Tag: books

I had totally forgotten about this book until one of the kids dragged it up yesterday evening:

Oh, Brother by Arthur Yorinks and Richard Egielski  

Like most of the books done by this pair, it’s quick, it’s funny, it’s more than a little weird, and it has a nice, happy ending.  Two brothers can’t stop squabbling with each other, not even when their life depends on it.  Things go from bad to worse until they have to hatch a ridiculous plan to survive — and when they get found out, all is well again.  Many nice touches, like the sad slump of the tailor’s mannequin when the brothers are in mourning.  Siblings who love each other but who are constantly trying to kill each other (or parents who have kids like this) will get a kick out of it.

Also check out a couple of the other crazy and wonderful books by this author/illustrator team:

Christmas in July (my husband can’t get through this book without cracking up.  It holds the memorable line:  “Hi, I’m Santa.  Got any pants?”)

It Happened in Pinsk (this one is priced outrageously for new editions, so you’d have to get it used.  I love this book so much.  Maybe a teeny bit like Kafka for kids, if Gregor Samsa turned back into a person and was happy and grateful for his life from there on out.)

. . . but yesterday I wrote this post about how, sometimes, your efforts are actually an obstacle to spiritual progress, and you just have to step aside and let the Holy Spirit work.  And then, just a few hours later, I read this passage from C. S. Lewis’ Perelandra.

(Ransom, on an unfallen planet with an unfallen Lady, has been doing battle with his nemesis, and has just made the horrible realization that, if “the Un-Man” is the representative of Hell, then he himself must be the representative of Heaven.)

‘Oh, but this is nonsense,’ said the voluble self. He, Ransom, with his ridiculous piebald body and his ten times defeated arguments – what sort of a miracle was that? His mind darted hopefully down a side-alley that seemed to promise escape. Very well then. He had been brought here miraculously. He was in God’s hands. As long as he did his best – and he had done his best – God would see to the final issue. He had not succeeded. But he had done his best. No one could do more. “‘Tis not in mortals to command success.’ He must not be worried about the final result. Maleldil would see to that. And Maleldil would bring him safe back to Earth after his very real, though unsuccessful, efforts. Probably Maleldil’s real intention was that he should publish to the human race the truths he had learned on the planet Venus. As for the fate of Venus, that could not really rest upon his shoulders. It was in God’s hands. One must be content to leave it there. One must have Faith ….

It snapped like a violin string. Not one rag of all this evasion was left. Relentlessly, unmistakably, the Darkness pressed down upon him the knowledge that this picture of the situation was utterly false. His journey to Perelandra was not a moral exercise, nor a sham fight. If the issue lay in Maleldil’s hands, Ransom and the Lady were those hands. The fate of a world really depended on how they behaved in the next few hours.

The thing was irreducibly, nakedly real. They could, if they chose, decline to save the innocence of this new race, and if they declined its innocence would not be saved. It rested with no other creature in all time or all space. This he saw clearly, though as yet he had no inkling of what he could do.

The voluble self protested, wildly, swiftly, like the propeller of a ship racing when it is out of the water. The imprudence, the unfairness, the absurdity of it! Did Maleldil want to lose worlds? What was the sense of so arranging things that anything really important should finally and absolutely depend on such a man of straw as himself? And at that moment, far away ; on Earth, as he now could not help remembering, men were at war, and white-faced subalterns and freckled corporals who had but lately begun to shave, stood in horrible gaps or crawled forward in deadly darkness, awaking, like him, to the preposterous truth that all really depended on their actions; and far away in time Horatius stood on the bridge, and Constantine settled in his mind whether he would or would not embrace the new religion, and Eve herself stood looking upon the forbidden fruit and the Heaven of Heavens waited for her decision. He writhed and ground his teeth, but could not help seeing. Thus, and not otherwise, the world was made. Either something or nothing must depend on individual choices. And if something, who could set bounds to it? A stone may determine the course of a river. He was that stone at this horrible moment which had become the centre of the whole universe. The eldila of all worlds, the sinless organisms of everlasting, light, were silent in Deep Heaven to see what Elwin Ransom of Cambridge would do.

Oh, boy.  I think my 14-year-old is old enough to read at least the first two books of Lewis’ Space Trilogy.  In rereading Perelandra (which is book two), I’m amazed at how many of my ideas about what God is like, how grace works, how evil works, and what we are actually here for came from these books.

No Register post today, while I get caught up on a thing or two.  In the mean time, a quick reading recommendation.  We’ve been listening to an audiobook of Freddy the Detective by Walter R. Brooks in the car, and it is ridiculously entertaining.  (The link is to the print version of the book; there are links to the audio version and other formats if you click through.)

The kids ask to hear it over and over again (it’s a full-length book, 270 pages), but I haven’t gotten tired of it yet.  The plot moves along nicely and has structure and logic, but you can drop in at any time and be amused by the nutty little descriptions and anecdotes that fill the story.  I laugh every time we get to the moment when Freddy the Pig realizes that Mrs. Wiggins (who is a cow, and more sensible than the other cows, Mrs. Wogus and Mrs. Wurzburger, but still a cow) has been contributing to the newest problem on Mr. Bean’s farm, which is that their new jail has become a little too popular:

You have probably never seen a cow blush.  And indeed, the sight is unusual.  There are two reasons for this.  One is that cows are a very simple people, who do whatever they feel like doing and never realize that sometimes they ought to be embarrassed.  You might think they lack finer feelings.  And in a way they do.  They are not sensitive.  But they are kind and good-natured, and if sometimes they seem rude, it is only due to their rather clumsy thoughtlessness.

The other reason is that cows’ faces are not built for blushing.  But as Mrs. Wiggins was so talented above her sisters in other directions, it is not to be marveled at that she could blush very handsomely.

Her flush deepened as Freddy spoke.  “Why, I– now that you speak of it,” she stammered, “I see that you’re right, but — well, Freddy — land’s sakes — I might as well confess it to you, I got to feeling sorry for those prisoners myself yesterday, especially those two goats.  It seemed such a pity that they couldn’t be jumping round in the hills instead of sweltering in that hot barn.  And I went out and brought them a nice bunch of thistles for their supper.”

Freddy frowned.  “That’s just it!”  he exclaimed.  “That’s just it.  Sentimentality, that’s what’s going to ruin our jail. I did think, Mrs. W., that you had more sense.”

The cow looked a little angry.  “If I knew what you were talking about,” she said stiffly, “perhaps I might agree with you.”

“Being sentimental?” said Freddy.  “I’ll tell you what it is.  It’s going round looking for something or someone to cry over, just for the fun of crying.  You knew you weren’t doing those goats any good.  You just wanted to have a good time feeling sorry.”

The nice thing about Mrs. Wiggins was that she always admitted it when she was wrong.  She did so now after she thought about it for a few minutes.  “I guess you’re right, Freddy.  I won’t do it again. . . “

Brooks fills his Freddy books with fully-realized animal characters — all believable, and most immensely likable.  Once you meet them, you will never forget Uncle Wesley, the pompous duck, and his easily-impressed nieces, Alice and Emma; the stout-hearted but sarcastic cat Jinx, the vicious rats, the emotionally fragile rabbits, the malicious fly, Zero, and dozens and dozens of others.

The human characters are also a hoot.  Freddy first discovers a robber’s hideout when he sees the two outlaws taking turns on an old swing, trying to shoot bricks out of the chimney when they get high enough.  And one robber is always knitting, and nagging the other one about not dressing warmly enough when he goes out robbing at night.

As you can see, the language is at a high level, but is wonderfully clear and lively.  It’s full of ideas, but it never even comes close to being preachy.  It’s an extraordinarily good-natured universe that these animals live in.  My 3- and 5-year-old kids seem to follow the plot perfectly well, and the older kids (girls and boys) are as amused and entertained as I am.

There are 26 Freddy the Pig books in all!  Do check them out — I can’t imagine anyone not liking Freddy the Pig and his friends.  If you can get your hands on the audio version, we think narrator John McDonough does a great job of changing his voice to bring out the various characters.