Sarah Whitcher’s Story

Nora Spicer Unwin (Illustrator). JourneyForth 1994, Paperback, 95 pages, $4.99

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Little Sarah Whitcher, left in the charge of her older siblings while her parents leave their New Hampshire cabin for the day, wanders away and is lost in the woods.  By the time her disappearance is discovered, it is dark, but in the morning the community rallies around the family to search for the lost child.  They search until sunset, but are disappointed to find no Sarah.  The search continues for another day, and another, though everyone but Sarah’s parents has lost hope of her survival.  Meanwhile, Sarah has found the company of a large animal whom she takes to be Ollie, the family dog.  “Ollie” takes care of her, though he smells and acts strangely.  On the third day after her disappearance, a man appears at the cabin, claiming to have had a dream showing where Sarah is.  He leads the searchers to where she is found — smelling of bear.

Throughout the story this hardworking pioneer family holds together in their trust that God will take care of Sarah.  The father, especially, sets an example of faith in the most discouraging of circumstances.  The deep love the parents express toward their children, and the joy with which Sarah is welcomed home, strike a sharp contrast between her vulnerable solitude and the secure place she holds within her family.  The book ends with an author’s note explaining that this story has some historical support, and descendants of Sarah Whitcher have repeatedly affirmed that she has told the story the way they heard it from their relatives.

Although the tale ends happily, it is a “scarer,” and may not be suited to more sensitive listeners.  But for those who are able to handle Sarah’s real danger, it provides a wonderful, suspenseful adventure, gives a glimpse of early New Hampshire life, and portrays a tight-knit, loving family.

Warton and the Castaways

Russell Erickson. Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Books 1982, Hardcover, 112 pages, $11.75

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Warton and Morton are back for more danger, and this time Morton gets to come along on the adventure.  One morning, discovering they have run out of honey, the two brothers venture out into the rain to collect more.  On the way back they meet a hungry raccoon, and they persuade two eccentric and selfish toad sisters to give them refuge in their tree house.  During the night the rain fells their tree, washing it down a river, and they find themselves moored in the middle of a swamp, besieged by the same raccoon and a flock of great herons.

The story isn’t quite as good as A Toad for Tuesday, but it is lighthearted, funny, and suspenseful enough to hold the attention of a child transitioning into chapter books.  Just as in Toad for Tuesday, the toads’ escape has to do with extending kindness to an enemy, and a surprising character transformation is brought about through that kindness.  This is not a must-read, but it’s an enjoyable fantasy adventure, rooted in positive values of friendship, kindness, and courage.

A Toad for Tuesday

Russell E. Erickson. Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Books 1974, Hardcover, 63 pages, $6.50

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Warton the toad, undeterred by the dangerous winter weather, determines to visit his Aunt Toolia to bring her some of his brother Morton’s delicious beetle brittle.  He fashions skis and sallies forth, only to be captured by a dour owl who determines to eat him as a special treat on his upcoming birthday.  As the days count down, Warton’s kindness toward his captor causes the owl to question whether he really wants to eat the animal who has become his only friend.  The story culminates in a dramatic rescue — but not the one the reader anticipates.

Warton the Toad is courteous and helpful to others, and he keeps his environment orderly.  He brings a friendly conviviality to the lonely owl’s table by lighting candles and serving tea, even in the face of his impending death.  His courage, ingenuity and generosity commend him as a hero that young listeners will want to identify with.

This delightful story situates itself somewhere between Frog and Toad and The Wind in the Willows in reading level.  It has a wider vocabulary than most picture books or easy readers, and makes an excellent read-aloud for young listeners just transitioning into chapter books.

Tale of Benjamin Bunny

Beatrix Potter. Frederick Warne 1932, Hardcover, $1.75

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

This is probably the second best-known of Beatrix Potter’s wonderful rabbit stories.  In this one, naughty Peter Rabbit and his cousin Benjamin again sneak into Mr. MacGregor’s garden and get themselves into dangerous trouble with the cat.  They are rescued by Benjamin’s father.  Beautifully illustrated, this classic story has been loved for good reason.  The cat is dangerous, the bunnies foolish and lovable, the father heroic and brave, and the warm home scene allows the reader a sigh of relief at the end.

An audio recording of this story is available for free download at librivox.org.

The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night (Dell Picture Yearling)

Peter Spier. Dragonfly Books 1994, Paperback, 48 pages, $3.00

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night is a wonderful old folk song telling the ageless story of a fox who raids a farmer’s goose house and brings his kill home to his family.  Peter Spier’s detailed and charming drawings bring the story to dramatic life with alternately black-and-white and colored illustrations.

The anthropomorphism of the fox is playfully developed, somewhat reminiscent of Beatrix Potter’s animal character development.  As the fox raids the goose house he acts very much like a realistic animal, but he returns to a furnished home, and he and his wife proceed to pluck and carve the goose before eating it at table.  Likewise, the fox children act like humans within their house, but then raid the garbage can outside, leaving bones strewn everywhere.

The story is good enough to be enjoyed for its own sake, but also may provide an opportunity to discuss themes such as creation stewardship, ownership, theft, and animal predatory behavior.

A nice musical score is included at the end of the book, but the melody is rather complicated to read for the first time.  You can listen to the song performed by Morwenna Lasko below, or download a version by Nickel Creek here.

Blueberries for Sal (Viking Kestrel picture books)

Robert McCloskey. Viking Juvenile 1948, Hardcover, 55 pages, $9.98

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Sal and her mother set out for Blueberry Hill to pick blueberries for the winter, Mother with her large tin pail and Sal with her small one.  Meanwhile, Mother Bear and her cub start up the other side of Blueberry Hill to eat blueberries for the winter.  During the course of picking and eating blueberries, the  two youngsters each wander off to the opposite side of the hill, and meet each other’s mothers.  Each mother is “old enough to be shy” of the child she meets, and cautiously withdraws to go in search of her own child.  Reunited, each party returns down their own side of Blueberry Hill, the people with a pail full of berries, the bears having eaten themselves full of berries for winter.

The charm of this encounter comes from its winsome portrayal of Sal as a likable, easily-distracted child, and the subtle anthropomorphism of the bears, which are exciting but not threatening.  Each step of the story proceeds in two parts as first the humans, then the bears make a move: setting out, beginning to gather berries, wandering away, searching for Mother, and so on.  The wording, pacing, and artwork design are carefully laid out to unfold the plot in a pleasingly predictable yet suspenseful way.  The story is illustrated in black-and-white ink drawings, as many books of that era are, and McCloskey’s ink drawings are rendered with his characteristically gifted style, capturing the movements as well as the appearance of the people and animals.

Meeting a bear in the outdoors is a deliciously danger-filled adventure to read about, yet the story is not fearful, primarily because of the parallels drawn between the mothers and their children.  Sal’s relationship with her mother is one of great security, and the book ends with a warm scene of the two of them in their 1940s kitchen, canning blueberries with Sal “helping.”

This is a wonderful story for introducing blueberries or blueberry season, or for preparing to spend time in an unfamiliar outdoor environment.  More importantly, it’s simply an entertaining story which underscores the security of parental love and care for their children.

Grandpa Mateo and Christopher (Age 3) Summer 2007

Call It Courage

Armstrong Sperry. Simon Pulse 1973, Mass Market Paperback, 128 pages, $0.58

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Mafatu, the ten-year-old son of a Polynesian chieftan, has always feared the sea because in his toddlerhood he and his mother were swept away by a storm in which his mother lost her life.  As he approaches the edge of manhood, his fear prevents him from winning a place in his community.  Realizing their indifference to him, he sets out to sea alone in his canoe, taking only his dog and a few tools.  That night he is caught in a storm, in which he loses his paddle and all his tools, and he washes up on an island where cannibals are known to live.  He builds a shelter and canoe and chooses to survive; while living there he kills an octopus, a boar, and a shark, and faces the human terror of ritualistic cannibals, barely escaping with his life.  At the end of his journey he returns to his village having proved himself a man.

The story is set in a mythical Polynesia, but is written in a European voice: at one point the author describes a canoe caught in a current “like a millrace,” a term which is decidedly foreign to this island culture.  The great weakness of this book is that the tribal societies which provide a backdrop for the story are caricatured:  The tribal fishermen represent noble savages, living so close to nature that they become “ill at ease, charged… with an almost animal awareness of impending storm” (3).  Conversely, the cannibal tribe represent a class of wordless, brutal primitives — dancing with oiled bodies, beating drums around fires and stone idols, wailing, and shouting with guttural voices.  Mafatu appeals throughout the story to Maui, “god of the Fishermen,” and repeatedly challenges his nemesis Moana, the Sea God.  Sperry’s Maui, however, hardly resembles the Polynesian trickster named Maui, and the Moana of the story is only a personification of the sea (In some of the languages “moana” does mean sea or ocean.)

No one having read this book should believe they have learned anything about the real Polynesia — it is no more a story about Polynesia than Little Red Riding Hood is about the European forest. Notwithstanding this, if a reader can accept that Call it Courage is a lesson not in history but in moral courage, they may benefit from the moral example this hero represents.  Although Mafatu is limited by his youth and inexperience, he faces great dangers and survives, facing down one fear after another.  By making critical choices under pressure, and by refusing to succumb to the elemental, animal, spiritual and human forces arrayed against him, he finally wins his victory.  This coming of age is an accomplishment any young boy can aspire to.

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.

Swimmy (Knopf Children’s Paperbacks)

Leo Lionni. Dragonfly Books 1973, Paperback, 32 pages, $2.69

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Swimmy is a small black fish, part of a school of small red fish, and when a large tuna eats the rest of his school, he finds himself alone and frightened.  He travels through the sea, viewing many strange sights, until he finds another school of red fish.  When he asks them to come exploring with him, they are too afraid of being eaten; but he devises a way to venture forth safely, and together they chase the bigger fish away. This simple adventure is illustrated in an unusual collage of ink-prints.

Swimmy’s courage and leadership, the teamwork and cooperation of the small fish, and the creativity with which they solve their problem, combine to make a satisfying story.  The predatory behavior of the bigger fish is presented neutrally, as neither good nor evil — and since fish are less easy to identify with than other kinds of animals, the loss of Swimmy’s family isn’t too traumatic.  Still, sensitive children may have trouble with this story’s beginning, so parents may want to use caution.

Shanna Gonzalez Reading at Christopher's 4th Birthday Party, June 2009

Flossie and the Fox

Rachel Isadora (Illustrator). Dial 1986, Hardcover, 32 pages, $5.43

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

In a creative and sly twist on the traditional Red Riding Hood story, a little girl named Flossie is sent through the woods to bring the neighbors a basket of eggs, because a fox has been terrorizing their henhouse.  Flossie has never seen a fox, but when she takes a shortcut through the woods she encounters one.  He introduces himself as a fox, eyeing her basket of eggs, and she cheerfully replies that she does not believe he is what he says he is.  As she continues her walk, he offers different pieces of evidence to prove his identity: his thick fur, his pointy nose, his yellow eyes, his bushy tail.  At each attempt she retorts that he must be some other animal (a rabbit, a rat, a cat, a squirrel), until he follows her into the clearing near the neighbors’ home, and the farmer’s dog chases him back into the woods.

The book is illustrated with beautiful paintings, evocative of the historic rural American South, and the little girl is rendered charmingly in a number of pleasant outdoor scenes.  The text, however, is the great drawing point: the story is told in a warm voice characteristic of the African-influenced English that grew up in the South — the author states that it is reconstructed from her memory of her grandfather’s front-porch storytelling.  Flossie’s victory over the fox keys on her quick-witted verbal banter (a quality especially valued in African-American culture), and she demonstrates intelligence and strength of will throughout the interaction.  The book ends with young Flossie grinning over her shoulder, basket of eggs under her arm, as she acknowledges her opponent as a fox — just as the farm dog chases him away.  She has matched her wits against an animal known for quick-wittedness, and has won the day.  This is a delightfully enjoyable excursion.