Month: September 2008

ALA’s Banned Books week continues, and today’s challenged book is Ken Mochizuki’s Baseball Saved Us which was challenged in 2006. Questions about the book’s appropriateness for second grade reading lists rose in New Milford, Connecticut school districts because the book uses the word “Jap” as a taunt.

Baseball Saved Us is about Japanese families living in internment camps during World War II, and how playing baseball gave shape to their lives and reminded them that they were still a part of America, despite the fact that they were being treated as enemy combatants and strangers in their own country. I was really surprised that this book was challenged; I actually bought this for my little brother years and years ago, so I’ve read it. I know that the word “Jap” was used, but it was used in a way that made it obvious to even the youngest reader or listener that it was said hurtfully, and it wasn’t right. Being called names were the least of the troubles in which Japanese Americans found themselves during that part of history, and even second graders can be counted on to know what bad names are, and how they’re hurtful.

Everyone wants to protect little kids — and protecting them from having to live in a world again where things like internment camps happen means allowing them to be informed about injustice in a way they can understand.

Celebrate your right to read — and to learn! Happy Banned Books Week!

It’s the end of The Big Read. Thanks to Leila for organizing this!

Book III, The Track of the Storm, Chapters 13-15
Chapter 13 ~ Fifty-two
I don’t know how a person who is on Death Row can compose his mind. Of course, in California, prison terms seem to last full lifetimes, and one considers one’s mortality for ages, but the guillotine worked a lot faster. Poor Charles, knowing full well that he’s going to die, tries to compose himself.

His hold on life was strong, and it was very, very hard, to loosen; by gradual efforts and degrees unclosed a little here, it clenched the tighter there; and when he brought his strength to bear on that hand and it yielded, this was closed again.

What a very Victorian sentiment, the idea that one is meant to compose oneself, and go to one’s death quietly. WHY??? What is dignity if one is dead? But eventually, Charles manages to calm himself for the sake of his spouse and thinking of others who have nobly gone, and he writes a few letters. He “never once” thinks of Sydney Carton.

Ach.

And then follow some of the most amazingly awful but author-awesome passages. Dickens really stretches his imagination and gets into the mind of someone waiting to be executed — the things that go over and over in one’s head, the desire to know everything about the scaffolding, the disproportionately huge interest in what will be over in seconds — it’s written so well, and it’s so awful.

This chapter is just SO AWFUL. When Sydney Carton comes, and has Charles exchange clothes with him, and write out a letter, and we finally see what he bought at the chemist — although, he had three packets from him. I find myself hoping the other two packets were poison, and that he dies painlessly and soundlessly before the blade falls.

The next “so awful” moment is the realization that Charles is writing Sydney’s farewell letter to him. The third “so awful” comes quickly after that, when Sydney is recognized as not being Charles by the young seamstress (a poor little faint thing, self-described — why Mr. Dickens? She’s not in hysterics. She’s brave.), who wants to hold his hand on the way to the guillotine.

Now approaching the end of this, I recall at my first reading being so conflicted in the last chapters of the book — not at all loving Charles and Lucie, but not wanting Sydney’s sacrifice to be in vain. This time, I imagine reading this book the year it was written, 1859, and positively swooning and writhing (my brow, anyway) over reading it in weekly installments. No skipping ahead, and no way to avoid the emotional impact of the end. Brilliant. Writers should do more installment writing now. Cliffhangers improve the circulation, it has been said.

I’m so completely avoiding. Must read on…

The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far, we are pursued by nothing else.

Chapter 14 ~ The Knitting Done
At last! Miss Pross. Thank goodness. If not for comic relief, I trust her to cross swords — or knitting needles — with Madame DeFarge, and come out on top. Jeremiah Cruncher, too, is a changed man. If only the innocent can be saved, he will change in some unnamed way, and leave Mrs. Cruncher alone in her “flopping.” No one in poor Jerry’s world understands one word in five that he says, but Miss Pross is distracted enough to not really care, and I’m glad, anyway, that he’s going to give the poor woman a break.

The dawning horror of Madame DeFarge coming and coming and them dithering and fussing — arrgh! And then, she comes, and Miss Pross has to hold her by herself.

“I am a Briton,” said Miss Pross, “I am desperate. I don’t care an English Twopence for myself. I know that the longer I keep you here, the greater hope there is for my Ladybird. I’ll not leave a handful of that dark hair upon your head, if you lay a finger on me!”

Go, Miss Pros!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, DRAMA! Miss Pross finally makes it to the carriage at the cathedral. In the end, it’s a small price to pay for… *cough*
That’s right.
We’re encouraging others to read this for themselves, aren’t we? So, run along…

Chapter 15 ~ The Footsteps Die Out Forever
Twenty-three.
Just two words. No real elaboration. Charles Dickens is a master.
But I still freaking hate him at the moment.

During the final “prophetic” soliloquy, Dickens mentions the future deaths of those who have incited the revolution to such bloody ends, proving yet again that those who live by the sword — or the revolver tucked away handily — generally die by the same. He also spoke about a golden future in which France straightens itself up and does better. It’s all cycles on Fortune’s Wheel, and Sydney throwing himself under the wheel for someone else means that someday he’ll have a namesake who rises high in his chosen field, and makes his name great again.

The idea of a wheel means that it continues to turn. A vexing truth: trouble always comes again…

The Big Read: it’s been awesome, the best of times, and the worst. I need a few hankies and a lie-down before I read anything else, however. I feel like I ought to be trying to apply the text to relevant times, life right now, political expediency, something… but I’m too sad.

’til next time, The Big Read rests.

Every year that The Chocolate War is still on some school’s banned list kind of gives me a headache. I always wonder if anyone has actually read the book — really read it. How can they get upset? But, it’s a perennial “favorite,” and so it stays.

I paged through a picture book only last summer when I was weeding through my Mom’s classroom library, and read The Night Kitchen through again for old time’s sakes. A weird dream a child has, hearing strange noises and falling through space, falling out of his pajamas and into a cake… I couldn’t imagine why it could be banned. And then I read — for nudity. Really!? Oh, yeah. Mickey falls out of his pajamas.

…I won’t bother telling you how many dreams I’ve had when I’ve been undressed. Or halfway undressed. Or dressed in strips of carpet. Our unconscious minds are surreal places, but the point of the book is about what’s in the dark — and how to cope with it.

Banning a book misses the point of a story. Celebrate your right to read!

Welcome to Banned Books Week! Since 1982, this yearly last-week-in-September ALA event reminds us all not to take our freedoms for granted. This year, 2008, marks BBW’s 27th anniversary. Celebrate the freedom to read!

III. The Track of the Storm, Chapters 9-12
Are you reading?

Chapter 9 ~The Game Made
While the real tense stuff is going on in another room, Mr. Lorry has asked the fatal question of the reluctant Jeremiah Cruncher, that is, what else he might do for a living, besides working as a messenger for Tellson’s. One has to wonder if Mr. Lorry has ever actually spoken to Jerry Cruncher, other than to order him to take a message somewhere. Has he actually looked at him, thought of him as a real person? Does he understand one word in four of the gibberish about flopping and whatnot that he’s now saying to him? Somehow, I doubt it.

Jerry’s reply to Mr. Lorry is that one can’t blame the goose without the gander — a Resurrection Man doesn’t work without the doctors who bank at Tellson’s — ! It’s maybe time to change careers anyway, and become a real gravedigger. I like that he suggests that his son keep his job so that he can take care of his mother. Maybe he doesn’t mean it, but it sounds good.

Meanwhile, we spend a melancholy time with Sydney Carton. He has arranged…something with the sheep of the prisons for the morrow, and then takes poor sad Mr. Lorry to the Manette’s house to look after Her. I hate that Lucie is still the obsession of so many people. Gak.

Sydney walks the night away through the dangerous city, which seems to have no power to hurt him. He buys the makings of some kind of incendiary device from the chemist. Is this Plan B? Sydney walks, remembering what was read out at his father’s funeral. I am the resurrection and the life… Not sure if this is more meant to be thoughtful than hopeful or what. I can’t figure out Sydney Carton’s frame of mind at all… can’t say I like that.

Meanwhile, the morning of the trial. Lucie’s brow is, of course, looking its best. There’s the usual sham of justice, with charges being read and false witnesses being produced, but then — the twist — Doctor Manette is said to have been the one who accused Charles. The DeFarges are the other two, and I think bloodthirsty Jacques III is counting on the fact that a.) the cell has burned and b.) that the doctor doesn’t remember anything from that time in his life. I remember them looking for something in that cell!!! But they didn’t find anything… did they!?

Chapter 10 ~ The Substance of the Shadow
The writings of Doctor Manette — truly the writings of Doctor Manette?? — tell an horrible story of Charles Darnay’s …father, and uncle, and the evil that they did to peasants when he was a tiny child. Finally readers see the reason Doctor Manette was originally put away for eighteen years in prison, and the rabble determines that Charles will go back to Concierge and be guillotined in twenty four hours.

This was such arresting reading that I couldn’t come up to comment.

Chapter 11 ~ Dusk
Lucie swoons, but for once, she pops back up and asks to embrace Charles, all nonsense set aside, now that she’s heard that he is doomed. Amazingly, the two guards present let them embrace, and the family is able to mourn together for awhile. Lucie is able to see Charles away with a positive expression (although, what expression could one really give?), and then, then she faints. Unfortunately, her father is collapsing too. Sydney and Mr. Lorry are them to gather them and take them to a carriage.

At the house, Lucie Junior animates long enough to prevail upon Sydney to save her parents. He briefly kisses the fainted Lucie, says something to her, then goes out, telling Doctor Manette to try and prevail upon the revolutionaries to save his son-in-law. And then, he has one last conversation with Mr. Lorry, where they agree that nothing can save Charles… and Sydney walks out with “a settled step.” Which means he has a plan to save him, and sacrifice himself.

Oh, I’m sick.

Chapter 11 ~ Darkness
Shadow. Darkness. Dusk. These chapter titles are so evocative. Darkness we know indeed, as Sydney goes about in Saint Antoine to be seen — as an Englishman who resembles Charles. Because of his perambulations to the wine shop, we now have evidence of the root of Madame DeFarge’s twisted mind. It was her family against whom the Marquis first transgressed so horribly; the Marquis put the Doctor in prison because he knew of what had been done to her sister, her brother, and her brother in law. Her denouncing the family of the Marquis makes some sense… but the bloodbath of others uninvolved assures us that she is quite, quite unhinged. And who on earth is The Vengeance? She just has popped up as a continuing faceless character — is she the mother of the child who was run over, and the widow of the man hung at the fountain? An editor nowadays would have taken Dickens to task for that randomness, but for now, The Vengeance really is more a word than a character; The Vengeance always follows Madame DeFarge.

Poor Monsieur DeFarge. He’s beginning to worry that the bloodshed will not end until his wife has managed to exterminate everyone.

Poor Doctor Manette. I have to say that I expected this, and almost wondered if Sydney had pushed him to bring him to this place, so that he could seem pitiful, and not as dangerous or apt to be denounced.

“I cannot find it,” said he, “and I must have it. Where is it?”

His head and throat were bare, and, as he spoke with a helpless look straying all around, he took his coat off, and let it drop on the floor.

“Where is my bench? I have been looking everywhere for my bench, and I can’t find it. What have they done with my work? Time presses: I must finish those shoes.”

They looked at one another, and their hearts died within them.

“Come, come!” said he, in a whimpering miserable way; “Let me get to work. Give me my work.”

Receiving no answer, he tore his hair, and beat his feet upon the ground, like a distracted child.

“Don’t torture a poor forlorn wretch,” he implored them, with a dreadful cry; “but give me my work! What is to become of us, if those shoes are not done to-night?”

Lost, utterly lost!

Their hearts died, how tragically apt. Doctor Manette is once again a prisoner in his mind, and Sydney and Mr. Lorry are the only ones left who can act to save anyone. Sydney knows all too well that Madame DeFarge has made up her mind that the Manettes are no longer friends of the Republic, no matter their histories. As it is a capital crime to mourn for a victim of the guillotine, Lucie is next on the list, and then her child, and then her father…. But Sydney Carton has a plan. He and Mr. Lorry take Doctor Manette up to Lucie, and he says… farewell.

I don’t see a way around it. SOMEONE is going to die…

Are you reading?

Oh, dear. Events are hastening to their close, citizens. Mr. Dickens is pitting the forces of good and evil against each other, and …I may have words with him about some of the ideas he has. I’m being reminded that this is a 19th century melodrama more with each passing chapter.

To the text!
Book III – The Track of the Storm, Chapters 5-8

Chapter 5 ~ The Wood-Sawyer
I love that “sawyer” was once a verb.
Lucie’s poor brow is permanently ruffled, but Dickens seems to have written her into a state of Hallowed Purity yet again, as she waits and is Good and Kind and Patient and whatever other virtues you can shove into a sentence. Lucie doesn’t spend a lot of time weeping and cursing her spouse’s stupidity — and possibly her own, for bringing her daughter into the land of death. Her father is the only one she cries to, and that, only occasionally, such a good girl is she. And eventually, her Goodness, Patience and Quietude is rewarded. Papa finds her a place to look at the prison so that Charles can perhaps see her. He’s only maybe allowed there sometimes on every fifth Tuesday, but our girl is Good — have I mentioned that? And thus she is there daily, without fail, dragging her child behind her.

In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the rains of autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed two hours of every day at this place; and every day on leaving it, she kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she learned from her father) it might be once in five or six times: it might be twice or thrice running: it might be, not for a week or a fortnight together. It was enough that he could and did see her when the chances served, and on that possibility she would have waited out the day, seven days a week.

Of course, Lucie’s routine gets noticed.
Is it ominous if a woodsman’s favorite phrase is, “But it’s not my business” as he watches her? Or is he serious? He used to be a road mender… Huh. Then, because this is a farce, there’s a line dance…

My OED also mentions the carmagnole as a peasant jacket, and additionally, from the encyclopedia: The farandole is an open-chain community dance popular in the County of Nice, France. The farandole bears similarities to the gavotte, jig, and tarantella. The carmagnole of the French Revolution is a derivative.

The “ding-dong, the wicked aristocrat is dead” dance really was danced in the streets. Dissent: not something well known during the French Revolution. Can you imagine declining this impromptu jig? “Merci, non, I prefer not to dance in the blood of my enemies in the streets.” Eh? You say “non” to the line dance? Well then, off with your head… Oh, I can see I wouldn’t have survived this.

Anyway!
Lucie’s father reassures her — that wild heathen dancing scared wittle old her! — and lets her know that Charles can see her, and she can blow him a kiss. Unfortunately, Madame DeFarge sees her blowing kisses but Lucie’s being packed off anyway. Charles is finally going to be tried for his …crimes.

How long is Doctor Manette’s eighteen years of imprisonment going to stand him in good stead? How long will he be enough to protect Lucie from Madame DeFarge’s shadow? The chapter ends with another mystery: WHO do they meet at Tellson’s who hugs Lucie in greeting? Who has come to Paris — for heaven’s sakes, who’s left in England!? It had better not be Sydney. That’s all I’m saying.

Chapter 6 ~ Triumph
So, Charles Darnay’s trial begins. Dickens says something really interesting in this chapter about the prisoners — they’re living in their own strange world. They hold “entertainments” nightly, and periodically, last minute substitutions have to be made, which just seems surreal. He adds,

In seasons of pestilence, some of us will have a secret attraction to the disease-a terrible passing inclination to die of it. And all of us have like wonders hidden in our breasts, only needing circumstances to evoke them.

Unfortunately, the “passing inclination” of the season of pestilence passes; the guillotine is kind of permanent… That makes me really thoughtful.

Doctor Manette has carefully, carefully coached Charles on the matter of his arraignment, and he comes through beautifully. Monsieur Gabette — alive and unscathed — emerges, and corroborates Charles’ tale of why he was actually in the country, and voilá — the fickle crowd loves him, and he pardoned. He goes home, the Child Bride faints, all is well.

I admit myself somewhat bewildered disgusted as to why Lucie is seen to be guided through appropriate behavior. It’s like watching a parent prompt a child. “Now, what do you say to your Daddy, Lucie? Can you say ‘thank you for rescuing my husband’? Come on, honey, you can do it.” Her father objects to her being weak and trembly, but so far, no one objects to her being a brainless idiot. Strange, that.

Wonder where the DeFarges made off to at the end of the trial? What was with them glaring at the jury? Hmmm.

Chapter 7 ~ A Knock at the Door
If I’m ever held captive in a revolution, please just bring me Miss Pross.

Although Miss Pross, through her long association with a French family, might have known as much of their language as of her own, if she had had a mind, she had no mind in that direction; consequently she knew no more of that “nonsense” (as she was pleased to call it) than Mr. Cruncher did.

Hee! “Nonsense.” Her employer only makes his living from teaching French, but it’s nonsense to Miss Pross. I can hear her now saying, “Whatever,” in a most crushingly dismissive way. Hee!

Is it just me, or is Doctor Manette just a wee bit proud of himself? The phrase “I have saved him” from the last chapter grated on me just a teensy bit. And, since Dickens was a typical 19th century bloke, versed in Biblical literature, I think I can see the shape of things to come: “Pride goes before destruction,” after all. Dickens isn’t exactly subtle in his intentions, and as Miss Pross and Jerry Cruncher go out to do the shopping — wisely varying their purchases and the neighborhoods in which they procure — the redcaps come for Charles again. And now we know where the DeFarge family got off to — Midnight Murder and Mischief — or madness — Central. And now Charles is going to Saint Antoine, to answer for his crimes again.

Chapter 8 ~ A Hand at Cards
OH. MY. GOODNESS.
Once again, Dickens has surprised the heck out of me.
I’ve read this book before. Three times… but ages and years ago. And so, it’s so much fun to go through and recall — and be shell-shocked — by the bits I’ve forgotten. First, Miss Pross finds her brother Solomon!!! And, none of us expect him to be loving — she has a massive blind spot for the wee scunner — but man, is he ungracious. No longer in prison, he’s… an official in France!? Second, Jerry Cruncher seems to recognize him — and asks him his name, says he was a spy at the Bailey!?!? And third shocker: Ol’ Solly now goes by the name …John Barsad!!!!

JOHN BARSAD. THAT guy, whose name is embroidered in Madame DeFarge’s quilt o’deadliness! Only, he’s pretending to be someone else now? Eh? He’s no longer English?

…OH. NO!. My Sydney!
(Note to C. Dickens: You and I are going to throw down if you kill off one of my favorite characters. I’m just sayin’.)

It seems now that Mr. Carton knows… something. He sees through this “sheep of the prisons” and though I can’t yet tell which side the blighter is on, Sydney knows.

And the card game begins.

I admit: I suck at cards, except for Old Maid. And the occasional game of canasta. Sydney Carton, however, plays a really deep game of cards, and lets Barsad know, in as casual a manner as possible, that he has all of the aces. He could easily become the hero of the hour minute (these Parisians are fickle) by denouncing Barsad, and well Barsad knows it. Sydney could distract everyone and save Charles again. Barsad, the weasel, keeps trying to wriggle out of it:

“I play my Ace, Mr. Barsad,” said Carton, taking the answer on himself, and looking at his watch, “without any scruple, in a very few minutes.”

“I should have hoped, gentlemen both,” said the spy, always striving to hook Mr. Lorry into the discussion, “that your respect for my sister–“

“I could not better testify my respect for your sister than by finally relieving her of her brother,” said Sydney Carton.

Oh! Snap!

And it Just. Gets. Better.
Sydney Carton casts his mind back to the first trial in which Charles was accused back home, and remembers there was someone else with him, accusing Charles of being a spy. Barsad/Pross says, oh, no, that poor Roger Cly, he died.

And Jerry Cruncher’s hair stands on end!
I had to look up the nursery rhyme to figure out what the heck Dickens was going on about a cow with a crumpled horn doing Jerry’s hair. And then I remembered: the cow tosses things. Dogs, mainly.

This is the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn…

Jerry, who rather evasively does not own how he knows (he kind of suspects that Tellson’s representative would not look kindly on his rabble rousing and desecrating graves), relates that the coffin which held the alleged remains of Roger Cly was filled only with paving stones and earth. He remembers his aggravation that night, and repeatedly states he’d choke the blighter for half a guinea. And, so, at last, John-Solomon-Pross-Barsad — is nicked, as they say. He gives up.

But the viewing of the card hands has been done before witnesses. Sydney wants the loathsome Solomon to have a few private words with him now. And my thoughts are now ominous, ominous, ominous indeed.

And I say to you again, Mr. Dickens: don’t try me, here. I will hate you for at least ten minutes if you do what I think you’re going to do. If there’s some awful Biblical scene about a man laying down his life for his friends, I will throw the book. And wail a little. Don’t do it, Mr. Dickens!

Tune in next time to see if Doctor Manette reverts to the shoemaking prisoner of the north tower, or if his strength continues; find out if Miss Pross bops anyone in the head with a handy wine bottle for speaking “nonsense,” and learn if Mr. Cruncher’s headquills raise any further, and make him the goblin he truly longs to be. Will this family will ever leave this benighted country in one piece???