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For those of you who've followed here a while (and even for those who are rather new), you might have caught that I'm a Laura Ingalls Wilder fan. My book, MAY B., was partially inspired by my desire to create my own strong pioneer girl who would feel, in the spirit of Laura Ingalls, both familiar and brave.
If you, too, are a Laura fan, you have to get a hold of Wendy McClure's THE WILDER LIFE: MY ADVENTURES IN THE LOST WORLD OF LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE. As an adult, Wendy rekindles her Laura love and determines she'll learn as much as she can about the Ingalls and their world. Wendy embarks on a butter-churning, midwestern-prairie trekking adventure, where she visits all of Laura's homesites (excluding the Wilders brief stay in Florida), experiments with homesteading techniques (sourdough starter, anyone?), and digs deep into what is real, what is fiction, and what is memory.
Those of us who grew up loving Laura Ingalls have memories of our own. For me, I remember Laura being the first author I "knew." Sure, I'd been exposed to plenty of books before the Little House series, but it was while listening to my father read that I came to understand Laura the girl and Laura the writer were the same person. I was convinced that Laura had actually typed each page in my book, stuck everything together, and sent it to the bookstore.
Wendy's book covers a lot -- the television series fans vs. the book fans (some of us are both, but lean more one way or the other), the way Laura's books are more fictitious than many realize (For example, LITTLE HOUSE IN THE BIG WOODS actually covers the time before and after LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE; the Ingalls, like many pioneers, had to backtrack before being able to move west again), and the expectation -- and disappointment -- a fan might experience while visiting, as Wendy calls it, Laura World. How much of the books comes from true events? How much of our memories of the Ingalls were partially formed by our own childhood impressions? Where is a fan left in the midst of it all? And why did TV Pa solve so many problems by throwing punches?
For this Laura fan, this book was incredibly satisfying. Wendy, like it or not, you've made a new friend.
Has anyone else read THE WILDER LIFE? What were your impressions? If your name happens to be Stephanie and you babysat me as a girl, don't buy your o
This post originally ran February 16, 2010
When pulling together my after-school book club lists, I made sure to include plenty of my childhood favorites. I thought it would be especially fun to share these classics with young readers starting to form their own opinions about literature. And the chance to discuss books that shaped my childhood with my own boy was too special to pass up.
This month, the third grade read HENRY AND RIBSY. Fourth and fifth-grade read Laura Ingalls Wilder's ON THE BANKS OF PLUM CREEK. It has been such a delight to return to these books I read several times in childhood and again in college (while studying to become a teacher and beginning to toy with the idea of writing myself).
I loved reading again about the earnest hard work of Henry Huggins, his sweet relationship with his dog, and those silly Quimby neighbors. Beverly Cleary writes in a voice fully connected with childhood.
Those of you who've known me forever (or just since the beginning of this blog) know I have a soft spot for the Ingalls family. I love the loyalty, hard work, love, hope, and gratitude that run through all the Little House books. All those difficult things their family experiences, and they still make it work somehow. As one of my book clubbers said, "They're so nice. No matter what happens, they're hopeful."
I've coined a new phrase for those old titles we keep returning to: Comfort Books. What are yours?
A while ago Josie Levitt posted about crying in public over a book on the Publisher's Weekly Shelf Talker blog. I'm proud to say that she was sobbing over one of the books I edited, Sorta Like a Rock Star by Matthew Quick, a book I had also sobbed over in public the first time I read it.
Sorta Like a Rock Star is one of two books that I've edited in my career that have made me more than just cry--they've made me sob. Actual, stomach-heaving sobs. Not just moved, not just having tears well up in my eyes, but really cry. The other book was Rubber Houses by Ellen Yeomans.
I was remembering some of the books I sobbed over as a kid.
The ones that stick out in my mind are
My Brother Sam is Dead, Where the Red Fern Grows, Charlotte's Web, Summer of My German Soldier,
and
A Taste of Blackberries. I remember the sobbing, the streaming tears, the nose blowing and crumpled tissues. I remember feeling simultaneously anguished and reborn when I finished the books. God, I loved that feeling. A big cry feels good, particularly if it's not my own life's tragedies that I'm crying at.
As I always tell agents and announce at writer's conferences, I'm a sucker for books that make me cry. I just finished reading a wonderful book,
One Crazy Summer by
Rita Garcia-Williams. And yes, I had tears streaming down my face while on the train--although no actually sobbing this time, probably because they were tears of joy, rather than agony. But if you want sobbing,
The Book Thief is your book.
I marvel at the skill of these authors to write such real characters, so real that I suffer true pain at the loss that the characters suffer, or pain when I lose them altogether. That's something.
What are some of your favorite sob inducers?
![More All-of-a-Kind Family [Unabridged CD Version]](http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&ServiceVersion=20070822&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=1593160887&tag=carolbyline-20)
As a kid, I loved the ALL-OF-A-KIND FAMILY. Papa, Mama, Ella, Sarah,
Henny, Charlotte, Gertie and -- by the end of the first book --Baby Charlie felt like good friends. I've just re-read the first in the series for my fourth and fifth-grade book club.
Here's a glimpse at the story line:
(Amazon.com review)
There's something to be said for a book that makes you w
I would bet that everyone here in this room has one book from their childhood that they still give to friends. A book that says, this is my heart. This is what I mean.
One of the things that makes Young Adult literature so wonderful is that it is ageless. It has the ability to lift hearts, both young and old, with its variety and richness of truths told both in fiction and non-fiction. It has the strength to show us everything that we need to know and understand in order to transform us from who we were to who we are. Young adult literature has the power to be that book, the one we give to the children we know, or to the children that still live inside of us.
In literature for young people, we find everything that makes us human: whimsy, troubled history, science, love and worlds rich with magic.
-a portion of Cecil Castellucci's speech for the LA Times Festival of Books introducing the YA literature category (winner was MARCHING FOR FREEDOM: WALK TOGETHER CHILDREN AND DON'T YOU GROW WEARY by Elizabeth Partridge).
Remember, you have until Friday to sign up for a signed copy of THREE RIVERS RISING.
When pulling together my after-school book club lists, I made sure to include plenty of my childhood favorites. I thought it would be especially fun to share these classics with young readers starting to form their own opinions about literature. And the chance to discuss books that shaped my childhood with my own boy was too special to pass up.
This month, the third grade read HENRY AND RIBSY. Fourth and fifth-grade read Laura Ingalls Wilder's ON THE BANKS OF PLUM CREEK. It has been such a delight to return to these books I read several times in childhood and again in college (while studying to become a teacher and beginning to toy with the idea of writing myself).
I loved reading again about the earnest hard work of Henry Huggins, his sweet relationship with his dog, and those silly Quimby neighbors. Beverly Cleary writes in a voice fully connected with childhood.
Those of you who've known me forever (or just since the beginning of this blog!) know I have a soft spot for the Ingalls family. I love the loyalty, hard work, love, hope, and gratitude that run through all the Little House books. All those difficult things their family experiences, and they still make it work somehow. As one of my book clubbers said, "They're so nice. No matter what happens, they're hopeful."
I've coined a new phrase for those old titles we keep returning to: Comfort Books. What are yours?
All is right with the world!
We have no more space for books in this house.
Everytime we buy a new bookcase, things fill up immediately.
This little shelf has books two rows deep.
My boys' bookcases are literally spilling over.
Thankfully, all of my husband's theology books are in his office. We've lived with all those, too, and believe me, it was not pretty.
Right now, I'm reading the Little House on the Prairie series with my boys. I thought it would be fun to start a second series, too (I'm always reading more than one book and love to do the same with my children). I've been waiting to introduce my guys to The Borrowers, and last night felt like the perfect moment. My six-year-old wanted to read about "the little people" immediately; my eight-year-old was excited to read a series he hadn't read before. All three of us were ready to jump in, but...
No Borrowers. I dug through every shelf. I even looked under my bed at the accumulating pile of book club, To Be Read, and various books I've read recently with the boys.
It's awards day again. That means one fun fact about my childhood reading life and five new blogs to visit.
I used to love to play Nancy Drew. Sometimes I was Nancy, and sometimes I was Helen or George. My friend and I would clomp around in her mother's high heels, carrying ancient thrift-store purses. We were never really sure about the mystery we were solving, but that didn't stop us from gathering clues: receipts found in gutters, old cigarette butts, a rock kicked across the sidewalk, we'd collect them all.
Later, after our march around the block, we'd empty our purses and dig through our finds. Somehow, the mystery would all come together due to our fabulous sluething skills.
And here are the winners of the Best Blog award:
Winners, please select five other blogs to award, and congratulations!
I heard on NPR this morning there is a new sequel to AA Milne's Winnie the Pooh books. Let me start by saying the author, David Benedictus, has done his homework. He's spent considerable time researching Milne's life, picking apart the Pooh stories, and even visiting the original hundred acre wood. He has taken great care to write in the voice of Milne, keeping the characters true to his vision.
Let me also say I have read other sequels created by other authors: Alexandra Ripley's Scarlett and one of the many Rebecca spin-offs, to name a few. Each of these I was able to read as an observer, appreciating some new insight but ultimately keeping my allegiance to the real Scarlett O'Hara or Mrs. DeWinter.
But Pooh Bear?
Pooh is a sacred part of childhood. That last chapter in The House at Pooh Corner (a gut-wrenching read aloud) shows that as bittersweet as it is, Christopher Robin is growing up. He can't come back as he has before. His relationship with his stuffed friends is different now.
I appreciate the author's intention to stay true to Milne's characters and even his statement that not everyone will want new Pooh. And in reading through this, I can see what an utter goofball I must appear to be, seeing any alteration to particular characters as a personal affront. I just can't help it. Characters from childhood are special. As well-intentioned as Mr. Benedictus's good words might be, I can't add to the stories I grew up with.
What do you think?
I am just now finishing my second Jane Austen novel. And I call myself a reader.
Almost every female reader I know grew up on Jane Austen, but I didn't. My mother didn't. My grandmother didn't.
I loved Emma. The witty conversation and the handle Austen had on personalities familiar to all of us is remarkable. Persuasion I'm enjoying. I've heard it described as autumnal romance, and the description works. It's tone is more quiet and gentle.
It's interesting how I am both drawn to the provencial lives of these characters and at the same time exasperated by them. The mores were such that I would have suffocated, I think, and I'm hardly a rebel. At the same time, these boundries are what make the stories work.
Any other readers out there who didn't grow up on Austen?
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By: Caroline Starr Rose,
on 8/12/2011
6 Comments on Life Imitating Art, last added: 8/15/2011
That sounds amazing. I loved Laura, but I was never quite the die-hard fan that my little sister was... I think I know what she'll get for her birthday. :)
And, really, I just want to know the answer to this question: "And why did TV Pa solve so many problems by throwing punches?" :)
Yes, Faith, I do, too!! When I read Wendy's observation about TV Pa, I laughed out loud! The show was meant to be wholesome, but there was a whole lot of fightin' going on.
I still have my calico Laura Ingalls Wilder dress, apron and bonnet. My girls have been her for Halloween and for school days where they have to dress as their favorite literary character.
Um, changing gears here--but one child actually came as Hannah Montana (?).
sf
Hannah Montana as a literary figure??
I read this book and wished I hadn't. I felt like my (rosy) view of the Ingalls had been tainted. Too much information! But I can see its appeal for others and appreciated the author's intentions.
I understand what you mean, Irene. Maybe because I'd read some of the Ingalls experiences elsewhere, this didn't happen for me. Have you read Cynthia Rylant's Burr Oak Laura book?
Awesome! I loved Little House on the Prairie as a child. And your book fits right with that!
I'm a Wilder fan too! I will check out this book with trepidation!
It really is wonderful. I promise.