-4; 156.

How did I rate this book? Another satisfying read from The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency!

Narration Interrupted

In third-person narration, sometimes you get a narrator with a distinct personality, even if the narrator is not really a character in the book.

As is the case with The Wonderful Garden by E. Nesbit. The narrator (or perhaps the author herself?) pops her head in every now and again to give her two cents.

In the two selections below, the narrator's intrusion primarily helps us with characterization... particularly of two minor characters.

In the first selection, Caroline (one of the children) is trying work through a dilemma. She approaches the vicar of the church: a Mr. Penfold. You'll see the narrator pop in near the end of this verbal exchange, just to let us know that Mr. Penfold is going to be one of the good guys in the story.

"You're a clergyman, and so I suppose you know all about right and wrong?"

"I do my best to know," he said. "Well?"

"Well, aren't there some secrets you ought to keep, even if you know that some people would say you oughtn't to if they were to know you were keeping them--only of course they don't?"

I think it was rather clever of Mr. Penfold to understand this; but he did.

From good guys to bad guys now. The next selection is where the children are trying to speak with Lord Andore, but they are rebuffed at the door...

And then the cap disappeared only to reappear a moment later at the lodge door, on the head of a very angry old lady with a very sharp long nose, who might have been Mrs. Wilmington's grandmother.

"Out you go, the way you came," she said; "that's the order. What do you want, anyhow?"

"We've got a bouquet for Lord Andore," said Caroline, showing it.

"Keep it till the fifteenth," said the woman; a silly thing to say, for no bouquet will keep a fortnight. "No village people admitted till the gala and fete when his lordship comes of age. You can come then. Out you go. I've no patience," she added; and it was quite plain that she had not.

Taken from:
E. Nesbit, The Wonderful Garden (1911), pp. 153, 259-60.

What did I think of this book? Not bad. Certainly not my favourite book by Nesbit, but it was amusing in its own way.

Characters Up a Tree

Problems make for interesting plot.

Writing gurus will tell budding authors: "Get your character up a tree. And put tigers under the tree."

Janette Rallison's Just One Wish is a pretty quick and light read. In the story, Annika promises her little brother (who is dying from cancer) that she will introduce him to his favorite Hollywood actor: Steve Raleigh, aka Teen Robin Hood. At times, Annika goes through a mad-cap adventure to find, meet, and finally convince teen idol, Steve, to come back with her to meet her brother.

Rallison very nicely uses the put-your-character-up-a-tree technique to keep the plot going. Especially for what could have been a boring drive from California to Nevada in Chapter 12. Here we see Annika and Steve finally on their way to visit her little brother. That's when they're about to be put up a tree (figuratively, of course!). Annika is driving when she realizes that the paparazzi is following them.

Steve looked at the speedometer for the first time. "You're going going ninety-five. If you get pulled over going twenty-five miles over the speed limit, it's a criminal offense."

"Really? How do you know that?"

Steve smiled. "Don't ask. Just slow down a little."

"I'm trying to lose that car behind us. It's one of the guys from the restaurant."

With some fancy driving (perhaps reminiscent of the Dukes of Hazzard?), Annika manages to shake her pursuer. They are once more on their way. But, don't forget the tigers... Chapter 12 ends with:

Everything was looking up.

But half an hour outside of Barstow, in the middle of the Majave Desert, the car broke down.

Taken from:
Rallison, Janette. Just One Wish (2009), pp. 180, 185.

How did I rate this book? Readable (although a bit unrealistic)

A Sense of Doom

This next selection comes from Frank Capra's autobiography. The book is a fascinating read. A born storyteller, it's no wonder that the man made some classic movies.

Here he is recounting his early years (before getting into the movie-making business). His immigrant family had a hard life trying to survive in their new country. But finally, things were looking up...

On sun drenched February morning in 1917, Papa walked through his fifteen-acre lemon grove on the high, frost-free foothills above Sierra Madre, surveying his beautiful trees dripping with large yellowing fruit. A $5,000 crop, Papa estimated, more than enough to make the last mortgage payment due in two weeks. Tomorrow he would gather up pickers in Monrovia to harvest the bountiful yield. God smiled on him.

The first three years he had worked the grove alone, from dawn to sundown: pruning, watering, hauling manure from the Valley, discing behind his horse--and hoeing until he couldn't straighten up. But two years ago he had ordered Mama and Ann to quit work and live with him as the ranch--a happy day. No more would they ever have to slave, he promised. I'm sure that Papa must have counted his blessings that beautiful early spring day...

It's at this point that you begin to think that things are too perfect. What is going to spoil this picture?! You can just feel the shadow making its way towards the valley...

About an hour after breakfast, my seventeen-year-old sister Ann, the youngest and most beloved of the family, heard a strange and fearful whirring noise in the grove. She called Papa. No answer. Investigating, she traced the whir to the well-pump house. She looked inside--and froze in horror. Papa was dead, his chest crushed and edged between the teeth of two large gears. the long, black left, from the racing motor to the pump, was chewed up and wrapped crazily around his body...

Papa's dream of moving his family out of the ghetto and onto his beloved farm was shattered...

Taken from:
Capra, Frank. The Name Above the Title (1971), pp. 8-9.

How did I rate this book? Good

A Magic Deeper Still

I will let this piece speak for itself...

At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise—a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant's plate.... The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan.

"Who's done it?" cried Susan. "What does it mean? Is it more magic?"

"Yes!" said a great voice from behind their backs. "It is more magic." They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

"Oh, Aslan!" cried both the children, staring up at him, almost as much frightened as they were glad....

"But what does it all mean?" asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer.

"It means," said Aslan, "that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward."

Taken from:
Lewis, C.S. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (1950), p. 163.

How did I rate this book? 5 stars

Bluffing Your Way Through Intrigue

Intrigue. Mystery. Parable.

All are somehow connected to G.K. Chesterton's book, The Man Who Was Thursday. Written over a century ago, it's been called everything from a psychological romance to a spy novel with traces of the parable.

To set up this scene for this blog post, we must know the following: The main character is Gabriel Syme, who finds himself witness to a meeting of anarchists involved in a conspiracy to assassinate two key political figures. But, Syme isn't just any man. He's at the meeting in an undercover capacity. In short, he's a police detective.

During the meeting, the leader of the anarchists -- a mysterious man by the name of Sunday -- refuses to reveal all the details of the assassination plan because he knows there's a spy in their midst. The meeting comes to an abrupt end. Syme leaves, but soon realizes that he is being shadowed by one of the anarchists, Professor de Worms. A chase through London ensues.

Finally, Syme decides to confront the Professor...

Before Syme could ask the first diplomatic question, the old anarchist had asked suddenly, without any sort of preparation--

"Are you a policeman?"

Whatever else Syme had expected, he had never expected anything so brutal and actual as this. Even his great presence of mind could only manage a reply with an air of rather blundering jocularity.

"A policeman?" he said, laughing vaguely. "Whatever made you think of a policeman in connection to me?"

"The process was simple enough," answered the Professor patiently. "I thought you looked like a policeman. I think so now."

"Did I take a policeman's hat by mistake out of the restaurant?" asked Syme, smiling wildly. "Have I by any chance got a number stuck on to me somewhere? Have my boots got that watchful look? Why must I be a policeman? Do, do let me be a postman."

The old Professor shook his head with a gravity that gave no hope, but Syme ran on with feverish irony.

Chesterton continues the conversation (which I am omitting). And with every word Syme says to refute the accusation, we feel a sense of approaching doom. Will Syme's true identity be found out by this anarchist? What is the Professor's purpose?

We pick up the conversation a few paragraphs later...

"Did you hear me ask a plain question, you paltering spy?" he shrieked in a high, crazy voice. "Are you, or are you not, a police detective?"

"No!" answered Syme, like a man standing on the hangman's drop.

"You swear it," said the old man, leaning across to him, his dead face becoming as it were loathsomely alive. "You swear it! ... Will there really be no mistake? You are an anarchist, you are a dynamiter! Above all, you are not in any sense a detective? You are not in the British police?"

He leant his angular elbow far across the table, and put up his large loose hand like a flap to his ear.

"I am not in the British police," said Syme with insane calm.

Professor de Worms fell back in his chair with a curious air of kindly collapse.

"That's a pity," he said, "because I am."

Taken from:
Chesterton, G.K. The Man Who Was Thursday (1908), p. 84-86.

How did I rate this book? 3 stars (kind of a strange book)

The Chatter of Lots of Characters

So, you've written twelve books in a popular series. You're entitled to have a little fun with your readers.

And that is exactly what happens in this final book in Arthur Ransome's Swallows and Amazons series.

This following excerpt is delightful. Especially after we've read every book in the series and we've come to know the characters as if they were good friends. The Swallows, Amazons, and D's are sailing (of course) with Captain Flint. As they stand on deck, looking through the spyglass, their distinct voices come through. (You almost don't need the narrator telling you who said what!)

There was a lot of chatter up there. People were taking turns with glasses and telescope. "Look here, it's my turn now. I spotted her first." That was Roger. "Only a motorboat, anyway." That was John. "She's going to pass us pretty close." That was Nancy. "You carry on, Nancy. We've the right of way. You've nothing to worry about. She'll pass under our stern." That was Captain Flint. "She's coming up a terrific lick." That was Roger. "Probably carrying dispatches." That was Titty. "Or taking a doctor to one of the lighthouses." That was Dorothea.

Taken from:
Ransome, Arthur. Great Northern? (1947), p. 16.

How did I rate this book? 4 stars

Showdown with a Cliffhanger

In his second book about the Mysterious Benedict Society, Trenton Lee Stewart gives us a wonderful cliffhanger about halfway through the book. It's a showdown between the secret agent, Milligan, and three of the evil Ten Men (named so due to the fact that they have ten ways of killing you.)

But this showdown isn't your straight-forward cowboy standoff. In many ways, it's a good old-fashioned spoof. The Ten Men aren't just thugs. They dress as elegant businessmen and use office supplies as their weapons of choice. And here they are up against our hero (the adult hero, anyways): Milligan.

"Another bold move!" came McCracken's voice as Milligan ducked behind a beam. There was an electrical hum the air from the Ten Men's watches. "But you'd still have done better to surrender. It is three against one, you know!"

"Not for long," Milligan growled, and he jumped out from behind the beam.

So began on the fiercest and strangest battles ever fought, a battle that involved all manner of business supplies, elegant clothing and accessories, and no shortage of trickery and taunts. It was a battle that would rage for hours, and which, when at last it came to an end, would leave the abandoned village entirely in ruins and only one man standing to survey the wreckage. It was also a battle that would leave the young members of the Mysterious Benedict Society in even greater danger than before -- for alas, the one man left standing wasn't Milligan.

Taken from:
Stewart, Trenton Lee. The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey (2008), p. 360.

How did I rate this book? 4 1/2 stars

A Taste for Candy and Licorice

Every word is important.

And Trenton Lee Stewart demonstrates this beautifully in his book about The Mysterious Benedict Society.

In this book, he tells the story of four orphans (or near-orphans) who have been recruited by Mr. Benedict to stop the infamous Mr. Curtain and his nefarious plot to take over the world. They are to attend Mr. Curtain's "Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened" as spies.

As the foursome -- Reynie, Kate, Sticky, and Constance -- are being prepped by Mr. Benedict on the dangers of their mission, we get a seemingly innocent (albeit delightful) exchange on, of all topics... candy.

The children nodded uneasily. All this talk of danger and emergencies, without explanation, was beginning to wear on them.

"I'm sorry to put you ill at ease," Mr. Benedict said. "And I haven't much to say to comfort you. I can finally offer some answers to your questions, however. Who wishes to begin? Yes, Constance?"

To the great exasperation of the others, Constance demanded to know why they couldn't have candy for breakfast.

Mr. Benedict smiled. "A fine question. The short answer is that there is no candy presently in the house. Beyond that, the explanation involves a consideration of candy's excellent flavor but low nutritional value -- that is to say, why it makes a wonderful treat but a poor meal -- though I suspect you aren't interested in explanations but simply wished to express your frustration. Is that correct?"

"Maybe," Constance said with a shrug. But she seemed satisfied.

Fast forward to later in the story... The Society members are making headway on their mission at the school. Kate has returned from a night of espionage. But the Executives (i.e. Mr. Curtain's henchmen) are on to her. Their one problem: They don't have any concrete proof against Kate.

But then, just when the Mysterious Benedict Society think Kate is off the hook, the Executives approach her once more. This time, they are on to something that could mean big trouble for Kate:

"Jackson forgot to mention something else," Martina said. "He just so happened to spit out a piece of licorice last night in the same place he found that marble. But when he looked for it later, it was gone."

Reynie felt Kate stiffen next to him. They were in trouble.

"Funny thing about licorice," said Jackson. "It's just the sort of thing to get stuck in the bottom of your shoe without your realizing it."

"I get it, I get it," said Kate, squirming in her seat. "So now you want to see the bottoms of my shoes."

"If you'd be so kind," Martina said with a wicked grin. She'd noticed Kate squirming and was delighted to think she'd frightened her.

"Well, sorry about the dripping, but Reynie just spilled juice all over them," Kate said.
"Oh, yes, we saw that," Jackson said. He let out an amused rattle of laughter that sounded like a sheep in pain.

While Jackson was bleating at her expense, Kate pressed something sticky, gritty, and cold into Raynie's hand beneath the table. She hadn't been squirming from nervousness -- she's been twisting her legs up to get at the licorice. As she lifted her sodden shoes now for the Executives to inspect, Reynie reached across under the table and pressed the hunk of licorice into Sticky's hand. The further away from Kate the better, he thought. Sticky had the same idea, immediately passing the licorice on to Constance.

Constance, unfortunately, did not understand what it was.

In horror the boys watched her raise the slimy, dirty, half-chewed glob of candy above the tabletop to examine it. Reynie's eyes swiveled to the Executives, who, having been disappointed in Kate's shoes, were now asking her to show her empty hands, then checking for stickiness under the edge of the table. He looked back to Constance and saw the realization hit her, her eyes widening with alarm. And then, an instant before Martina glanced up to see it, Constance popped the licorice into her mouth, chewed it up and swallowed it.

Taken from:
Stewart, Trenton Lee. The Mysterious Benedict Society (2007), pp. 94-95, 392-393.

How did I rate this book? 4 1/2 stars

An Amusing Encounter with the Law

How do you write a humourous piece aboutf a run-in with the Law?

The Gilbreths tackle such a scene in their second book, Belles on their Toes. While Cheaper by the Dozen is the story of their dad, this book is about their mother.

In one episode, Mrs. Lillian Gilbreth has come to the White House. Knowing of her large family, the President (Herbert Hoover, in this case) asks her to have her children descend en masse so he can meet them. Mrs. Gilbreth knows the danger of this request, but agrees have her six sons come for a reception with the President and his wife.

Instead of taking the train, the boys decide to take their old Model T, a vehicle that "had neither top nor fenders."

And apparently bad tires.

In fact, the trip is riddled flat tires. So, after yet another patch job, they try to make up for lost time and speed along the highway, going 60 miles an hour in their old jalopy. And that's when they get stopped by a highway patrolman on a motorbike.

"Where do you think you're going, anyway?" the policeman asked, thrusting his face up near Frank's.

"We're going to Washington, Officer."

"And what are you going to Washington for?"

Frank thought that one over, and concluded that if he knew what was good for him he'd better come up with a more convincing explanation than the truth.

"Why nothing in particular," he said. "Just to sight-see, I guess."

"Go ahead and tell him," Jack said contemptuously. "Don't let him buffalo you like that."

Bill beaned him again.

"Yeah, tell me," the policeman ordered.

"All right," said Frank. "We're going to see President Hoover."

"I love wise guys, particularly in suits like that one," the patrolman leered. "I suppose the President invited you, personal, to drop in and have tea with him at the White House? Sure he did."

Frank nodded sheepishly.

"Nothing from nobody," Jack repeated from the back seat, putting his hands over his head to try to stave off Bill's knuckles.

"That's right, honest," Frank said desperately. "We've had some flat tires, and we're late."

"You," said the policeman, pointing to Jack. "Is that right? Are you going to see the President?"

"Not just the President," Jack told him. "Mrs. Hoover and some judges from the Supreme Court, too. Why don't you shove off, Buddy?"

The patrolman surveyed the car, the airplane paint job, the red waterline. He looked at us individually--Frank, Bill, and Fred, greasy from changing tires. Dan pale and about to be car sick. Jack and Bob, wrinkled and dirty.

"I guess you're telling the truth," he said. "The President doesn't get many laughs, and I ain't going to be responsible for his missing this one. Go ahead. But not more than forty-five miles an hour."

Taken from:
Gilbreth, Frank B. Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey. Belles on their Toes (195*), pp. 197-8.

How did I rate this book? 3 stars

Keep Em Reading

How can an author keep a reader's interest? To keep them reading?

Entice them with just enough information that they're dying to find out more.

Anne Rice does just that in her book Angel Time... The story of a hitman who is just doing his job. But this is no ordinary hitman. He's a hitman haunted by his past. Conflicted.

This exerpt comes right after he's successful in completing a hit (i.e. murder) for his boss. A stranger shows up. Someone who seems to know everything about him...

The feeling of despair was almost blinding. I stopped in my tracks. We were under the campanario. It couldn't have been a more lovely spot. The ivy was trailing over the bells, and people were streaming by us on the pathway, to the left and to the right. I could hear the laughter and chatter from the nearby Mexican restaurant. I could hear the birds in the trees.

He stood close to me, looking at me intently, looking at me the way I'd want a brother to look at me, but I had no brother, because my little brother had died a long, long time ago. My fault. The original murders.

And this isn't the first time in the book Rice hints that there's something to the death of the hitman's brother. This reference is full of possibility. What does he mean? Did he actually kill the brother? Was it an accident? Why was it his fault?

Well, I won't give the secret away here. For those answers, you have to read the book.

Taken from:
Rice, Anne. Angel Time (2009), p. 44.

How did I rate this book? 3 stars

Begin with a Cliffhanger

The Cliffhanger.

Leave the character in a suspenseful situation. Make the reader keep reading to find out what happens next. You'll find them (usually) at the end of a chapter. Sometimes at the end of book.

But Dodie Smith has a different approach to cliffhangers in her book I Capture the Castle. Oh, it may not be a cliffhanger in the original sense of the word. Nobody is hanging off a cliff. But the cliffhanging art of suspense is certainly present.

However, instead of dropping her teaser at the end of a chapter, she puts it at the beginning!

Okay, a bit of background on this book. It's written in the format of a journal. The writer is 17-year-old Cassandra, the protagonist of the novel. Cassandra's passion is to become a writer. And this journal is her outlet. Chapter X begins with these lines:

Oh, I long to blurt out the news in my first paragraph -- but I won't! This is a chance to teach myself the art of suspense.

Smith is almost too obvious here. Yet, coming through Cassandra's voice, it works. Cassandra wants to become an author, so it makes sense that she'd try to work on her technique.

And guess what? It also does the trick. The reader does want to find out what it is that Cassandra is holding back. Smith does this same thing later on in Chapter XIII -- this time, it's a little less obvious...

Oh, how bitter it is to read that last line I wrote little over three weeks ago -- now when I cannot even remember what happiness felt like!

I didn't read back any further. I was too afraid of losing the dead, flat, watching myself feeling which has come this morning for the first time. It is utterly dreary but better than acute wretchedness, and has given me a faint desire to empty my mind into this journal, which will pass a few hours. But shall I be able to write about the wicked thing I did on my birthday? Can I bring myself to describe it fully? Perhaps I can work up to it.

Yes, the suspense is just as powerful. Perhaps even more so...

And yes, it comes at the opening of a chapter.

Taken from:
Smith, Dodie. I Capture the Castle (1949), pp. 189, 268.

How did I rate this book? 4 stars

Lessons in Finding the Ark

If you know Ted Dekker's writing, you know you're in for fast-paced action.

This book is about a search for the lost Ark of the Covenent. (You know... Indiana Jones, except without Indiana Jones, of course.)

While the characters don't know where the Ark is, they suspect that one of them (Caleb) is the key to finding it. But he himself isn't aware that he knows. So, how do you get the information you need?

Below are two excerpts from the book. Rebecca has chased Caleb down in the desert to see if he knows the secret hiding spot. Of course, Caleb won't know the answer, or can't remember the answer. First, here's the setup:

"Where do the oil and the brine mix, Caleb?" Rebecca asked.

"You are with the Jews who overtook the monastery!" he said.

"Yes."

"You... Then my mother and father are safe?"

"Yes. In fact, they have helped Zakkai dig into your old sleeping place below the monastery. They found a letter from Frather Matthew that talks about the place where the oil and brine mix. We believe the Ark is hidden there."

For a long time, Caleb looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Caleb. I know I misled you, but considering the circumstances, I'm sure you can understand." She told him Raphael Hadane's story, and that Father Matthew had told his good friend, Father Joseph Hadane, about the Ark. "Israel is on the verge of finding her salvation, and you now hold Israel captive."

Caleb finally spoke. "The presence of God is not in an Ark any longer, Rebecca. It's here in the desert. It's in the ocean. In his eyes. In the heart."

And the payoff. When the characters put two and two together to get four...

...The note was short--the same as Rebecca had been read over the satellite phone.

"Caleb, you alone know the secrets of this majestic rock we shared for a home. It was a gift from God... Where the brine mixes with the oil, there you will find God. Only you will know..."

"Where do the oil and the brine mix, Caleb?" Zakkai asked.

He looked up, wide-eyed. "In the heart."

Zakkai nodded. "And where is the heart of the monastery?"

"The heart of the monastery?" He looked puzzled. "The foundation below the study," he said from memory. Of course! The heart was a place! The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

Zakkai exchanged a quick glance with Rebecca. The torchlight glistened off his sweaty brow. "You are sure?"

"That's what Father Matthew used to call it. You think..." Caleb blinked.

"Show us, Caleb."

Taken from:
Dekker, Ted and Bill Bright. A Man Called Blessed (2002), p.172-3, 214-5.

How did I rate this book? 3 stars

A Study in Larger-than-Life Characters

Cheaper by the Dozen is a study in character. Episodic in nature, the book is dominated by a larger-than-life personality...

Frank Gilbreth.

Written by two of the twelve Gilbreth children, the book tells the story of their Motion Study expert father who is always on the lookout to create efficiency in every way. As the book cover nicely sums up this character as "a lively, unpredictable, and wholly beloved autocrat."

But how did the Gilbreth kids create such a character, and still have him be the endearing man they remembered?

One episode in the story involves a chapter entitled: Motion Study Tonsils. As implied, Gilbreth newest project involved finding out how surgeons could better perform operations. To him, this meant filming various operations to "sort out the good motions from the wasted motions." Of course, it's hard to get both patients and doctors to sign off on allowing their operations to be filmed.

That's when a brainstorm hits our Motion Study expert. Why not film his own children having their tonsils out? And to show that he's not using his kids as guinea pigs, he promises to have his own tonsils out as well. (By the way, this whole episode is perhaps one of the funniest in the 1950 version of the movie by the same name, starring Clifton Webb and Myrna Loy).

So, here we are. An excerpt from the book that shows Mr. Frank Gilbreth, Efficiency Expert, in all his glory:

While we were recuperating, Dad spent considerable time with us, but minimized our discomforts, and kept telling us we were just looking for sympathy.

"Don't tell me," he said. "I saw the operations, didn't I? Why there's only the little, tiniest cut at the back of your throat. I don't understand how you can do all that complaining. Don't you remember the story about the Spartan boy who kept his mouth shut while the fox was chewing on his vitals?"

It was partly because of our complaining, and the desire to show us how the Spartan boy would have had his tonsils out, that Dad decided to have only a local anesthetic for his operation. Mother, Grandma, and Dr. Burton all advised against it. But Dad wouldn't listen.

"Why does everyone want to make a mountain out of a molehill over such a minor operation?" he said. "I want to keep an eye on Burton and see that he doesn't mess up the job."

The first day that we children were well enough to get up, Dad and Mother set out in the car for Dr. Burton's office. Mother had urged Dad to call a taxi. She didn't know how to drive, and she said Dad probably wouldn't feel like doing the driving on the way home. But Dad laughed at her qualms.

"Be back in about an hour," Dad called to us as he tested his three horns to make sure he was prepared for any emergency. "Wait lunch for us. I'm starving."

"You've go to hand it to him," Anne admitted as the Pierce Arrow bucked up Wayside Place. "He's the bee's knees, all right. We were all scared to death before our operations. And look at him. He's looking forward to it."

Two hours later, a taxicab stopped in front of the house, and the driver jumped out and opened the door for his passengers. Then Mother emerged, pale and red-eyed. She and the driver helped a crumpled mass of moaning blue serge to alight. Dad's hat was rumpled and on sideways. His face was gray and and sagging. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were watering. He couldn't speak and he couldn't smile.

But wait! The chapter doesn't end there.

Remember how the purpose of this whole thing was to film the tonsil operations? Well, the cameraman, Mr. Coggin, didn't exactly enjoy the experience. At one point, Coggin was "sick in a wastebasket." But is Gilbreth sympathetic? Not on your life! "'Don't stop cranking,' Dad shouted at him, 'or your tonsils will be next. I'll pull them out by the roots, myself. Crank, by jingo, crank.'" (p.107)

Here's how the Gilbreths finish the chapter:

Dad didn't get his voice back until the very day that he finally got out of bed. He was lying there, propped up on pillows, reading his office mail. There was a card from Mr. Coggin, the photographer.

"Hate to tell you, Mr. Gilbreth., but none of the moving pictures came out. I forgot to take off the inside lens cap. I'm terribly sorry. Coggin. P.S. I quit."

Dad threw off the covers and reached for his bathrobe. For the first time in two weeks, he spoke:

"I'll track him down to the ends of the earth," he croaked. "I'll take a blunt button hook and pull his tonsils out by the by jingoed roots, just like I promised him. He doesn't quit. He's fired."

Taken from:
Gilbreth, Frank B. Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey. Cheaper by the Dozen (1948), pp. 109-10, 112-13.

How did I rate this book? 3 stars

The Wow-Moment

Sometimes, when you read, your mind begins to race ahead. To fill in the blanks. You begin to search for where the story is going.

A sign of good writing is when the author can make the reader think they know what's going to happen, but then to quickly switch gears. Catch the reader by surprise. This is what I call a "wow-moment".

The following excerpt is actually from a non-fiction book by Max Lucado. I wouldn't normally classify non-fiction (especially this type of non-fiction) as having wow-moments. But after all, Lucado is a storyteller. And this part of the book is indeed telling a story.

I was reading this book aloud to my grandmother. I didn't expect the wow-moment. (Hey, this is non-fiction, remember?) So, it really did take me by surprise...

Once, in a dream, I encountered a man who was wearing a fedora and a corduroy coat. He was the classroom version of Indiana Jones: distinguished, professorial, strong jawed, and kind eyed. He frequented funerals. Apparently I did as well, for the dream consisted of one memorial after another--at funeral homes, chapels, gravesides. He never removed his hat. I never asked him why he wore it, but I did ask him to explain his proverbial presence at interments.

"I come to take people to their eternal home." ... I didn't think it odd to see the fedora at funerals. But I did think it strange to run into the man on a crowded street.

Think Thanksgiving Day parade or Fourth of July festival. A people-packed avenue. "I'm surprised to see you here," I told him. He didn't reply.

I saw one of my friends standing nearby. A good man, a widower, up in years, poor in health. Suddenly I understood the presence of the fedora-clad angel.

"You've come for my friend."

"No."

Then the dream did what only dreams can do. It dismissed everyone but the visitor and me. The crowded sidewalk became a quiet boulevard, so quiet I couldn't mistake his next words.

"Max, I came for you."

[Lucado, Max. Fearless (2009), pp.115-6.]

Inner Struggle and Narration

First-person narration. The way into the mind of the main character.

In Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins uses it as a tool for getting at the heart of the emotional roller-coaster of a teen-aged girl named Katniss; to feel her struggle to know her own mind.

This is the second book in The Hunger Games trilogy. The story world is set in a dystopian future; the characters are caught up in a gladiator-style Game where the contestants must hunt each other down. There can only be one winner.

During the course of the first novel, Collins set up two potential suitors for Katniss: Gale and Peeta. But Katniss is determined she wants to avoid marriage (at least at the outset). She just isn't interested. But as the story unfolds, her confusion over this topic only deepens.

In the following selection, we see how Collins captures that internal conflict within Katniss:

"Your family needs you, Katniss," Peeta says.

My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta's intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I'll marry him. So Peeta's giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn't ever have doubts about it. Everything. That's what Peeta wants me to take from him.

I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn't. And that's how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels.

"No one really needs me," he says, and there's no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.

[Collins, Suzanne. Catching Fire (2009), pp. 351-2.]

Title in the Story

The title of a book.

Oftentimes, you'll find the title right in the text of the story. Sometimes, the result can seem sloppy; too obvious. Sometimes, it can be stunning.

In Marked by Fire, Joyce Carol Thomas incoporates her book title (or rather, a slight variation of it) early on in the story. And she does this all in a style that works well with the setting of the narrative.

The book begins with the main character being born in a cotton field in Oklahoma in 1951. Thomas uses single sentences as each neighbour woman retells a part of the events surrounding the birth. The beautiful sing-song style harkens back to the storytelling tradition of the African-American slaves.

Far from seeming forced, this exchange becomes an organic and natural part of the book. Just plain, beautiful writing.

In Ponca City, in the cool of the evening, the older people invariably sat out on their porches to reinterate the events of the day. They wanted to witness all that went on with neighbors. They were particularly interested in the new baby, Abyssinia. The women of Ponca City considered themselves midwives-in-common at her birth.

"Remember it like it was only yesterday," one of them commented.

"Born in the cotton field."

"Came here marked, too."

"Marked by the fire!"

"Baptized with the fire!"

"Foreman built the fire."

"Boiled water for the birthing."

"Patience spread out on her pallet of cotton sacks."

"And here comes our baby."

"An ember jumped out of the blaze and branded the child."

"Marked at birth!"

"A birthmark."

"Placed the new child on a soft sack of cotton."

"Laid her in a cotton manger."

"A black girl in a manger."

[Thomas, Joyce Carol. Marked by Fire (1982), pp.14-15.]

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Ever put your foot in your mouth?

We've all said things we shouldn't have said. Usually it just comes out and then you realize, too late, that you've fallen victim to the classic "Open Mouth, Insert Foot."

We can all sympathize when a character in a book says the wrong thing at the wrong time. In this case, McCall Smith finds the humour inside the situation...

The small woman hesitated a moment... "My name, Mma, is Mma Magama, but nobody calls me that very much. They call me Teenie."

"That is because..." Mma Makutsi stopped herself.

"That is because I have always been called that," said Teenie. "Teenie is a good name for a small person, you see, Mma."

"You are not so small, Mma," said Mma Makutsi. But you are, she thought; you're terribly small.

"I have seen smaller people," said Teenie appreciatively.

"Where did you see them?" asked Mma Makutsi. She had not intended to ask the question, but it slipped out.

Teenie pointed vaguely out of the window, but said nothing.

[McCall Smith, Alexander. The Good Husband of Zebra Drive (2007), p.111.]