Of Mice and Men

Steinbeck, John. 1937. Of Mice and Men. 103 pages.

Short and oh-so-bittersweet. Of Mice and Men is the first Steinbeck that I owned. (Thanks to Jennie!) But I'm glad it wasn't the first that I ever read. (That would be Tortilla Flat.) Because knowing me, if I'd read it first, I don't know that I would have rushed out to read any of his other books. (Does that make me a horrible person?)

Though I'd not read it before, it seemed familiar to me. Without knowing it, I think I'd been exposed to the complex friendship between Lennie and George. These two migrant workers (ranchers) are coming to a new job--having fled their previous one. If you want just a plot summary, there are better places to find it. Because I can't think of ways to describe it without giving everything away.

What I liked about it...

I thought it was well-written. I thought it was complex and intricate. But it wasn't wordy. It didn't need to be in order to have substance and worth. I thought it was clever in its use of foreshadowing for the most part. I thought the characters were well developed and human. I didn't always like them. I didn't always understand them. I found a few to be too gritty. But whether I like them (or not) is not really the point. I felt that they were real. I felt for quite a few of them. These characters (some of them more than others) are tragically drawn. These were men trapped in their circumstances in some ways.

The novel made me sad, but it also made me think. It made me sad because it's a depressing book. A harsh book. A book that examines mental illness. Lennie broke my heart. I wanted there to be a different ending, a happier ending. But the truth is, in that world, in that time, there really couldn't have been a happy ending. Once things were set in motion, there was no going back. And the signs and clues are all there. George couldn't protect Lennie from Lennie. No one could.

So I thought it was good--in a way. But it was a bit too tragic for me to love. (Says the person who finds Frankenstein a comfort read.)

© Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

Gone With The Wind

Mitchell, Margaret. 1936. Gone With The Wind.

You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need...
--The Rolling Stones

Because I used to love her, but it's all over now...

--The Rolling Stones

Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. (5)

Thus begins Margaret Mitchell's classic novel Gone With The Wind. Does it surprise you that Scarlett O'Hara "was not beautiful"? Can you conceptualize (fancy word for imagine) a Scarlett O'Hara that isn't beautiful? Try. Really. I bet you can't help but think of the beautiful Vivian Leigh. And that is where I think Hollywood did a huge disservice to the world. I have a love-hate relationship with the movie. I do. The movie has its moments of brilliance. Moments I love. But the movie has little to do with what Margaret Mitchell actually wrote. It got a few of the surface details right, I think, but it makes a mockery of it in places. Mitchell's novel has heart and soul and substance. Actual substance. The movie? Well. It's more stereotypes. Hollywood's version of the South is far from the South portrayed in Mitchell's pages. Especially when it comes to Scarlett and Tara. (But I digress.)

What did Scarlett look like? We're told that "it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white-skin" (5).

Even if you've never read the book, I would imagine you've got a fairly good notion of what Gone With The Wind is about. At least on the surface. It's the story of the spoiled-rotten Scarlett O'Hara and her quest to win her heart's desire through any means possible. Scarlett is one that doesn't ask if it's wrong or right. She only lives by this question--does it get me one step closer to what I want? If it does--then look out!

Scarlett. Rhett. Ashley. You probably know the basics. A woman wants what she can't have. She wants it until she can have it. The moment she has it. She doesn't want it anymore. Scarlett is in a perpetual state of frustration. The man in her bed doing her bidding is rarely the man in her heart.

The book is about much more than Scarlett and her quest for love, however. It's a love story, I won't deny it. But there is much more than love at stake in the novel. War. Reconstruction. Civilization. Society. Culture. Class. Race. Money. Politics. Survival. It's a novel of contrasts. The Old South vs. The New South. Conformity vs. Individuality. The haves vs. the have-nots. If asked to sum up Gone With The Wind in one word, most would probably say "Love." I'd say gumption. People who have it; people who don't. What do I mean by gumption? Partly spirit. Partly courage. Partly determination. Partly ambition. People with gumption act. They do what they must when they must.

One of my favorite non-love scenes from the book is Scarlett's conversation with Grandma Fontaine. A wonderful, wonderful character by the way. The setting is after Gerald's funeral. Scarlett is pregnant with Frank Kennedy's baby. (Yes, the movie killed Gerald, her father, off too soon.)

"We bow to the inevitable. We’re not wheat, we’re buckwheat! When a storm comes along it flattens ripe wheat because it’s dry and can’t bend with the wind. But ripe buckwheat’s got sap in it and it bends. And when the wind has passed, it springs up almost as straight and strong as before. We aren’t a stiff-necked tribe. We’re mighty limber when a hard wind’s blowing, because we know it pays to be limber. When trouble comes we bow to the inevitable without any mouthing, and we work and we smile and we bide our time. And we play along with lesser folks and we take what we can get from them. And when we’re strong enough, we kick the folks whose necks we’ve climbed over. That, my child, is the secret of the survival.” And after a pause, she added: “I pass it on to you.”

The old lady cackled, as if she were amused by her words, despite the venom in them. She looked as if she expected some comment from Scarlett but the words had made little sense to her and she could think of nothing to say. (709-710)

It's a novel that goes above and beyond the central character of Scarlett. Even if you hate Scarlett, I'd imagine you'd find some character to love. Be it Melanie. Rhett. Mammy. Uncle Peter. Grandma Fontaine. How could you not? There are so many characters, so many individual stories. Stories of triumph. Stories of loss. Stories of hope. Stories of disappointment. Stories of survival. Stories of failure. There is depth and meaning that the movie doesn't even try to accommodate. Depth and meaning that even diehard fans can't help but learn something new with each rereading.

I don't want anyone to think I'm glossing over some of the book's issues. You'd have to be a fool to not realize that Gone With The Wind has more than a little potential to be racially offensive. It could be seen as abrasive even. It uses these words interchangeably: n-word, darkie(s), slaves, and Negroes. A good many of uses of the n-word come from slaves/servants conversing with one another. But there are many that aren't. And regardless of who is speaking it in the novel, the context of the novel, you can't escape the fact that it is a white author. There are phrases, there are scenes, that you can't deny are racist. You just can't. It's no wonder that this book is challenged in some places. But I'm not a book banner. Obviously.

My rule is context, context, context. My second rule is that it is better to discuss and employ critical thinking skills than it is to deny, hide, or censor. There are two contexts for reading Gone With The Wind. The first is that of the author. Margaret Mitchell. A Southern woman growing up in turn-of-the-century America. The 1920s and the 1930s. These were the years that Margaret Mitchell was living and working on her novel. This is the culture and mindset of the author and of the original audience. Gone With The Wind is not alone. It doesn't stand out from the crowd. Many books, many authors used the n-word without batting an eye. Many wrote with the mindset that whites are superior--intellectually at least--to blacks. It doesn't make it true then or now. But that is the mindset. The second is that of the setting of the novel. 1860s-1870s America's South. You can't be true to history without going there. It's a fact in America's history. There's no disputing or denying it. It's not pleasant; it's often ugly. But there you have it. You've got to know where you've been so you can measure how far you've come. And so you can measure how far you've still got to go. America--both as a nation and as a people--has never been perfect. Will probably never be perfect.

As a reader, I can enjoy the story without being brainwashed. I can see. I can question. I can realize when I'm being fed bull. Lines where the former slaves still faithful servants are talking about how they've never wanted freedom??? about how they've never wanted money or independence??? I think I know that Mitchell was full of it. I think most readers can make that division. I hope.

Changing topics now. I just want to bring to your attention one more thing. The last chapter was written first. (The first few chapters were written last.) Margaret Mitchell had in her mind how the story would end. It was these characters in this last and final state--the frustrated and pleading Scarlett and the resolute and pitying Rhett--that were her characters. Her characters just as she wanted them; just as she first imagined them. Everything that comes before is leading up to this grand emotional finale. Every scene, every conversation. All the little plot twists. All were to lead up to this. It wasn't the other way around. The ending wasn't tacked on because Mitchell didn't know where to go next. This unhappy and emotionally draining scene was her perfect ending. Which is why I find the idea of sequels so laughable.

There is so much more I could say. How much I love Melanie. How much I love Rhett. How irritating Ashley can be. How unforgettable most of the character are when you get down to it. But if I were to post every thought I had on GWTW... then that would be much too much. If I were to share every *favorite* quote...again much too much.

I first read Gone With The Wind when I was eleven or twelve. (I had first typed elven. But I've never been elven.) I've read it maybe seven or eight times since then. I read it every year for a while. But around the age of twenty, I outgrew it. Moved on. This was my first time to read it since then.

© Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

Diary of A Young Girl

Frank, Anne. 1952. The Diary of A Young Girl.

"You're reading that again?" That's what my mother said as she caught me reading Anne Frank. Like I haven't read anything but this one book in all these years. She's right. I have read Anne Frank's Diary of A Young Girl before. But some things are worth repeating. Diary of A Young Girl is one of them. The first time I read this book, I would have been in high school. Close enough to Anne's age to feel it--the drama of adolescence on top of extreme political and social upheaval. The Diary of A Young Girl captures both. The war. The threat of death. The threat of captivity. The threat of starvation and disease. But it also captures youth. What it means to be young, to be at that ever-awkward stage in life, in development. Always a me-in-the-making, never quite done finding out who you are and what you believe and what you want out of life. Anne could be any girl in any place and time. But because she was born a Jew. Because Hitler came to power. Her life--her perfectly ordinary life--was cut short.

The book begins in June of 1942. The last entry is in August of 1944. In these two years, these two turbulent years, Anne and her family and several other people as well all go into hiding in the Secret Annexe. Mr. and Mrs. Frank. Margot, the older sister. Mr. and Mrs. Van Daan. Their son Peter. And Mr. Dussel. Eight people. Cramped living conditions. This isn't reality tv. This is life and death. Yes, every person gets super-cranky and super-sensitive. But wouldn't you?

The reader gets a glimpse into the lives of real people through the eyes of one very young sometimes-mature, sometimes-immature girl. Anne Frank. Very famous now because of her diary. But just then--at the moment--one very ordinary girl with a natural desire to write a diary. I think most kids (or teens) at one time or another try their hand at keeping journals. Though perhaps now, blogging has replaced all that. Diaries are intimate, personal, private. Each entry is a snapshot into that one day, that one hour, that one moment. When you're young, (and even when you're older and supposedly all grown up) your mood, your outlook changes moment by moment, day by day. Happy one minute, miserable the next. Such is the case with Anne. Personally, I'm surprised that Anne had as many happy moments, contented moments, grateful moment in the Annexe as she did. I think it would only be natural to be unhappy, scared, miserable, depressed. Living in cramped quarters with people you dislike, people you disagree with, not being able to go outside, to go anywhere you want. Not having the freedom to move, to make noise when you want. To always be on alert. To always worry about the threat of discovery, the threat of capture, the threat of bombs blowing you to bits. High stress. Very high stress.

But this isn't just a book about war, about being Jewish, about being a victim. This book is so much more than that. It's a book about growing up. A book about changing from a girl into a young woman with hopes and dreams and fears and desires. It's a book about being that age. That extremely awkward stage of life. My mom thought all people of that age should be shipped off to junior high island until they grew out of it. That moody, I-hate-you, you-don't-understand-me stage. Anne was a work-in-progress. There's no doubt about it. When we first meet her, she's entering that phase of life. She doesn't get along with her mother. At all. She feels completely disconnected from her. Misunderstood. Unloved. Unwanted. Unappreciated. And her relationship with her father is better, but not perfect. Sometimes she feels the disconnect with him too. And her sister. She feels that her parents love her sister more. That her sister gets all the praise, the love, the positive attention. And she feels that she gets attacked, bombarded with negative attention--lectures, lectures, more lectures. Everyone is always out-to-get-her. But though this does seem to be Anne's story, Anne's predicament, by the second half of the book, Anne is growing, changing, maturing. She looks back over past entries and realizes that things are different, things have changed. And she realizes that most of the changes were in her. She is beginning to build, to establish a better relationship with her family. She is beginning to get comfortable in her own skin.

Anne is someone I think we all can relate to in a way. Anne was just a girl. A girl with interests and hobbies. Likes and dislikes. She could be anybody.

The Diary of A Young Girl was originally published in Holland in 1947. It was soon translated into other languages, including English, and printed in the United States. 1952 is the first publication date for the United States. Almost from the very beginning, it was recognized as a good book, a powerful book, a book worthy of time and attention and respect. But it's not without its enemies.

Though I'll never in a million years understand the mindset of those that challenge books, I'll never ever ever understand why Diary of A Young Girl is one of their targets. I just don't understand it. Can't understand it. One challenge brought against the book stated that it was pornographic. How??? Why??? Fortunately, the challenge failed, and the book stayed on the shelves. I suppose pornography is subjective. But a young girl writing about her period is so not pornographic! A young girl writing about her breasts developing? Not pornographic. A young girl writing about her first kiss? Not pornographic. There is no talk, no hint of sex in the book. Though Anne spends the last part of the book making out with Peter, the son of the Van Daans. But it's not pornographic in the slightest. Not unless it's the mention of Anne reading a book where there is mention of a woman selling her body. Or perhaps it is the conversation about the cat's male organs that is so offensive to folks? Whether the cat is a tom cat.

I could go on for hours about all the suffering the war has brought, but then I would only make myself more dejected. There is nothing we can do but wait as calmly as we can till the misery comes to an end. Jews and Christians wait, the whole earth waits, and there are many who wait for death. (64)

I see the eight of us with our "Secret Annexe" as if we were a little piece of blue heaven, surrounded by heavy black rain clouds. The round, clearly defined spot where we stand is still safe, but the clouds gather more closely about us and the circle which separates us from the approaching danger closes more and more tightly. (115)

But seriously, it would seem quite funny ten years after the war if we Jews were to tell how we lived and what we ate and talked about here. Although I tell you [the diary] a lot, still even so, you only know very little of our lives. (192)

And if I haven't any talent for writing books or newspaper articles, well, then I can always write for myself. . . I want to go on living after my death! And therefore I am grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me. I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. But, and that is the great question, will I ever be able to write anything great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer? I hope so, oh, I hope so very much. (197)

© Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

Little House on the Prairie

Wilder, Laura Ingalls. 1935. Little House On the Prairie.

A long time ago, when all the grandfathers and grandmothers of today were little boys and little girls or very small babies, or perhaps not even born, Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and Baby Carrie left their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin. They drove away and left it lonely and empty in the clearing among the big trees, and they never saw that little house again. They were going to the Indian country.

Thus begins Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. It was written in 1935. (Farmer Boy, a book about her husband's childhood was published in 1933. I do plan on reading and reviewing Farmer Boy. I just have a little different reading order I follow.) It's funny--okay, not really ha ha funny--but this is one of those opening paragraphs that I had practically memorized from childhood. It's not that I think it is particularly "awesome" or anything. But something about it struck me as a child. Of course, this opening like the opening to Little House in the Big Woods loses its "trueness" with the flow of time.

By 1935, all of my grandparents had been born--two were even teens or preteens by that point--but this story would have been targeted for them. It was this generation that would have been the first readers. This introduction would have been about getting them to think about their grandparents. It's mind-boggling as a child to think about your grandparents having grandparents. I think age, time, history is so complex that it's hard to wrap your mind around as a child. To think that your grandparents were ever anything but "old" to think of them as being children, of being good and naughty, of going to school, of getting in trouble, of having fears, of having friends and playmates, etc.

Perhaps Little House is one of the reasons I've always loved stories and storytelling. Perhaps not. Perhaps I come from a family of storytellers. My mom can tell stories--and they're such great stories--about her childhood, about her parents, about her grandparents, about her cousins, and most especially about her naughty siblings. To hear my mom talk about her grandparents, it's a wonderful thing. To hear my great-aunt and my grandma talk about their childhoods, their parents, their grandparents, is a wonderful thing. I love family history. I love family stories.

Maybe I'm the only child that read this opening and thought of how deep and mind-boggling it was to trace the generations back and learn and explore and connect. Maybe not.

This book--like Little House in the Big Woods--is so poignant to me. Maybe I'm not using the right word. What I mean is that each chapter, each event, is so much a part of my memory, so familiar, so resonating that it remains sharp and clear even after a dozen years since the last reading. I think the Garth Williams illustrations are part of the reason why. The book is like a collection of snapshots not only of Laura's story but of my own childhood. The Little House books are part of my reading DNA.

The story, very briefly, is about Laura and her family as they travel by covered wagon into new territory. Once they arrive, they try to make this land their new home. There is the house to build, the barn to build, the well to dig, the neighbors to meet, the fields to explore, etc.

The book isn't without faults. I mentioned this very briefly with Little House in the Big Woods. The book has through the past decade or so been challenged in some districts. I'm not sure of the specifics of whether it was school libraries, class curriculum, or public libraries. But it has been challenged enough that it is part of a long list of books that some (perhaps erroneously) refer to as banned books. [In my opinion, a book isn't banned if it is still available to sell. A "banned" book may not appear in one town's library, but if it's still widely available in most libraries across the nation. Still available to buy in stores and online. It's not really "banned."]

As I said, I'm not too sure on the specifics. But if I had to take a guess, I would say that while talk may come and go on this one it's still widely available in school and public libraries. And that it hasn't really ever been out of print as far as I can tell and isn't really in any danger of disappearing. HarperCollins (perhaps foolishly) has just released new editions in 2007. I say foolishly because they have been stripped of the illustrations by Garth Williams. So the real danger is if this trend continues and the illustrations become hard-to-find.

The issue with Little House on the Prairie is that because it is about the conflict between "white settlers" and "Indians" it is more than a little offensive. Ma Ingalls fears that the Indians would massacre them and their neighbors. Her repeated notions (and it's at least a dozen times) that the only good Indian is a dead Indian. It's easy to see how this one might be in danger of being purged "for the good of children everywhere" by the politically correct camp. But Ma's views aren't the only views presented. Laura is more curious than scared. Pa is more cautious and friendly than gung-ho to make an enemy. Pa more often than not voices logic and reason and peace and goodwill to Ma's rants. Pa may be accused of wanting the Indian's land so he could have a nice place to live and raise his family. But Pa wasn't wanting the Indians to be killed.

A few random points.

1) Does Little House on the Prairie say things that out of context could be taken offensively? Yes.
2) However, it is more than important it is essential to always use context when reading.
3) Does Laura Ingalls Wilder authentically represent the majority opinion of the mid-to-late nineteenth century? Yes. Most white settlers felt it was their "right" to settle wherever they wanted.
4) Does Laura Ingalls Wilder authentically and accurately represent the American Indians or Native Americans? No. Her portrayal of the Indian tribes living in the region are generic. They're stereotypical. They're the white man's phony image of what an "Indian" is and says and does. The details about their lives, their appearance, their customs and traditions, not accurate, not authentic.
5) At the time when Laura Ingalls Wilder was writing the series--the 30s--was this stereotype present and alive? Yes. In books. In movies. In tv shows. And most likely in radio shows. The stereotypical "Indian" had many many many reincarnations. This "stereotype" was prevalent and abundant.

Slightly turning topics

1. It seems we have several different options. We can purge the past and pretend that the current notions, ideas, concepts, values have always been the ONLY ones we've ever had. We can try to erase our history completely and pretend that as a nation, a country, we've never had a racist thought, a racist act, a racist law. Or we can examine the past critically and discuss it.
2. Discussion is good. Explanations are good. Bouncing ideas back and forth. Learning from the past. Learning about ourselves. Thinking critically. Being challenged to think at all. Being challenged to question history, question the past. It's all good and much preferable than the alternative: being told, being programmed what to think, how to feel, how to act.
3. It is unfair and ridiculous to hold those living in the past to our twenty-first century values. Our ideas of right and wrong, just and unjust aren't static. They evolve, they change over time. To stand in judgment over the past. To pass judgment. To want to rewrite history. It's not really the brightest idea.
4. When evaluating literature--classics whether for adults or children--we should always be evaluating in terms of context--time and place and culture. If it is historical fiction, it is a snapshot of both the events chronicled (when the story takes places) and a snapshot of when it was written (when the story was written and published.)

Is Little House on the Prairie suitable and appropriate for modern readers? I think that is something parents will have to decide for themselves. Would reading a book--could reading a book--make you a racist? I'd say it's debatable. I think your home life--your parents, your education--that would play a larger role in socialization. But I think discussion will become more and more important through the years. I think--to borrow from a song--that you have to be taught to hate. And I personally don't think Laura Ingalls Wilder is trying to teach anyone to hate.

This is in some ways under the topic umbrella of "does a book make you..." For example, does reading a book about a murderer or rapist, make you as a reader want to go out and commit those crimes? Does reading a book about teenage pregnancy, make you as a teen reader want to go out and get pregnant. Does reading a book about teens doing drugs and drinking and partying make teens want to go out and do the same? I think it's a pointless argument. I don't really think books "make" anyone "do" anything.

One more quick point about book challenges and "banning." I think most people tend to label would-be book banners in one way or another. They forget that they come in all shapes, sizes, religions, cultures and ethnicities, and political affiliations. They forget that they are just as likely to be liberal as conservative, atheist as Christian, etc. These kinds of groups aren't one-size-fits-all-crazy. They're always more complex than that.

Little House in the Big Woods

Wilder, Laura Ingalls. 1932. Little House in the Big Woods.

Once upon a time, sixty years ago, a little girl lived in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, in a little gray house made of logs.

Of course it has now been much longer than sixty years. Longer than sixty years since Laura Ingalls Wilder fictionalized her childhood years and began writing her now famous series. Longer than sixty years since Laura Ingalls was a child growing up in what now seems quite an unfamiliar world. Her accounts of her childhood--her observations about family and life and friendship--seem so simple in some ways. In the first chapter alone, the reader learns the joys of smoking venison and playing with a pigs' bladder not to mention the how-to's of making head cheese. Each episode, each observation offers the reader a window into the past. Some things have changed--and changed a lot--other things have remained the same. One of the things that resonates in this book--in this series is the love and joy of family life. Pa. Ma. Mary. Laura. Carrie. Each are part of the family. Each are important, valued, loved. The relationship of Laura with her parents and Laura with her sisters and Laura with her beloved dog, Jack, are timeless.

I grew up with these books. I'm sure at least a few of them were read aloud to me. But I'm even more sure that I read them all on my own at least a dozen times. Being able to read these to myself was more than enough motivation to stick with the phonics of the school system. Laura Ingalls Wilder. E.B. White. Beverly Cleary. These were the REASONS why reading was important to learn, to master.

What more can I say about Laura Ingalls Wilder? I wanted to be her growing up. I loved the books. I practically had them memorized. The sequences of events. The illustrations that accompanied each of those events. The memories--the lovely lazy memories of cozying up reading these books--are ones I'll always have. I really can't say much more about such an old friend.

One thing I can say, however, is that you really MUST make a point of listening to these books on audio. Cherry Jones does such a wonderful, fabulous job narrating the books. The books are incredible on their own. And I love them. I do. But it's magical to hear these beloved books come to life on audio. Trust me.

What seems completely sad to me--though I don't think the book is in any real danger of going out of print--is that in some places it is being challenged. There are people wanting schools and libraries to remove it from the shelves because "promotes racial epithets and is fueling the fire of racism." Personally, I don't see it. I will discuss this issue more when I review Little House on the Prairie.