But I'll Be Back Again

Having read this a couple weeks ago, I was won over to Cynthia Rylant's side with her childhood album. At first I thought, "wow, she is pretty open about some things that have happened to her," and then I realized she has to be - she's a writer and that's what writer's do. After having read this, I can see that her books and stories are not just creations, but her way of "seeing" the world she only "felt" as a child. Rylant did not touch on her adult life at all unless relating it to her childhood. The fact that she had a child and two marriages was all she needed to say. Everything else is a function of her childhood.

It was very interesting the way she wove and integrated the lyrics by Lennon and McCartney. It's amazing what an impact music can have on your life. I can't think of a childhood obsession similar to this that I may have had, beyond Disney musicals which consumed my childhood. However, I am familiar with the power of lyrics. As for childhood lyrics, mine were not political figures holding press conferences, they were my grandparents and maybe Captain Kangaroo or JEM or Captain Planet (bringing pollution down to zero). Cartoons were/are a big deal.

I was moved by Rylant's connection to her father, discovered after he had passed. For her to find out that her chosen profession is something her estranged father excelled in must have filled her heard and given her a sense of pride. I was happy to see a photograph of her father in the back of the book. In fact, I was happy to see all of the photographs included at the end of her album. Each one is so appropriate in its own way, ending with her. The letter, though, really drew me to Rylant and her father. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for him to be separated from his daughter all that time.

Reading about Rylant's life from her voice and not the voice of a character likens me more toward her. As unhappy as her childhood may or may not have been, I'm glad she grew up to find stories and words inside of her so that she could finally see her world.

Long Night Moon

A perfect bed-time book, I was taken in by the illustrations and the rhythm of the text. The deep blue is an embracing color, and the stars have a soft glow, as reflected by the snow on the ground. Charcoal is an excellent medium for the mood of the story: soft, gentle, and relaxed, one picture fading into the next. The text is smooth and flowing, almost like someone is writing this story just for me. At first I read this story silently, but then I felt myself whisper it, tasting these lyrical words. I liked how this story was more about nature and the cycle of the moon rather than human activities. There are no people except at the beginning and the end, the woman with her baby. The day time is for people, the nighttime is for everything else. The Earth is bathed in moonlight as it guides the animals. The illuminated night scene is a guide for readers as well, traveling through the year with the moon above. The night does seem long, especially in those winter hours.

I was moved by Cynthia Rylant’s inspiration of Native American tradition. I was curious, though, about the actual names of the moons. Did Rylant come up with each name herself or is there some root in Native American culture? I’m wondering if Native American calendars even followed a 12-month schedule as ours, especially knowing that ours was developed from Roman culture. I searched for answers on Google, and found that many tribes named 11 or 12 moons out of the year, though the Apache tribe only named five and the Cheyenne only named seven. I found this information here: http://www.americanindian.net/moons.html , if you’re curious yourself. Scroll down a bit to see the variety of names! Also, if you’re interested in the origin of our calendar, check out this website: http://webexhibits.org/calendars/calendar-roman.html

I Had Seen Castles

I don't not like historical fiction in general, but I find that many books of historical fiction are about war. Topics for historical fiction often mirror a past of deep sadness, or at least a hardship. And I do like these kinds of books, but as of now, I'm hardshipped-out. No more war books for me after this one.

I've found that I am more moved by Rylant's novels more than her picture books. The deep sadness of this soldier came through so clearly in to tone and style of Rylant's writing, each sentence and thought flowing straight into the next. Ginny's character had such a lasting influence on John; he carried her with him his entire life. When he came home from the war as a changed man, I wanted him to find Ginny by the end of the novel and I wanted them to be together. I wanted him to care enough to go to Smithville to find her and receive the forgiveness he craved so deeply. I was glad the story was written from the perspective of a survivor. Of course, one would hope that the main character, the protagonist of the story, would live in the end, but as an old man I knew he had not merely lived, but lived well.

This felt like the kind of story that could be epic, hundreds of pages long with the hero not quite satisfied in the end. And yet, Rylant said everything that needed to be said in 100 pages! I was definitely impressed, to say the least. I was curious how the title would tie into the story, and was pleasantly surprised at how John's childhood came back to him with the castles of Europe and serene atmosphere. He went back to that place when he was older, unable to live his post-war life in his old bedroom in his old house.

At the end of the copy I borrowed from the library, Rylant mentions that she didn't do a whole lot of research for this story. Instead, she used her heart to help her write the personal story of a young boy going off to war. A statement like that makes me feel like I, too, could write a personal story of historical fiction without months of rigorous research. Rylant makes this look easy.

Bull Run

“It takes but one pebble to start an avalanche.” James Dacy, p 84

I’ve always considered myself lucky to have grown up in Alexandria, VA near DC, surrounded by history, be it battlefields, monuments or museums. I’ve biked around Bull Run, my cousins live in Manassas, I’ve driven through the Shenandoah mountains, Route 1 becomes Jefferson Davis Highway, etc. These are significant places with significant meanings earned in the Civil War, but on a daily basis, they don’t mean much when you live there. Encircled by Virginia history, I tuned it out as a kid and just went about my business, eventually coming to Williamsburg – not the place to go if trying to avoid Virginia history. And yet, history is so drilled into my head that I forget it all the time! The Civil War alone is incredibly interesting though. What if the south had really seceded from the north?

Again, I’m impressed with Paul Fleischman’s ability to write from different perspectives, from different sides. The quote at the beginning of my post is so simple, but accounts for so many actions. Many of these soldiers, it doesn’t matter which side, were just fighting to fight, defending their homeland and cutting down others based on rumors and hearsay and personal beliefs. A seed of doubt or disdain or dislike can destroy any relationship and here Fleischman has shown what it means to have that seed sown. Unlike in Seedfolks, where people coming together to form a community, Bull Run illustrates communities being ripped apart. Fleischman pulls on all the emotions from soldiers, women at home, children, doctors, passersby. Anger, fear, doubt, disgust, hate, and even hope – hope that this will end, that the person they just attacked will actually live, that the present day will end and the next will come.

Even though the characters had short chapters, I felt like I was really able to connect with them. Of course, each time a new chapter started, I spent time looking at the woodcuts (which I was so grateful for) trying to remember what had happened to them when I left them last. The doctor’s character reminded me of Sam, from Seedfolks. He was the one who wanted to heal and to help, but was deeply against this war, just as Sam noticed the divisions in the garden to be human nature. “Those who’d died, I told myself, at least hadn’t lived to maim and murder countless other men in battle. It was a thought I never shared with the officers.” Dr. William Rye, pg 26.

Missing May

I was very impressed with this story. I’d read it before and was a little timid about reading it a second time, but after reading it and now having discussed it with my group in class, I like it even more. When I read this story the first time, I hadn’t had a close experience with death in my family. Now, having lost my grandfather (I practically lived with my grandparents for almost 10 years), I felt like I was reliving that moment over and over while reading Missing May. I actually cried a lot. I can’t admit exactly how much, but it was a lot. Rylant does such a good job of illustrating the power of missing someone: it can take over your life, become an obsession to get them back, one way or another. Ob searched for May in the wind and in the power of the Bat Lady, but in the end, he found May in Summer and Cletus, remembering how she was in life and imagining what she would think of Cletus.

The theme of ‘coming home’ runs throughout the story, especially with Summer, the parent-less girl adopted by Ob and May. Summer is so accepting of Ob and May’s home in Deep Water, likening her first night with them as paradise. She describes ‘home’ as “a toy that God had been playing with and accidentally dropped out of heaven” (p. 5). I can imagine some kids would be judgmental and even resentful of the surroundings in Deep Water, but Summer is as resilient as kids come, insightful and thoughtful too. When Ob’s depression consumes him, Summer finally relents to Cletus, hoping that he can bring Ob back. On page 43, Summer is thinking “Guidance came to me in the form of a greasy-haired lunatic, and now, desperate, I am passing him the torch, hoping he can lead us out of this infernal darkness, this place none of us can anymore call home.” Here, the trailer is no longer home because it has lost the sense of comfort and companionship it once offered. The idea of home comes back again at the end of this particular chapter when Summer notes that the Bat Lady better have some answers “because we will have waded out too far, out past the point of no return, too far to ever make it home again.” Home is so important for Summer, as it was for May. In this way, holding on to home, Summer will hold on to May.

Cletus’ character was definitely interesting, and I’m wondering what Rylant’s inspiration was for him. Here is a young kid with a wise soul (because of his older parents?) that collects pictures and stories and carries them in a briefcase. It’s unusual, but not all that different from other people watchers who extrapolate deeper meaning in an airport or train station. It’s human nature to be curious; Cletus went a step further and carries his curiosity with him.

I felt so many different emotions throughout this book, including depression and defeat, joy and surprise. I wanted the Bat Lady to give them hope and I wanted Ob and Summer to find their redemption. In the end, they found each other and just kept on going. What a great message.