Showing posts with label children's literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children's literature. Show all posts

Saturday, July 28, 2012

"When I waked, I cried to dream again"


Currently Reading: Child of the Prophecy by Juliet Marillier and Inishmurray: Island Voices by Joe McGowan

So who else loved the ode to children’s literature that appeared in the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics last night?

Besides the opening montage of scenes and vistas from England, Wales, Northern Ireland, and Scotland, the literature segment was by far my favorite. What can be better than a performance that starts with J.K. Rowling reading a passage from Peter Pan? Clip here: 


As she reads, literary villains including Captain Hook and Lord Voldemort (as a terrifyingly huge statue, complete with wand that shoots sparks) come to life to frighten the young girl reading in bed. She and the other children are finally saved by the appearance of a slew of Mary Poppins’ flying down with their umbrellas to chase the baddies away. (To dance with Mary Poppins is every kid’s dream, I should think.) The only thing that would have made it better was if Aslan the Lion appeared with Mary Poppins, and the kids fell back asleep clutching stuffed Winnie the Pooh bears.

I just love that at a ceremony celebrating the start of the world’s biggest athletic competitions, tribute is paid to England’s cultural contributions in history, music, film… and literature. By doing so, it emphasized the importance of the arts alongside the focus on athleticism, which is a crucial message to today’s society, in my opinion. In a world where education budgets are tight, and music and theater programs are usually cut in favor of athletic programs, this was a subtle reminder of the importance of all areas in a child’s education. I also find it interesting that children’s literature was emphasized. From a country whose literary heritage includes works of Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and so many others, the Ceremonies focused instead on England’s contributions to children’s literature. Perhaps I am reading too much into this (catch the pun?), but I see it as a reflection of the idea that children’s literature is the most important kind of all, for that is where a person’s future begins. I am passionate about the importance of books in a child’s life, for I know how reading influenced who I am today and I have seen the difference between children who are encouraged to read and those who are not. So of course I watched this highlight of some of England’s most beloved children’s books (although really, where was Narnia?) with delight and have been mulling it over ever since.

I think the message inherent in this segment was that these beloved children’s books, like many others, are timeless. They endure because they are real to the children who read them and because they continue to exist for us when we are older. The power inside books like these triumph over the dark things in life and provide children with worlds never before imagined. It is children who grow up to inherit our world and exposure to great children’s literature does nothing but benefit them as they grow and learn. We were once children too. We once fell in love with Neverland, Narnia, and Mr. McGregor’s garden. Each generation will continue to do so, just as the one before them did. Whatever the future may hold, this alone will endure. And that is a comforting thought.

So those are my musings on the Opening Ceremonies. Final thoughts: bravo to Rowan Atkinson for bringing back Mr. Bean so flawlessly, and thank you Kenneth Branagh for giving life to a great passage from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest.” His performance was so moving that I did not even recognize it as Shakespeare until he was finished because he performed it in such a way that it seemed as if the words had never been spoken before, that they just materialized out of air in the seconds before he spoke them. I tried posting a clip of the performance, but it didn't work. Try Googling it, if you can! It always gives me chills! (The background hymn "Jerusalem" doesn't hurt the effect either.)

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Tis the Season!

Currently Reading: David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Currently Re-reading: my favorite Christmas kid books

Turn on the Christmas carols and grab a candy cane, because my Christmas muse is still going full-blast. I just cannot get enough of this season. All I have to do is listen to O Holy Night before I am overcome with peace and hope and love and absolute happiness. And since I try to spend my life finding happiness in anything I can, I'm sucking the marrow out of this wonderful time of year. Nate and I spent one of the greatest Sundays of my life worshiping our Lord at church, finishing our Christmas shopping, strolling through the mall, and then finishing the night by wrapping presents and watching Rudolph and Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town. An entire day devoted to Christmas magic-making with the one I love? Perfect. :)

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Our Christmas tree... why yes, our living room is snowing.

Tonight, I feel like reminiscing and revisiting some of my favorite Christmas books for children. (Warning: this is a LONG post... hope you stick with it!) As established in the previous post, when I think of Christmas, many of my thoughts and memories stray to my childhood. Christmas stories and books feature prominently on my shelf of Christmas memories. Unlike many of my memories, I can actually revisit my books- perhaps not reliving distinct moments, but remembering them with sharp clarity with every page I turn. So here are my musings on my favorite Christmas books...

I believe books and Christmas go together like cocoa and blankets... after all, the Christmas story started with a book- the best Book of them all.

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"And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.' Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” (Luke 2:8) It gives me chills.
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I don't know why, but Jan Brett books make me think of my mother. I have no doubt she read them to us, but there is no specific memory linked to this- only a deep feeling of my mother every time I open a Jan Brett book. One of my favorites is called The Wild Christmas Reindeer. Jan Brett is a wonderful story-teller, but the true magic of her books lies in her illustrations. The main story, of a girl with the daunting responsibility of readying Santa's reindeer for the big night, dominates the center panel.

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This is a North Pole unlike any in other stories. Santa and the elves live on a Winterfarm, which is strikingly Nordic-inspired; the reindeer have such lovely names- Bramble, Lichen, and Tundra. Along the margins, a separate story unfolds, purely in pictures. All of her illustrations are rich in detail and color, fascinating to behold. I have always preferred words to pictures, but these continue to delight me, even as an adult.

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Not the best shot, but oh well.
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Who doesn't love Tomie dePaola? Especially when he is writing about a spit-fire of an old lady trying to make the perfect Christmas feast without magic- for "Christmas has a magic of its own." Be still my heart.

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Merry Christmas, Strega Nona
is by far my favorite Strega Nona book and never ceases to put a smile on my face. In fact, I just reread bits of it and I'm smiling away. The essence of Christmas is all here- the hurry, anticipation, excitement, and work of getting ready for Christmas. The comfort of tradition. Honoring the magic and love that celebrating Jesus' birth brings us. The bond of family and friends who come together to make Christmas special. It's the whole package.
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"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Priceless. Classic. When you think of how ubiquitous this poem is, it's hard to believe this poem was penned in 1822.

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From that early beginning, Clement C. Moore's "A Visit from St. Nicholas" still speaks to children and adults, encapsulating the glorious anticipation and delicious mystery of Christmas Eve. Without Moore, our image of Santa would be very different- for starters, he would not have eight reindeer or fly in a sleigh. (Do some research on the history of Santa... it's fascinating!) What would Christmas be without this little gem of a poem? Personally, I have always enjoyed the version illustrated by Scott Gustafson (a Marengo native!)

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The colors are vibrant, practically bursting off of the page. I want to crawl inside each picture and wrap myself in it.
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Every Christmas Eve since my grandparents moved away, my sister and I pull out our battered copies of Little House books and skip to the "Christmas" chapters in each. As my sister keeps her hands busy (usually baking), I read aloud to her stories of Pa, Ma, Mary, Laura, and Carrie celebrating another Christmas. We smile, we laugh aloud, we wipe tears from our eyes, and then we sigh and look out the window, imagining Christmases of the past, and reflecting on our own fleeting presence in this world and the fragility of moments like these.

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It is one of my favorite Christmas traditions and will always be part of the special bond my sister and I share. Last year, Nathan joined us at the dining room table, with his head in his hand, listening devotedly. And for the first time, all of the books were not lined up in front of me on the table. Instead, I read from A Little House Christmas- an actual collection of all of the Christmas stories found in each Little House book.

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An amazing find (thank you, Jennifer) that seems to have been made for our tradition alone.
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Finally, my Christmas experience wouldn't be the same without the little-known-but-oh-so-delightful Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree by Robert Barry. The plot is positively delightful- one that I think is entertaining to both children and adults. As a child, I always found great pleasure in the pattern of the story and the rhyme and rhythm of the words. The ending still makes me smile. But none of that explains why it's so special to me. Every year, my Oma will pull out a special stash of books that only appears at Christmastime. When I was young, I would read each of these books cover to cover- even the one that was only a book of carols. (I will read cereal boxes if I have to.) Anyway, our favorite was Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree, and like the amazing grandmother she is, my Oma would always read it to us.

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We could read it ourselves, of course, but there is something so very special about snuggling next to someone as you are read to. We made Oma read this book to us so many times that even now, as I open the cover and start reading to myself, her voice echoes in my head. I can perfectly remember how she pronounces "Willowby" or how she reads "She gave it a chop, and threw away....the top!" with a perfect upward inflection. It is amazing how twenty-eight simple pages holds indelible memories of a grandmother who has been everything to me- a pretty large feat for one little book.
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Just as Christmas has its own magic, so do books. The magic of books explains why we discuss them with each other, read them together, or seek them out in bookstores to wrap and give away for Christmas. Just like the newest Hallmark commercials proclaim about cards, books are not meant to be read alone. They are meant to be shared. When we share our books with each other, we forge bonds, reaffirm relationships, and create lasting memories. And we spread the magic.... the magic of love, comfort, and Christmas.

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Friday, December 9, 2011

Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus.... The Christmas Motherlode Post

Currently Reading: David Copperfield by Charles Dickens and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling

Happy Friday! I have wrapped the Christmas season tight around me lately and my soul is completely full. Right now, I am enjoying some "writing time" in my favorite coffee shop, surrounded by the Christmas spirit: Christmas carols on the radio, and the entire place draped in berries and lights and fake plastic pine. And this peppermint white chocolate mocha (I know.. be jealous, because it's amazing) is the perfect muse.
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We spent Wednesday night putting up our tree and now it truly feels like Christmas at home. Our first Christmas in our own home... it's enough to make me tear up.

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I know I'm not the only one, but when I anticipate Christmas, many of my thoughts creep back to childhood memories. Gazing into the flame of an Advent candle as "Heidchi Bumbeidchi" swells through the room instantly turns me into a child again, watching Oma light the Advent wreath. Certain songs or smells transport me to the Christmas where I got my dollhouse, the yearly tradition of decorating the tree with Mom, putting up Oma's Christmas Village. Memories that lie dormant all year long come into bright focus as December dawns: Giggling with my sister in my bed on Christmas Eve, sampling my mother's cookies, setting my St. Nikolaus boot on the windowsill, and waking up on the first day of Christmas break. What is it about Christmas that makes me not only remember past Christmases, but yearn for them?

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One of my favorite things about Christmas is the dedication to tradition that we all, to some extent, participate in. We bake the same recipes we watched our mothers and grandmothers make, we watch the same beloved movies, and we strive to do everything the way it was last year and the year before. Tradition is cozy and safe, something that helps give our life meaning, and it holds particular importance with this most important and beautiful of holidays. My traditions connect me to my parents, my sister, my grandparents. It affirms who I am and what I believe in. And with each tradition I follow and each happy-cozy feeling that flutters in my soul, my faith and happiness and contentment with the world increases. My traditions are a way to declare my intense love for this holiday and my plan to celebrate it right.

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Now I have the wonderful opportunity to introduce some of my traditions to Nathan, and partake in some of his, thereby creating our very own. I cannot wait to someday help shape my children's Christmas memories and give them, through our traditions and celebrations, the same sense of love and joy I get at Christmas-time.

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In honor of my Christmas-induced mood, I'm posting a letter from the editor of the New York Sun in 1897 answering the query of a little girl named Virginia. This may not be a poem, but it is so beautiful and eloquent, it may as well be. The fat bearded man may not physically exist but everything he represents- love, childhood, faith, generosity does exist. It started with a baby in a manger over 2000 years ago, and continues in you and in me.
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"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
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Merry Christmas! I pray that you savor all of your Christmas traditions and find joy in spreading a little Christmas cheer today!



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