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Wednesday Reading Meme
Jun. 3rd, 2020 07:04 amWhat I’ve Just Finished Reading
When I was about five The Borrowers was pretty much my very favorite book in the whole WORLD, so I am aghast and astonished that I didn’t realize that Mary Norton wrote non-Borrower books until the Year of Our Lord 2020, when the Disney adaptation Bedknobs and Broomsticks clued me in.
As is the way with Disney adaptations, the movie and the book don’t have much in common: Bed-knob and Broomstick is set after World War II, not during it, and therefore contains no climactic battle of suits of armor vs. Nazis (although there is a delightful sequence where an uninhabited suit of clothes commits a different act of heroism). The book also - sigh - contains a visit to a cannibal island, cannibal islands being all the rage in 1950s children fantasies; there’s a similar sequence in an Edward Eager novel.
Over the course of the book, the children only go on three adventures, which is not enough to fully explore the premise of a bed that can fly not only through space but also time. Still, that premise is amazing imagination fodder: what child wouldn’t like to lie in bed and imagine being able to fly it away somewhere for a night of adventure?
I liked Richard Peck’s A Long Way from Chicago so much that I ended up rereading the sequel, A Year Down Yonder. Both are set during the Great Depression, and they center on Grandma Dowdel, a trickster figure with a dab hand at piecrust, as told through the admiring memories of her grandchildren. She takes a dim view of cops and bankers, and when she’s not making gooseberry pies she foils evictions, catches catfish out of the country club’s stream to feed the needy, and undermines the social pretensions of the DAR.
I also read Naomi Tamura’s The Japanese Bride, a nonfiction book published in America in 1893, mostly because I was tickled pink to find a book published by a Japanese author in America so early - and completely by accident, too, it was just sitting there on a book list in William Dean Howells’ My Year in a Log Cabin. (In general, I’ve found publishers’ “Here are some other books we sell” lists in the front and end matter to be an AMAZING resource for learning about old books, because they give you such a wide view of what was out there.)
Anyway, in The Japanese Bride, Tamura explains Japanese marriage customs for an American audience, which - because American courting customs have changed so much, starting with the fact that we no longer call it “courting” - also yields interesting information about American courting customs in the 1890s for the modern reader.
Finding this book required a bit of googling, during which I discovered (1) there is a female Japanese pop star also named Naomi Tamura, but the author of this book is in fact a man, and (2) after he returned to Japan as a minister after studying at the Auburn Theological Seminary, The Japanese Bride landed him in hot water, because many people weren’t pleased that he had written so openly about private life in Japan for outsiders in a way that might invite censure.
AND FINALLY I read Susan Campbell Bartoletti’s Hitler Youth: Growing Up in Hitler’s Shadow, partly because it’s on my Newbery Honor list but also on the theory that maybe it would offer some insight into why people join up with fascists today. This theory was incorrect; the answer to “Why did people join up with Hitler Youth?” is “Because all their friends joined and there was camping and singing and it was the only path to economic and educational advancement and also at a certain point it became compulsory to all quote-unquote ‘ethnic Germans’ and parents could have their children taken away if they tried to stop them from joining,” much of which is not really analogous to why young people go for alt-right groups today, although probably the “all their friends have joined” bit is sometimes a factor.
(Are we still calling it the alt-right? I feel that it has, at this point, simply become “the right.”)
What I’m Reading Now
I put off reading Christopher Paul Curtis’s The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963 for years, because I figured it was going to be harrowing, and it is, but so far not for the reasons you might suspect from the title. We haven’t gotten to Birmingham yet; we’re still up in Detroit, stuck in the middle of a bully-o-rama. The new kid gets bullied, the main character gets bullied, his older brother bullies the bully (there’s sticking up for your younger brother, and then there’s chucking a smaller kid repeatedly against a wire fence just because you can, you know?), it is in short A Lot.
What I Plan to Read Next
I want to be the first to call this: thirty to forty years from now, someone’s going to win the hell out of the Newbery with a book set during 2020. Let’s hope that book is called Black Lives Matter and not The Year Democracy Died.
When I was about five The Borrowers was pretty much my very favorite book in the whole WORLD, so I am aghast and astonished that I didn’t realize that Mary Norton wrote non-Borrower books until the Year of Our Lord 2020, when the Disney adaptation Bedknobs and Broomsticks clued me in.
As is the way with Disney adaptations, the movie and the book don’t have much in common: Bed-knob and Broomstick is set after World War II, not during it, and therefore contains no climactic battle of suits of armor vs. Nazis (although there is a delightful sequence where an uninhabited suit of clothes commits a different act of heroism). The book also - sigh - contains a visit to a cannibal island, cannibal islands being all the rage in 1950s children fantasies; there’s a similar sequence in an Edward Eager novel.
Over the course of the book, the children only go on three adventures, which is not enough to fully explore the premise of a bed that can fly not only through space but also time. Still, that premise is amazing imagination fodder: what child wouldn’t like to lie in bed and imagine being able to fly it away somewhere for a night of adventure?
I liked Richard Peck’s A Long Way from Chicago so much that I ended up rereading the sequel, A Year Down Yonder. Both are set during the Great Depression, and they center on Grandma Dowdel, a trickster figure with a dab hand at piecrust, as told through the admiring memories of her grandchildren. She takes a dim view of cops and bankers, and when she’s not making gooseberry pies she foils evictions, catches catfish out of the country club’s stream to feed the needy, and undermines the social pretensions of the DAR.
I also read Naomi Tamura’s The Japanese Bride, a nonfiction book published in America in 1893, mostly because I was tickled pink to find a book published by a Japanese author in America so early - and completely by accident, too, it was just sitting there on a book list in William Dean Howells’ My Year in a Log Cabin. (In general, I’ve found publishers’ “Here are some other books we sell” lists in the front and end matter to be an AMAZING resource for learning about old books, because they give you such a wide view of what was out there.)
Anyway, in The Japanese Bride, Tamura explains Japanese marriage customs for an American audience, which - because American courting customs have changed so much, starting with the fact that we no longer call it “courting” - also yields interesting information about American courting customs in the 1890s for the modern reader.
Finding this book required a bit of googling, during which I discovered (1) there is a female Japanese pop star also named Naomi Tamura, but the author of this book is in fact a man, and (2) after he returned to Japan as a minister after studying at the Auburn Theological Seminary, The Japanese Bride landed him in hot water, because many people weren’t pleased that he had written so openly about private life in Japan for outsiders in a way that might invite censure.
AND FINALLY I read Susan Campbell Bartoletti’s Hitler Youth: Growing Up in Hitler’s Shadow, partly because it’s on my Newbery Honor list but also on the theory that maybe it would offer some insight into why people join up with fascists today. This theory was incorrect; the answer to “Why did people join up with Hitler Youth?” is “Because all their friends joined and there was camping and singing and it was the only path to economic and educational advancement and also at a certain point it became compulsory to all quote-unquote ‘ethnic Germans’ and parents could have their children taken away if they tried to stop them from joining,” much of which is not really analogous to why young people go for alt-right groups today, although probably the “all their friends have joined” bit is sometimes a factor.
(Are we still calling it the alt-right? I feel that it has, at this point, simply become “the right.”)
What I’m Reading Now
I put off reading Christopher Paul Curtis’s The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963 for years, because I figured it was going to be harrowing, and it is, but so far not for the reasons you might suspect from the title. We haven’t gotten to Birmingham yet; we’re still up in Detroit, stuck in the middle of a bully-o-rama. The new kid gets bullied, the main character gets bullied, his older brother bullies the bully (there’s sticking up for your younger brother, and then there’s chucking a smaller kid repeatedly against a wire fence just because you can, you know?), it is in short A Lot.
What I Plan to Read Next
I want to be the first to call this: thirty to forty years from now, someone’s going to win the hell out of the Newbery with a book set during 2020. Let’s hope that book is called Black Lives Matter and not The Year Democracy Died.
