Bambi

Felix Salten. Aladdin 2010, Paperback, 192 pages, $2.37

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Most of my generation, when they think of Bambi, think of the sentimental Disney movie.  But the original book was a serious work.  Its one-of-a-kind conception and spectacular writing have earned it classic status as the story of a young deer growing to adulthood in his woodland home.  Salten’s writing is compelling, and scenes from the story will stay in the mind long after reading, to be often recalled and savored.  This Bambi lives a grim and dangerous life, his world filled with blood and fear — and most of his troubles emanate from the dreaded Man.

Bambi’s response to his pitiless world is to emulate his distant father, exiling himself from the company of others — even Faline, his mate.  In abandoning these relationships, he chooses a solitary life in which he accepts loneliness (his own and Faline’s) as the price of his safety.

There is a clear sense that Bambi’s coming-of-age is defined by no longer needing to rely on others.  His relationship with his father begins when the old stag rebukes him for calling his mother: “Your mother has no time for you.  Can’t you stay by yourself?”  Later in life, his father befriends him and teaches him to move through the forest so that he is never seen.  The relationship ends when his father leaves him to die alone.  Bambi then passes on the heritage of solitude by rebuking two fawns for crying after their mother.

In contrast to this message of isolationism, the Bible teaches that a solitary existence falls short of God’s plan (Genesis 2:18).  Rather than affirming interdependence as a sign of weakness, Scripture teaches that people are meant to live in community (Ecclesiastes 4:12; 1 Corinthians 12:12; and Hebrews 10:24-25).  Rather than becoming stronger when we withdraw from others, being alone actually makes us more vulnerable to attack.

The romantic appeal of Bambi’s self-chosen exile has an especial attraction in our individualistic culture.  Adults will need to use discernment about when a child is ready for this book.  The reader ought to be mature enough to critically engage Salten’s perspective without being drawn into his isolationist impulse.  Since the message is embedded in a masterfully written story, parents should be cautious about introducing it too early, but at the right time it ought to provide excellent material for discussion.

The Innkeeper

John Lawrence (Illustrator). Crossway Books 1998, Hardcover, 32 pages, $4.99

Every year John Piper writes an Advent poem as a gift for the congregation of Bethlehem Baptist Church.  This one tells a fictionalized story of the innkeeper who housed Joseph and Mary.

Most Nativity retellings emphasize the fact that there was “no room in the inn,” interpreting this to mean the innkeeper had no eyes to see the meaning of the Nativity.  But Piper takes a different tack, giving a historically plausible interpretation that Jesus’ poverty-stricken parents would have been grateful for a free place in the godly innkeeper’s stable, and that the innkeeper and his wife understood that they had housed the Messiah.

In this story Jesus, on his way to be crucified, visits the innkeeper and hears his account of the Nativity.  His story goes on to dramatically describe Herod’s Slaughter of the Innocents (Matthew 2:16-18), in which the innkeeper lost his entire family and his right arm.  He lived on in lonely grief, never understanding why God would allow such evil to happen.  Jesus grieves with the man and promises that after his crucifixion he will defeat the serpent who has the power of death, and raise this man’s family to life again.

Piper draws together the stories of a joy-filled family and a terrible evil.  We expect sentimentality at Christmastime, but his poem has none.  The story actually strikes a discordant tone with its portrayal of dread and horror, but this problem is answered with the sure hope that Jesus brings to those who suffer under the reign of death and evil.

Because of the violent content of the story, it may be best suited to teenagers or mature grade-schoolers.

Rascal (PMC) (Puffin Modern Classics)

Sterling North. Puffin 2004, Paperback, 192 pages, $2.90

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

Rascal is an autobiographical story about a boy growing up in a small American town during World War I,  in which young Sterling takes in a young raccoon as a pet.  It is exceptionally well written, receiving a Newbery Honor award in 1964. North’s wonderful depictions of outdoor experiences, detailed descriptions of Rascal’s behavior, and the warm affinity that grows between Sterling and Rascal have earned this book its classic status.  It is a wonderful boy book, with many companionable scenes between Sterling and his loving father.

For parents and teachers who wish to cultivate a Christian worldview in their young readers, the story should be considered with some caution.  First, there are no whole and healthy families depicted in the story.  Sterling’s widowed father, though kind, seldom offers guidance, but indulgently allows him to stay out until all hours, build his canoe in the living room, and lead a rather bohemian life. Sterling’s best friend, in contrast, lives in perpetual fear of his own father’s abusive anger.  The only marriage depicted in much detail is between Sterling’s aunt and uncle.  In this family his hardworking, saintly aunt, in worn but neatly mended sweater, quietly bows her head under the weight of her husband’s cruel joking.  None of these families represent God’s design for loving family life with a father and a mother.

Not only is the family not modeled well, but North shows religion in a negative light through his hilariously colorful depiction of the local Methodist pastor, a foul-mouthed, “terrible-tempered minister of the Gospel.”  The stories about Reverend Thurmond are undoubtedly based on true events, but readers may interpret Thurman’s hypocritical behavior as representative of genuine Christianity.

The story unfolds in the shadow of World War I, and near the end of the book Sterling compares the war to his practice of trapping animals.  He makes a “truce” with the animals of the forest, promising never to hunt them again.  This boyish gesture seems to reveal an underlying belief that humans and animals have equal status.  This view is at odds with the biblical teaching that God created humans to be the caretakers and rulers of the rest of creation (Genesis 1:27-28; Psalm 8:4-8).

North’s view of human equality with animals is not surprising, given the fact that elsewhere he expresses his support for evolution.  At the romantic high point of the story, when Sterling roams the woods alone with Rascal while camping near beautiful Lake Superior, he recalls a time when his dearly departed mother had

tried to explain the story of creation in the Bible as a means by which a primitive and poetic people sought to record the beginning of things… plants and animals had evolved from the simpler forms of life to the wonderfully complex flora and fauna of our present era.  And I had thought there was no one more gracious or knowing than my mother, and nothing more pleasant than the sound of her voice.  She seemed very close to me now as Rascal and I made our way up the branch of the Brule (92-93).

Later, Sterling asks his teacher wistfully if raccoons might evolve into humans someday, and she doesn’t laugh at his question.  This makes him feel she is “a very special person” (139).  These two highly-charged, emotional encounters with important women in Sterling’s life present the reader with an unsubtle, positive appeal for the theory of evolution, made more powerful because the appeal is emotional rather than rational.

The story is very well written and will be enjoyed by anyone who loves animals and the outdoors.  It will be especially attractive to boys, with its masculine-romantic view of nature and his bohemian life with his father.  However, North’s depiction of families, religion and the created order (especially the origin of life) are sometimes at odds with a biblical worldview.  Although it is written at an 8-12 reading level, Christian parents may want to wait to introduce this book until readers are old enough to read it with discernment.

The books tell the story of the orphaned Harry Potter, who lives with his outrageously abusive (and nonmagical) aunt and uncle.  On his eleventh birthday he receives a letter inviting him to study at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where his parents attended before him.  There he discovers that his unique gifts make him special, and he earns his place at Hogwarts through excellence at the wizard’s sport Quidditch.  At Hogwarts he deals with the everyday trials of preadolescents, making some enemies and a few good friends, who join him in his adventures.

Most of the wizarding community are goodhearted, and many are heroic; but Voldemort, an evil wizard, holds the wizarding world in terror, and he emerges as Harry’s nemesis.  In each installment of the series his vendetta against Harry is expressed in a new way, and each time Harry defeats him.

I have read books 1-6, and found that books 1-4 seem to be entertaining, basically innocent magical fantasy including loyal friends, some positive adult role models, and a classic good-against-evil struggle.  Unfortunately, books 5-6 grow quite dark and are rather disturbing as Harry matures into a young teen.  His confrontations with evil become progressively more frightening (at times horrifying and macabre), and sensitive readers will definitely be disturbed.

More troubling than the magical elements, which can be dismissed as mere fantasy, are Harry’s relationships with the people in his life, especially those in authority.  The Hogwarts faculty who care about Harry often overlook important safety concerns, forcing him to break the rules in order to oppose Voldemort.  Even Dumbledore, his primary advocate and father figure, is unable to prevent his own murder in front of Harry, and his death leaves Harry bereft of his primary source of adult guidance.  Young teens are already prone to the belief that they know more than their elders, and Harry’s experiences will do nothing to discourage this delusion.

Harry’s isolationism is also troubling.  While his friends do show courage and loyalty as they join in the fight against evil, it is always Harry who ends up facing down the villain.  At the end of book six Harry walks away from the wizarding community as a one-man vigilante.  While his heroism is not all bad, there is an individualistic and self-absorbed quality to his departure that is likely to appeal to adolescent pride.  If any readers have read book seven, I would be interested to know if this quality is altered in his final confrontation with Voldemort.

The Harry Potter series is entertaining and well written, and follows a good-against-evil motif that is in some harmony with a Christian worldview.  The magic in the early books seems for the most part fantastical, although the later books move into darker, more occultic territory.  More problematic is Harry’s isolationism, as well as the absence of trustworthy, competent adults in his life.

Some families may feel that the books’ popularity with their children’s peers is reason enough for reading them, and a reasonable case may be made for their inclusion in home reading as a part of cultural literacy.  However, I would recommend that if the books are approved, their introduction should be delayed until the early teen years, when readers are old enough to engage the problematic elements with the help of a discerning adult.

Jacob Have I Loved

Katherine Paterson. HarperCollins 1990, Paperback, 256 pages, $3.35

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Sara Louise Bradshaw is an awkward, pretentious young woman consumed with envy against her twin sister, whom she feels has robbed her of love and attention since their birth, when Louise was forgotten in the rush to save Caroline’s life.  In Louise’s words,

I was the elder by a few minutes. I always treasured the thought of those minutes. They represented the only time in my life when I was the center of everyone’s attention. From the moment Caroline was born, she snatched it all for herself. (Harper Trophy, 1990, p. 18)

Her feelings are understandable, since her emotionally distant parents do favor the beautiful Caroline, making significant sacrifices to develop her musical gift while Louise (or “Wheeze,” as dubbed by her sister) is neglected.  The book traces Louise’s journey out of her oppressive adolescence into a new life of her own choosing, as she leaves home and marries far from her family.

This story is one of the first in a 1980’s genre of fiction that focused on the out-of-place feelings young people struggle with.  As in many stories of this type, the author succeeds very well at portraying Louise’s crushing resentment, but fails to provide a satisfying resolution.  Throughout her struggles she is obsessively self-absorbed and bitterly envious, providing ample opportunity for readers’ empathy but not for emulation.  More troubling than her hatred of Caroline is her insistence that God is to blame for her pain.  This sentiment is underscored by her mentally ill grandmother, who venomously whispers an out-of-context scripture quotation to her: “As it is written, ‘Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.’” (Romans 9:13)

Although the author subtly lets the reader know that many of Louise’s problems are of her own making, the idea that God has forsaken her is never really contradicted.  Rather, it is through taking responsibility for her decisions, leaving home and building a new life on her own terms that Louise achieves resolution.  The story concludes when, in her new vocation as a midwife, she  momentarily forgets to care for a healthy twin while saving the life of the younger.  She instructs the young mother to give proper attention to the healthy child, and walks home peacefully, hearing her sister’s voice singing in her mind.  This scene may be interpreted to mean that she has come to terms with the injustice of her childhood, even though she does not actually reconcile with her sister or parents.

This book won a Newbery Medal, and has been enjoyed by many readers because of its masterful writing and the genuine pathos of its protagonist.  But Louise’s faults unfortunately permeate this compelling story.  I’m willing to be challenged, but I believe that while Paterson has done a great job of describing adolescent struggles, her protagonist is never allowed to fully transcend them.  This, combined with the truly poisonous nature of Sara Louise’s family, makes this a story that may do more harm than good.

The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings

J. R. R. Tolkien. Houghton Mifflin 1999, Paperback, $12.95

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy continues the story begun in The Hobbit and more fully develops the world of Middle Earth. In this epic saga, ordinary beings must use their small gifts in a struggle against great evil.  Frodo, a peace-loving hobbit of the Shire, is given the Dark Lord’s One Ring of Power, which his Uncle Bilbo found on his adventures.  Soon he is forced to flee his home, pursued by the Dark Lord’s servants.  All the strength of Middle Earth — men, elves, dwarves, wizards, and hobbits — is called upon to oppose the Dark Lord’s plan to conquer Middle Earth, but in the end the fate of the world turns on whether or not Frodo succeeds in destroying the Ring.  But the Ring itself is imbued with the Dark Lord’s evil, and seeks to corrupt everyone around it — including Frodo.

This work has becoming a defining influence in the genre in fantasy literature, and none of the works that came after it have matched it for its marvelous use of language, the deep coherency of the fantasy world, and the epic themes which propel the story to its climactic finish.

Christian readers have long appreciated the way in which Tolkien’s stories express his Christian view of reality.  David Mills, in his essay Enchanting Children, writes:

The world as it appears under the sun is a world loved and governed by God, and The Lord of the Rings is among other things a study in Providence. Though no god of any sort is ever mentioned in the story, the world has a moral law, recognized as eternal and binding, obeying which brings blessing.

Frodo and his friends do what is right, and their courage and moral fortitude are rewarded by peace, even though the effects of the defeated evil are never fully eradicated.

The Lord of the Rings is best appreciated by mature readers who are able to appreciate its deep themes as well as its complicated plots and often weighty prose.  While the movie version is worth seeing, the books are probably best enjoyed prior to experiencing the films.  Because of this, parents may be inclined to introduce the books earlier than otherwise.  This may be a wise choice, but requires sensitivity to avoid pushing the books on readers before they can fully enjoy them.

Hatchet

Gary Paulsen. Atheneum/Richard Jackson Books 1987, Hardcover, 208 pages, $135.03

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

A riveting, can’t-put-it-down story of a boy’s survival in the Canadian wilderness for two months, after crash-landing a small plane when the pilot dies of a heart attack.  Very well written, this could be a modern Robinson Crusoe story with a protagonist young enough for its target age to identify with.  Brian shows courage, resolve, and creativity in facing the dangers and challenges of his situation, and the ending is quite satisfying.

Unfortunately, a sub-plot of the story is that Brian’s mother is having an affair, which has led to his parents’ divorce.  Before the divorce, Brian witnesses a scene he calls “the Secret,” which troubles him repeatedly: his mother kissing another man.  This betrayal is not dealt with by forgiveness but rather repression, as Brian decides that crying “doesn’t work” to help him survive.  He instead focuses entirely on his physical survival, deciding that “food is all” (129).  At the story’s close his parents remain divorced, his mother continues her affair, and Brian never discloses “the Secret” to his father.  This troubling element of the story might introduce suspicion and insecurity to vulnerable readers.

Another troubling element is the way in which Brian rather mystically becomes part of the wild landscape.  In an encounter with a wolf (121), the author writes that he was not afraid because he “knew the wolf for what it was — another part of the woods, another part of all of it… He knew the wolf now, as the wolf knew him, and he nodded to it, nodded and smiled.”  In another scene, unpacking a survival pack which he salvaged from the wrecked plane, he experiences uneasiness at holding a gun (186), because he feels it distances him from his surroundings: “Without the rifle he had to fit in, to be part of it all, to understand it and use it — the woods, all of it.  With the rifle, suddenly, he didn’t have to know; did not have to be afraid or understand… The rifle changed him, the moment he picked it up, and he wasn’t sure he liked the change.”

These two scenes seem to reflect an ideal of human-animal equality, which denies the Biblical command to dominion and stewardship.  The assumption is that for a human to really understand the natural world he must descend to the level of the animals.  The exercise of power, by this way of thinking, necessarily introduces distance between humanity and the natural world.  This ideal is in direct contradiction to the Biblical mandate for humans to care for the earth as its rulers, the crown of God’s creation.

Although it is memorably well-written, the sub-plot of parental infidelity and the unbiblical perspective on humanity’s place in the created order make this a book I don’t recommend.