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

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

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

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.]