How to use this Page

All kids know they ought to tell the truth.

But what if the truth is so wacky, so weird or so wildly improbable that no one would ever possibly believe it?

That’s the situation Tim finds himself facing in The Boy Who Cried Ninja (Peachtree, 2011), a picture book by written and illustrated by Alex Latimer.

It starts simply enough. Tim’s parents ask him who ate the cake, where dad’s hammer is and what happened to Tim’s bookbag. Tim dutifully explains how a ninja ate the cake, an astronaut needed the hammer and a giant squid ate his bookbag.

Tim ends up raking leaves for not being honest.

So when a pirate drinks all the tea, a crocodile breaks the TV antenna and a monkey wearing nothing but underpants throws pencils at Tim’s dozing Grampa, Tim says he’s responsible.

Guess what? He ends up with more yardwork.

What’s a kid to do? Let’s ask today’s guest reviewer.

Take it away, Thomas!

————

Today’s reviewer: Thomas

Age: 8

I like: Playing sports like football, basketball and soccer. Going hiking.

This book was about: This boy named Tim. There were a bunch of creatures, and the first one was a ninja. It snuck in Tim’s house and took the cake, and Tim’s mom blamed him. Tim told the truth about the ninja, and his mom didn’t believe him.

The best part was when: If I were Tim, I would have liked the part about getting so much ice cream. My favorite flavors are vanilla and cookie dough.

I laughed when: The boy invited all the creatures to his house for a party and they were all lined up outside. I wouldn’t want any of them in my house — especially the squid and the crocodile.

I was worried when: What if they didn’t get the party invitations? Then, his parents would never have known it wasn’t him who did all that stuff.

I was surprised that: All the creatures took Tim’s stuff.

This book taught me: Not to lie.

Other kids reading this book should watch for: Which creatures took what.

Three words that best describe this book: “Not to lie.” Or, “Tell the truth.”

You should read this book because: It’s a good book. You could learn stuff.

————

Thanks, Thomas!

If you’d like to learn more about Alex Latimer, who lives in South Africa, visit his website. Or, you can read his blog. Or follow him on Twitter at @almaxlat.

Welcome back to the Politics & Paine series. Harvey Kaye and Elvin Lim are corresponding about Thomas Paine, American politics, and beyond. Read the first post here, and the second post here.

Kaye is the author of the award-winning book, Thomas Paine: Firebrand of Revolution, as well as Thomas Paine and the Promise of America. He is the Ben & Joyce Rosenberg Professor of Social Change & Development and Director, Center for History and Social Change at the University of Wisconsin – Green Bay. Lim is author of The Anti-intellectual Presidency, Assistant Professor of Government at Wesleyan University, and a regular contributor to OUPBlog.

Hi Harvey,

There is little in your reply I would object to. Indeed I would add to your argument that Paine was no anarchist by pointing to his ideas in Agrarian Justice, where he proposed an estate tax, universal old-age pensions and made the very modern argument that the concepts of “rich” and “poor” were man-made distinctions to which man and government can undo.

It is indeed telling that modern conservatives want to trace their genealogy to both John Adams and Thomas Paine, who held rather opposite views especially regarding their faith in democracy. Perhaps this contradiction could be somewhat (though not entirely) reconciled if we think of conservatives as inheritors of Paine’s style and parts of Adams’ philosophy.

Modern liberals – John Kerry and Al Gore the most prominent among them – have indeed been rather slow to invoke democracy for their causes. Even Barack Obama, the Great Democratic Communicator has faltered. I wonder if there might be a structural cause associated with the degree of fit between a populist stance and an anti-government philosophy, namely, that it is easier to be populist and anti-government than populist and pro-government in America.

Best,
Elvin

Elvin Lim is Assistant Professor of Government at Wesleyan University and author of The Anti-intellectual Presidency, which draws on interviews with more than 40 presidential speechwriters to investigate this relentless qualitative decline, over the course of 200 years, in our presidents’ ability to communicate with the public. He also blogs at www.elvinlim.com. In the article below he looks at the Tea Party Movement. See his previous OUPblogs here.

On September 12, 2009, tens of thousands of Americans gathered at the national mall for a mass rally, itself a culmination of a 7,000 mile bus tour that had started two weeks before in Sacramento, California, to protest the tax and spending policies of the Obama administration.

Participants of the 2009 Tea Party movement, which was organized just before Tax Day this year, took their inspiration from the Boston Tea Party of 1773, and not, say, 1776, South Carolina’s Ordinance of Nullification of 1832, or the Confederacy of 1861-65, because while rebellion against George III was legitimate and even glorious, rebellion against the government of the United States was ostensibly not. But a closer examination of history reveals the incoherence of the intended historical parallel, and the plausibility of the unintended historical parallels.

The Bostonian colonists in 1773 were objecting to the right of a distant legislature, in which they had no representation, to pass laws (in this case the Tea Act of 1773) affecting their livelihoods. “No taxation without representation” isn’t just a line one finds on a Washington, DC bumper sticker, it is an ancient British constitutional principle to which the American colonists were legitimately appealing. In this sense, the Boston Tea Partiers were still operating within the framework and premises of the British constitution and seeking redress for where its application fell short.

This clearly is not the case for modern Tea Partiers. Not only does every single protester in the modern Tea Party movement have a representative and a senator representing him or her in at the federal level, Washington, DC – the analogue to the foreign metropole (from the Greek “metropolis,” meaning “mother country”) that London was – does not even enjoy such representation! While the Boston Tea Party was a protest against the British government from America, the modern Tea Party is a protest against American government from no less than her capital city.

The appropriate historical parallel then, is not 1773, but 1776, 1832 and even 1861-65, when Americans challenged the authority of their own government. That modern Tea Partiers have 1. rallied to the support of Texas Governor Rick Perry’s expression of sympathy to Texans advocating secession during a Tea Party in April; 2. brought their loaded weapons to town-hall meetings about health-care reform during Summer 2009 in a show of defiance to the president; 3. were, as Rush Limbaugh was, “ecstatic” about Representative Joe Wilson’s (R-SC) indecorous outburst in the middle of President Obama’s speech to a joint session of Congress on September 9, 2009, suggests that the Tea Party movement intends to strike at the very legitimacy of American government. For what is rebellion but the rejection of deliberation and the turn toward politics by any other means — be it secession, physical
interpositioning, or incendiary impudence? And so it is a movement Alexander Hamilton would have scoffed at, but one Thomas Jefferson would have gleefully partook.

The first amendment gives us a right to articulate and seek redress for our grievances against the state, but it is worth stating that there is no first amendment without a constitution, which some of Governor Rick Perry’s constituents appear to be challenging. So on pain of self-contradiction, all Americans must concede that we do not have a constitutional right to revolution. However, this does not mean
that we have not inherited a primal instinct to rebel. Revolution is in our blood, because we are the daughters and sons of revolutionaries. Which is why among those rights the Declaration of Independence held “self-evident,” is “that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government.”
On this point, the Declaration of Independence is fundamentally at odds with the US constitution and its claim to a “more perfect union.” No one has successfully exercised this right since 1789, but there are
sections in the country who have never stopped believing that such a right is any more inalienable than the fact that all men are created equal.

1773 is an oblique way of referencing 1776, which is itself a way of leapfrogging 1789, the year a federation of sovereign states gave way to a more consolidated federal government, to which, like modern Tea Partiers, the author of the Declaration of Independence would feel considerable antipathy as opposition leader to the Federalists and later president, and to which Publius, in contrast, recommended a measure of “veneration” — a sentiment Representative Joe Wilson could not, in the hallowed walls of the US Capitol, bring himself to possess.

By Anatoly Liberman

Straw is preceded by fresh green grass. For this reason, I will begin with grass widows. Nowadays a woman is called a grass widow whose husband had to leave home (for example, obliged to work far away from his family). Alternatively, she may be a divorced woman or a woman living apart from her husband (so in American English). In all those cases she is not really a widow, but not quite a married woman either. Why grass? A definite answer does not exist, but a few things can be said with confidence. First of all, we have to get rid of folk etymology, according to which, grass in this phrase goes back to French grace, with the whole allegedly meaning “courtesy widow.” This etymology (one can find it in respectable old dictionaries and in letters to the editor) should be ignored because exact equivalents of Engl. grass widow exist in German, Dutch, and Danish, whereas the French idiom is veuve de paille, that is, “straw widow.” In English, the most recent sense (“a woman living away from her husband”) surfaced only in 1859 with reference to India. Hence the often-repeated conjecture that the first grass widows were the wives of servicemen: while the men sweated in the heat, the women waited for them on “greener pastures.” In older texts, none of which, however, predates 1528 (OED), grass widow had a much coarser meaning, namely “a woman who lost her virginity before the wedding” and “a deserted mistress.” (Compare the definition from a 1700 dictionary; repeated in 1725). “One that pretends to have been married, but never was, yet has children.”) In this context, many European languages use the word straw. So we have three riddles. Why straw, why the substitution of grass for straw in English (Engl. straw widow has never had any currency), and why the change from “deserted mistress” to “wife temporarily separated from her husband”?

As always, one finds some suggestions in Notes and Queries. This is what Thomas Ratcliffe (sic) wrote in 1884. He said that if a man had to work for months on end at a long distance from home and his wife’s conduct “was not circumspect enough,” she was said “to be ‘out at grass’; and when her behavior was such that her next-door neighbors could not any longer bear it, a besom, mop, or broom was put outside the front door, and reared against the house wall” (the spelling has been Americanized). Nothing is more venomous than the wrath of the virtuous. We will restrain our indignation but keep in mind the allusion to being “out at grass.”

Our most solid evidence comes from Germany, where Graswitwe “grass widow” competes with Strohwitwe “straw widow.” Strohwitwe surfaced only in 1715 and has the meaning of Engl. grass widow. As noted, the earliest English citation of grass widow has been traced to 1528, while in a German document addressed to pastors, straw brides (those who cohabited with a man before the wedding) are first mentioned in 1399. Since the word for straw bride is used casually, we can assume that everybody understood it. In most probability, Germany is the country where phrases like straw widow and straw bride originated. Other languages must have borrowed it from German. The brides who came to the altar after losing their virginity (and this is the situation discussed in the 1399 document) were made to wear a straw wreath. In some places, demeaning punishments were also extended to the men (“straw bridegrooms”) who dishonored their brides. But straw wreaths are secondary: the idea of putting them on the head of a sinner came from the notion of the straw widow.

Those who thought that straw (or a bed of straw) symbolized extramarital sex, as opposed to the family bed, were probably right. A meeting between two lovers in a meadow, “out at grass,” a secret tryst, whose witnesses are the sun, flowers, and a little bird that knows how to keep secrets, is described in one of the most famous 13th century German lyrics. It contains a triumphant monologue by a love-swept maiden. We are not told about the consequences of that rendezvous. A meadow is a place of pleasure. Reference to straw deprives the situation of all its charm. The “straw widow’s” path was from joy on the grass to intercourse on a bed of straw, the humiliation of wearing a straw wreath (a relatively happy end), but more often to lifelong ostracism, exile, and occasionally death by a member of the woman’s own family (a brother, for instance), as documents show.

The riddle of grass versus straw is not insoluble. While researching the history of the word strawberry (see it in my book Word Origins…), I discovered a little known article that offers a plausible explanation of that puzzling name, attested only in English and locally in Swedish. In English dialects, straw was not too rare a synonym for grass, so that strawberry seems to have meant “grassberry, berries growing in the grass.” Regardless of whether this etymology is right, it provides a clue to the interchange between German Strohwitwe and Engl. grass widow. When English-speakers took over the German word (apparently, in the 16th century or some time earlier), they replaced straw with grass. There was no need to do so, for the noun straw would have served the purpose equally well. Perhaps the borrowing occurred in an area in which straw “grass” occurred with some regularity. Such details are beyond reconstruction. The rise of the word strawberry was also unnecessary. The most frequent name of this berry in the Germanic languages is like German Erdbeere “earth berry,” and its counterpart in Old English existed but yielded to the rare synonym that continues into the present.

Meaning can deteriorate or be ameliorated. As a rule, words meaning “girl; woman,” if they change, tend to acquire negative connotations, for example, from “the loved one,” “maiden,” or “lass” to “prostitute.” This is what happened to whore (that is, hore, for w was never pronounced in it, and the modern spelling, modeled on what, when, where, which, why, is absurd: compare German Hure), a cognate of Latin carus “dear.” But unexpectedly, grass widow went up rather than down: from “discarded mistress” to “woman living away from her husband.”

We should now throw a quick glance at straw man. In English books, it turned up at the end of the 16th century and designated “scarecrow.” The development from “scarecrow” to “a figure of straw; a sham substitute for a real man” poses no problems. It has been suggested that straw widow, in its German guise, derives from straw man, for German Strohmann also exists. According to this hypothesis, to the extent that a straw man is not a real man, a straw widow is not a real widow. But chronology militates against this idea: Strohwitwe precedes Strohmann by many centuries. In numerous rituals, human-looking figures made of straw were burned and thus substituted for real persons. French homme de paille “man of straw” may have served as a model for the Germanic word. It appears that straw man and grass widow (or even “straw widow”) have nothing to do with each other. This is fine. In our liberated times, grass widows are supposedly quite happy the way they are.

Some quick thoughts on books I’ve read recently:

Popco by Scarlett Thomas. Alice is singled out by her large children’s toy company to create a new fad for teenage girls. While trying to understand her new task Alice is also trying to solve the mystery of a locket left to her by her grandfather, a coding genius. Scenes of scary insights into marketing for children are interspersed by Alice’s memory of herself as a young girl and teenager.

There were many great elements to this book but overall I don’t know that it really worked for me. I loved the whole code breaking aspect (I would have been a sucker for the children’s spy kit described in the book), Alice’s teen experiences rang true and there were lots of intriguing side stories. But I think some of the suspense in the book was let down by the various ensuing events. I also wasn’t convinced by Alice’s sudden conversion to understanding the evils of mass marketing/mass meat production etc. But I know other people found the story meaningful, so I might have been a bit hard on old Alice. I think rowana recommended this book to me – thanks Ro!

All seated on the ground by Connie Willis. Aliens have landed on Earth, but they just stand around looking disapproving. This was a fun novella by one of my favourite authors, with Christmas carols playing a large role, so I enjoyed reading it. But I admit I’m glad I hadn’t bought the expensive hardback as a lot of the themes and storytelling methods were reminiscent of other Willis stories and I’m hungry for something new.

Flora Segunda: Being the Magickal Mishaps of a Girl of Spirit, Her Glass- Gazing Sidekick, Two Ominous Butlers (One Blue), a House with Eleven Thousand Rooms, and a Red Dog by Ysabeau S. Wilce. Everyone has written about this book extensively over the last year so I won’t write too much (hee, that’s a good excuse isn’t it?). As the wonderful title suggests, Flora Segunda is set in a fantasy world crowded with colourful names and magical beings. Unfortunately things aren’t going so great for Flora – her mum is absent, her dad depressed and the magical butler that is supposed to look after Flora’s house has diminished and the whole place is collapsing around the family. But in the best tradition of a penny dreadful, the plot soon picks up and Flora is having adventures all over the place. I thought it was great fun. At times the characters seemed two-dimensional, but this might have been in comparison to the flamboyant setting and plot. I look forward to reading the sequel!

Author and storyteller Norah Dooley’s four-part series of “Everybody” books, illustrated by Peter Thornton, explores the similarities between different cultures through food. The titles in the series, published by Carolrhoda/Lerner are: Everybody Cooks Rice, Everybody Bakes Bread, Everybody Serves Soup and Everybody Brings Noodles. Widely read in homes, libraries and schools throughout the United States, these stories follow young Carrie as she discovers a strong sense of community – and the role food plays in bringing her and her neighbors together – while going around her multiethnic inner-city neighborhood in search of something else (her brother, a rolling pin, a gift for her mom). The neighborhood featured is the author’s own: “Most of the characters in the Everybody Bakes Bread and Everybody Cooks Rice series are based on my friends and their families. The mutual affection and respect we have for one another is, to me, the most important ‘ingredient’ in these books.” Recipes are included at the end of each title.