The Matchlock Gun

Walter D. Edmonds. Putnam Juvenile 1998, Paperback, 80 pages, $1.98

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Teunis and Gertrude Van Alstyne are Dutch homesteaders caught in the middle of the French and Indian War, and one night Teunis is called away to fight.  He leaves Gertrude, ten-year-old Edward, and six-year-old Trudy alone in their cabin, admonishing her to go to his mother’s house if Indians come their way.  But when Teunis sends word that Indians are coming, Gertrude decides to stay in the cabin out of dislike for her mother-in-law.  Although she rationalizes the decision by telling herself their enemies will leave them alone, she realizes too late that she and Edward must defend themselves.  The only weapon in the home is an antique matchlock gun, used as decoration above the door.

Throughout the text, Gertrude responds to fearful circumstances with calm fortitude, thinking through their plan and carrying out her role in it — but it is Edward on whom she depends to take the action that will save their lives.  There are few stories in which a child is given such an important and difficult task, and his courage and responsibility are awe-inspiring.

This true story starts out slowly, but steadily builds to reach a tremendous climax.  It is splendidly written, and illustrated with lithographic drawings that are impressive given technological limitations at the time of publication.  It is a good read-aloud for pre-readers, but because of the suspenseful nature of the story, sensitive children may need to wait until they are a little older to engage the story without being frightened.

Misty of Chincoteague

Wesley Dennis (Illustrator). Aladdin 2006, Paperback, 176 pages, $2.60

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Paul and Maureen, two siblings living on Chincoteague Island, are rambling together one day when they spot a wild mare.  Transfixed by her beauty, they set about earning money to buy her after the wild pony roundup & auction for which the island is known.

The story of this venture is full of action and suspense (will they succeed or not?) in the context of a secure family home.  The two children live with loving grandparents — no mention is made of their parents, and the children express no anguish over their absence. The brother and sister are polite to grownups and genuinely loving toward one another.

One appealing aspect of the story is the differentiated gender roles the kids take on as they mature: while working as equal partners toward their shared goal, they divide responsibilities according to their natural abilities.  Paul manfully goes off to physically labor at building a pony pen, while Maureen stays home to do his chores for him.  A few times Paul is the first to become aware of danger, and he protectively shields or warns his sister.  It is he who goes away to Assateague Island with the men to capture the mare (a coming-of-age moment), while Maureen awaits the outcome at home.

But Maureen’s stay-at-home choices are clearly an expression of self-sacrificing love toward her brother, rather than resignation to a disappointing fate.  When the two debate over who will ride in a horse race, Paul draws the longer straw, and Maureen graciously accepts this outcome, showing real selflessness and grace.  It takes strength of character to prefer another’s interests above your own (Philippians 2:3-4), and Maureen is a quiet example of this kind of practical love.  And when in the end the pony is brought home, the two of them share equally in her care and ownership.

This story provides a view of a close friendship between siblings, an interesting and challenging goal for both protagonists, healthy family relationships, and respect for authority.  It is romantic, refreshing, and inspiring, full of beauty and life.

Frog and Toad Book Set

Scholastic Books (Technical Editor). Scholastic Books 2002, Paperback, 256 pages, $999.98

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Frog and Toad are two friends whose similar appearance belies their distinctive personalities.  Toad is impulsive and emotional, and Frog easygoing and rational.  The two of them get into a number of scrapes and adventures together, most of which hinge on their unique character traits.  Lobel’s brief, easy-reader chapters spin out complex, suspenseful plots in a way that looks effortless but is quite rare.  Embedded in the stories are subtle moral implications relating to character qualities such as loyalty, wisdom, and self-control.  The books are interesting enough to use for read-aloud, but simple enough to introduce as a beginner’s read-alone.

Of all the easy-reader books in print, this series may be the best in writing quality, complexity, character development, and humor.  Lobel’s genius has earned, among other awards, a Caldecott Honor for Frog and Toad are Friends and a Newbery Honor for Frog and Toad Together.  Frog and Toad All Year and Days with Frog and Toad were both American Library Association Notable Children’s Books.

This fine collection is available in CD audiobook and mp3 format, but they do need the pictures as accompaniment.

The Bears on Hemlock Mountain

Helen Sewell (Illustrator). Aladdin 1992, Paperback, 64 pages, $1.69

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Jonathan and his family live at the foot of the big hill that is called Hemlock Mountain.  One spring, expecting many relatives for a feast, his mother sends him over Hemlock Mountain to fetch a large iron pot from his aunt.  All of the adults (except his Uncle James, who has taught him how to observe wildlife) believe that there are no bears on Hemlock Mountain, but Jonathan isn’t so sure.  Still, he makes it across without meeting any.  At his aunt’s house he eats too many cookies and falls asleep, starting home just as the sun begins to set.  There he sees some bears, and hides under the pot.  His father and uncles come to rescue him just in time, and he proudly presents the pot to his mother.

This brief book is masterfully crafted, and through Dalgiesh’s easy-to-read prose the young reader gets a picture of Jonathan’s close-knit, loyal, and sometimes overwhelming colonial family.  In one day Jonathan experiences the pleasures of the outdoors, the comforts of the hearth, and the terror of a small child alone at night.

The story is really about dealing with fear, and the characters try to deal with the possibility of bears through denial.  Jonathan and others repeat to themselves that “There ARE no bears on Hemlock Mountain.”  But this attempt at avoiding the truth is ineffective, and it is with relief that Jonathan finally announces that “There ARE bears on Hemlock Mountain!”  His pride at carrying the heavy pot pales next to the fact that he has faced the frightening truth everyone else has avoided.

Sensitive children might be troubled by the scene in which Jonathan meets the bears, but his quick rescue provides a comforting end to this suspenseful story.  This is a great early chapter book, either for young listeners or young readers.

The newest edition of this book has a cover that seems more scary than the story actually merits, so I recommend an earlier edition.

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.

My Father’s Dragon

Ruth Chrisman Gannett (Illustrator). Yearling 2005, Paperback, 96 pages, $3.27

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Elmer Elevator, the narrator’s father, is nine years old when he meets a talking alley cat, who tells him about his journey to a Wild Island where a baby dragon is held captive, forced to ferry animals across the river that divides the island.  Elmer, annoyed with his mother for being rude to the cat, packs twenty-five peanut butter sandwiches, six apples, and assorted gear and stows away on a ship bound for the nearby Tangerina, then crosses a bridge of rocks to explore the island.  There he outwits a succession of fierce animals bound on devouring him and frees the dragon.

This story is masterfully written, in very short chapters that each pack a punch and end with a cliffhanger.  The plot points are simple enough that young children will be able to follow them, but clever enough that adults will enjoy the author’s absurd sense of humor.  It’s perfect for children transitioning out of picture books.  Published in 1947, it reflects mainly wholesome values of kindness, courage, and generosity, with a refreshing naivete, and it will appeal to children who enjoy fantasies.  Older children who care about facts, however, may be annoyed with its lighthearted disregard of realism.

Some concerns that parents ought to consider when deciding about this book are that (as in many fantasies of this type) Elmer does disobey his mother by feeding the alley cat and sneaking out for walks with him.  He also runs away, and during his travels he lies to some animals in order to protect himself.  His mother does relent about the cat, and Elmer never lies outright to his parents, who in a later book welcome him home with glad relief.  These moral elements can be dealt with through discussion, but the power of the story is far greater than a conversation.  I believe that the warm family relationships, and other positive values in the story outweigh the effect Elmer’s rebellion and lying.

All told, this is a positive, funny and lighthearted fantasy with a potentially problematic plot device of lying and running away.

Charlotte’s Web (Trophy Newbery)

E. B. White. HarperCollins 1974, Paperback, 192 pages, $1.98

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Wilbur is a white, runty pig who lives in Homer Zuckerman’s barn.  He is childish, innocent, and amiably piggy, and has two good friends: Fern, the girl who rescued him at birth, and Charlotte, a spider who eats the flies drawn to his pen.  One day the old sheep informs Wilbur of his future as bacon and ham, and Charlotte promises to rescue him from this dreadful fate.  How she intends to keep her promise remains to be seen, and her plan unfolds in chapter after delightful chapter.  The story closes soon after her natural death, and Wilbur, mourning her loss, welcomes her children into his life.

This memorable story provides an example of genuine, loving friendship, which blooms among the hard realities of farm life: Charlotte does trap and eat insects, and the people do kill their animals.  But even given their carnivorous inclinations, the people are goodwilled and faithfully care for their livestock.  Both the human and animal characters are well developed with a careful eye to human nature.  The geese are hilariously goosey, and the old sheep provides several instances of savvy wisdom.  Templeton the rat is memorable in his odious self-centeredness, providing a contrast to Charlotte’s generous love.  The general tone of the book is warm, which makes Charlotte’s death stand out in profound sadness.  But it is these contrasts that have made this story such an enduring classic — the reality of death and pain make joy and love all the sweeter where they exist.

This is a chapter book with occasional illustrations, and should appeal to ages 5-10.  Because its story quality appeals to a wide age group, I recommend it as a first chapter book, although parents should be aware that Charlotte’s death may come as a shock to sensitive listeners.

Old Yeller (Perennial Classic.)

Fred Gipson. Harper Perennial Modern Classics 2001, Paperback, 144 pages, $3.42

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Travis Coates is a 14-year-old boy, left alone to protect his mother and younger brother on his family’s 19th-century Texas homestead.  When his father goes on a trip leaving him to “act a man’s part,” he throws himself into his new responsibilities.  But the challenges of feeding and protecting his family prove to be greater than his boy’s abilities, and he comes to depend on and love the stray dog which adopts their family.

The story follows chapter after chapter of gritty, riveting and often funny adventures as the family wrestles out a living from the land, dealing with angry bulls, thieving coons, an enraged bear, vicious javelinas, and an outbreak of “hydrophobia” (rabies).  Through these challenges, Travis grows to fill his father’s shoes while Yeller makes himself indispensible, saving the family member’s lives time upon time. In the culmination of the story, Yeller is bitten while fighting off a rabies-infected wolf that had attacked Travis’s mother.  Realizing the bite of the wolf is fatal, and that Yeller will become a danger to the family before he dies, Travis kills him.

It is important to note that Travis is not forced to kill his beloved dog.  He is quick to see that Yeller has been infected with rabies, and (unlike Jody in The Yearling) he does not deny that his dog is a danger to the family.  Although he loves Yeller, he knows his responsibility is first toward his mother and brother.  Although his mother offers to do it for him, he quickly and resolutely pays the price to protect his family.  This self-sacrifice is exactly the kind of character quality our children ought to see as normal, and Travis’s decision grows out of the his emerging character.  It is an extraordinary act of moral courage, but it comes at the end of a story filled with ordinary acts of responsibility.  In this outstanding coming-of-age story, Travis’s manhood is achieved at great cost, and in this cost he proves his worth as a man.

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh (Aladdin Fantasy)

Zena Bernstein (Illustrator). Aladdin 1986, Paperback, 240 pages, $2.69

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

This is a masterfully crafted science-fiction fantasy about a widowed mouse and her young family, who live on the edge of hunger at the Fitzgibbon farm.  They choose for their winter home a cinder block buried in the farmer’s field, where they can the leavings of the harvest.  When her son Timothy becomes ill, Mrs. Frisby must choose between risking his life by exposing him to the cold in a move to their summer home, or risking the entire family by being at home on plowing day.  In desperation, she visits the owl in the woods for counsel, and he tells her to visit the rats who live on the farm.  When she does this, she discovers that an advanced rat society exists under cover of the rosebush.  The rats have escaped from a place called NIMH (the National Institute for Mental Health) and are planning to end their parasitic existence on the farm, where they use the Fitzgibbons’ electricity and other resources.  Their plans are disrupted by the coming of representatives from NIMH, who have been trying to recapture them since their escape.

The premise of the story is interesting in itself, but it is the character development and skillful unfolding of a suspenseful plot that make this story so wonderful.  The mouse family’s situation is truly desperate,and the reader awaits poor Timothy’s fate with nearly the amount of suspense as the entire rat colony’s.  Mrs. Frisby’s courageous resolve to save Timothy, facing down the owl in his own home and undergoing other dangerous ventures, models the kind of character that we want our children to aspire to.

She is additionally generous, kind and loyal; on discovering a crow trapped near the ground by foolishly attempting to pick up some shiny twine, she coolly risks her life to free him as the cat stalks nearer because “she could not leave the foolish crow there to be killed… just for want of a few minutes’ work.”  In gratitude, the crow plays a key part in helping her save Timothy.

It is difficult to portray rats and mice (even literate ones) in an admirable light, but O’Brien manages to build such sympathy for their society that the death of two rats is felt sharply by the reader.  In particular, the heroism of one rat in helping others to safety as poison gas fills the den leaves a mark of bittersweet admiration that is not quickly forgotten.  In the end, the remaining colony follows through on their plans to develop an independent society in the wilderness, abandoning their well-earned reputation as verminous thieves.  This change does not come as a result of mental enhancement or education, but is a moral choice to value dignity and honor over luxury gained at others’ expense.

A great science fiction premise, convincingly anthropomorphized animals, several heroic characters, a strong tenor of loyalty, friendship and family, all combine under the pen of a skillful writer to make an unforgettable story.

Like many great books, this one was followed by two deeply disappointing and forgettable sequels by Jane Leslie Conly, O’Brien’s daughter: R-T, Margaret, and the Rats of NIMH and Racso and the Rats of NIMH.  I do not recommend wasting time on these, but the original title should not be missed.

A String in the Harp

Nancy Bond. Aladdin 2006, Paperback, 384 pages, $2.50

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

In this modern-to-medievel time-travel fantasy, a family of three children and their father go to live in Wales for the winter, grieving the loss of their wife and mother.  Twelve-year-old Peter finds a key that opens a portal into ancient Wales, and he and his sisters must resist a rising threat when knowledge of the key spreads to those who wish to misuse it.

The book is recommended by several good sources and is well written, with good character development and a sustained sense of magic lurking at the edges of the children’s dreary lives.  Unfortunately, the dreariness of their lives seems to originate in their relationship with their father, who is emotionally and physically absent from their  lives, and seems untroubled that his son, especially, is desperately unhappy.  Peter, in reaction, continuously indulges his anger and bitterness, and retreats miserably into himself, unable to cope with his grief.

While the three siblings demonstrate loyalty and tenderness among each other, their distant relationship with their father is based on an egalitarian arrangement, evincing neither tenderness nor respect.  Although the story is told primarily from the children’s point of view, he is referred to throughout the story as “David”, even in the children’s thoughts (although they do call him “Dad” to his face.)  This subtly encourages the reader to think of the father as having equal status not only with his own children but also with themselves.  Near the end of the story, a conversation between Peter and his father makes the egalitarian basis of their family explicit.  Peter says:

No matter what we do [about where to live], we want it to be our decision, not just yours.”
Unreadable thoughts flickered across David’s face.  “You’re all so young,” he protested mildly.  “I can’t help thinking of you as my children!”
“We’re getting older.”
“Almost too fast.  You’re very persuasive, you know.  I’m not at all sure I have much chance against the three of you.  There’s a tremendous lot to be considered.”
“We’ll all consider it,” Peter pleaded (363-364).

Peter’s claim that the children should have a say in an important decision, and his father’s quick acceptance of his claim, confirms the assumption hinted at throughout the story that the children equal their father in status.  This arrangement absolves the father of his natural responsibility to lead and protect his family (a responsibility this father has steadfastly avoided).

Equally concerning is the father’s lack of tenderness toward his children.  Following the traumatic loss of their mother, he seeks solace from his grief in isolation and overwork.  He abandons them to their own devices, requiring them to live in a socially isolated and unheated summer home in the middle of Celtic winter, and himself withdraws from their lives, adding emotional abandonment to physical neglect.   Early in the story Peter wishfully envisions a scenario of

sitting down and really talking to his father.  He would tell him why he was unhappy and explain why he had to go home.  David would listen to him sympathetically and reasonably and would offer help.  They would be friends and they would understand each other” (47-48).

In this poignant reverie the young man longs for companionship, but not wisdom or leadership from his father, and even companionship is not forthcoming.

Consistent with this devastating view of family, Peter does not resolve his grief by entering into relationship with others, but instead is given an opportunity to retreat into his own secret world – a magical one whose door opens through a key found by chance.  This key he hides from everyone except, eventually, his siblings.  Unlike Narnia’s Pevensie children, who find a wise Professor to assist them, these young people must go to great lengths to hide their activities from adults.

Although skilfully written, the bitter, secretive protagonist in this story is anything but admirable, and his father is far worse.  The biblical ideal of a family, in which parents love, lead and train their children, is entirely absent.  The magic in the story is enticing, and the interweaving of modern and historical Wales is masterful, but the detached, egalitarian family dynamic is quite poisonous.

(Full disclosure: I read the first half of this book carefully and skimmed the rest after it became clear that it would be disqualified from our home library.)