The Graveyard Book

As I shared in class, I was somewhat frustrated with what this book did not do. Although I enjoyed it while I was reading it, I kept on waiting for questions to be answered and various characters and plot points to be more fully developed. Now this description makes me think of the television show Lost, which I love and which infamously refuses to answer questions, but Lost continues to develop even more fascinating characters and concepts, whereas by the end, I thought Graveyard fell rather flat. I am going to chronicle some of the things that are left unexplored in a hopes that together these questions may provide greater cohesiveness.

1. The Honor Guard: We know that the Honor Guard is made up of various creatures (or types of people, as Miss Lupescu has taught Bod) and that they pursue the Jacks of All Trades, but we know very little else. Were they created solely to pursue the Jacks? What else do they do? What are their ultimate ends versus those of the Jacks? All we know of the Jacks is that they wish to kill Bod before Bod can destroy them and that they get magic from death. Do they have any greater goals? World domination? Clearly we should root for Bod and the Honor Guard, but why? Shouldn't we need proof of goodness or evilness before we root for one group to kill the other?

2. Silas: So it seems that he must be a vampire, but why is that not ever more bluntly stated? What is the purpose of this secret? We meet a witch, ghouls, and a Hound of God, but for some reason Silas' supernatural nature remains unstated and somewhat mysterious. Is it his vampire-ness that necessitates secrecy? Or his role as a mentor?

3. Bod's future: Bod fits perfectly into the high fantasy hero role. His fate is predestined, he's orphaned, and he has an unusual training or schooling experience. All that is known of his fate, however, is that he will destroy the Jacks, and he has already done that before he is 15. What about the rest of his life? It seems that he is gifted, and not just because of his destiny with the Jacks. He also has lived among the dead and learned their ways. I think this sets him up to have a grand story, but Gaiman just sets him forth from the graveyard with an uncertain future. Is his adventure really over at 15? Or will it simply be a life of travel and experiences as he looks forward to at the end of the novel? I would expect that a supernatural past would lead to a supernatural future, but the ending leaves this ambiguous.

I am pretty sure I could go on from here (what happened in San Francisco?) but I think that these questions encompass many others one could ask. I am still unconvinced that this is a great piece of literature. I do not think that these ambiguities are a part of the craft or serve Gaiman's "point." At this point, I am more inclined to think that they are aesthetic problems. What do you think? Do these questions bother you? Are they perhaps just a part of the difficulty that we, as readers, need to grapple with?

Holes

This semester I have thought a lot about storytelling and the power of storytelling. Mostly I have been thinking about storytelling in relation to children's literature because the two are more intertwined than general fiction and storytelling are. Children's literature has partly evolved from folk tales, fables, and fairy tales which were originally told and kept orally rather than on paper. They were the stories that were passed from generation to generation. I have been thinking about how powerful stories must be if centuries of people have bothered to memorize them and pass them down. Also, the fact that we tell stories to children, and often explain things to children through stories, testifies to the importance of stories. We protect and shield children from so many things, but we drench them in fiction. I don't think we very often think about why we surround children with so much imaginative literature and media, but because we do we must believe that fiction is somehow nurturing and useful to the growth and enrichment of the child.

Holes is an extremely well-crafted story. Its very story-ness is one of the first things that strikes me as good and pleasing. Louis Sachar develops his characters and his plot carefully, even meticulously. He reveals to us the history of Green Lake and Kate throughout his account of Stanley and Zero in such a way that we feel the impact of the two stories more powerfully than if we just knew the older story of the lake as background knowledge. Instead, Kate's experience and the emotion we feel from hearing it is tied to the story of the camp. Sachar is also incorporating the stories of the Yelnats family. All of the connections between these stories has a revelatory impact, which I think then inspires us to seek more revelations and insights into these stories. When we are emotionally struck through powerful storytelling we are more encouraged to dig deeper into the text and the story to see what else is there that hasn't been as directly revealed. Sachar's storytelling reminded me of the book A Prayer for Owen Meany, which also tells several stories that seem unrelated but the ending powerfully ties them all together. I think Sachar also uses this interweaving technique to great effect.

We also see the power of stories in this novel because much of Stanley's beliefs about himself and his family is built upon the stories of his ancestors. He thinks he is unlucky because of a family story, and this belief discourages his confidence but also connects him to his family. Zero is reluctant to tell his story and his knowledge of his family is limited. His lack of story profoundly affects his life and how others view him.

Did you have an emotional response to Sachar's storytelling? Why are stories so powerful? Or perhaps you disagree, are stories powerful/important?

M.C. Higgins the Great

I must admit, I am having a hard time figuring out what to write about for this post. This book was much more dense than most of the other books we have read in this course, and it is a struggle to decide what to discuss. I was hoping to get some direction from some criticism, but the MLA bibliography is sadly lacking in Virginia Hamilton scholarship. That in itself is fairly interesting to me. We have been reading Newbery Medal winners lately, and we have briefly discussed the impact these awards can have (or I think we discussed this, maybe this is just a conversation I had with myself). Winning a Newbery award often promotes the books because it literally puts a nationally recognized stamp of approval on the book, and often these books are taught in schools more after they receive the award. From my searches in the MLA bibliography, however, it does not seem that this award necessarily promotes scholarship for these books in the academy. Children's literature is still a relatively new, and growing, area in the academy, and hopefully these books will eventually be getting the academic attention they deserve.

So, why does M.C. Higgins deserve such attention? Not that "adultness" necessarily makes something good, but I think it should be acknowledged that this is a fairly "adult" children's book. Not only is it fairly difficult, but it also deals with adult themes and issues. We have read other children's books that have "adult" themes, but still, this book struck me as particularly mature. I think this is partly because of the violent images that repeatedly come to M.C.'s mind. As he is hiking or stalking through the hills, the narrator reveals that he is often haunted with disturbing images related to his rugged mountain life. For example, on page 94, it is not enough for M.C. to tell Ben that he would prefer to skin the rabbit himself. Instead, he tells Ben that he likes to skin the rabbits and "He pictured the act of slitting the back fur; with both hands, tearing it down and pulling the skin over the hind legs." Skinning a rabbit is practical, and when hungry, necessary. M.C., however, also has images that are less natural or necessary. For years he has been terrified that the pile of waste that is slowly sliding down the mountain will topple down on his house and crush his entire family. Up until the very end of this novel, M.C. does not have a solution to this problem, so the image and the worry is constant. Possible death is literally hanging over his head for almost he whole book, which makes the overall tone dark and somewhat disturbing. I think Hamilton has done an excellent job of introducing a different kind of community and setting to her readers, and she also sustains complex and sophisticated themes through an effective use of images. This book creates several powerful images that deserve further exploration such as: M.C.'s pole, the journey through the tunnel, the misty ravine, the children playing on the mound, and the mountain itself.

What images especially struck you in this novel? Do you think they are insightful/important/profound? Does this novel warrant serious study and scholarship?

Spufford on American Literature

I really enjoyed Spufford's chapter "The Town" and his discussion of both Laura Ingalls Wilder and a British perspective on American literature. His anecdotes of his own experiences in America were amusing, and his reflection on his ideas of what America looked and felt like (I especially enjoyed his ideas about Southern towns) were insightful. I also thought his discussion of the differences in American and British ideas of patriotism were interesting. Spufford argues that for Americans, the revolutionary model or feeling is not as wrapped up in the government or the system, but instead in the individual. Each individual life is a practice of liberty and the pursuit of happiness. He links these ideas to the literature when he says that, "the picture that characteristically emerges from American storytelling is one of people making deliberate experiments with their destinies" (121). He goes on to say that in comparison with Balzac and Dickens, Tom Wolfe's characters "are far more self-determined, more self-invented than theirs" (121).

I think Spufford brings up an important argument in attempting to determine what is different between American and British literature, and specifically literature for children. Bruce A. Ronda is exploring a similar idea in his article "An American Canon of Children's Literature." By questioning and examining what is the American canon of children's literature, Ronda is consequently determining what is distinctive about that literature. Ronda also gives insight into why these questions and distinctions are important when he writes, "the deliberate linking of American and canon promises to lift us beyond repetitious debates over strictly literary and intrinsic merit into a deeper consideration of cultural criticism" (33). Determining what is different in the literature of one nation or culture tells us something about the culture itself, and if we are members of that culture we should also discover something about ourselves. I think this is the reward of questioning what we really mean when we discuss American literature or American children's literature. We gain insight into the values and assumptions of our culture.

Spufford's determination that about what is different about American literature would take a considerable amount of insight and reflection to either prove or refute. I first thought of Charlotte's Web and how Charlotte is experimenting with Wilbur's destiny by her tricks with her web. I also thought of Dicey, and although I'm not sure that I would initially use the word "experiment" to describe Dicey's attempts to salvage her family and their destiny, I think one could make a case that her daily attempts in light of her inexperience is an experiment of sorts. But in comparison with the British books we have read, I am not entirely sure what to make of how those characters are interacting with their destinies. Lyra's and Harry's lives seem rather experimental in that they are different and innovative, but they also have predetermined destinies. I think one could argue that Wendy is experimenting with her destiny in following Peter to Neverland, but I would not call Wendy "self-determined." I do think, however, that I would need to read more realistic British children's fiction to gain a clearer picture of how characters who do not have such fantastic destinies shape their futures.

Do you agree with Spufford? Can you think of any examples that would disprove his determination? What is distinctive about American children's literature?

Works Cited:

Ronda, Bruce A. "An American Canon of Children's Literature." Teaching Children's Literature. Ed. Glenn Edward Sadler. New York: The Modern Language Association of America, 1992. 32-40.

Spufford, Francis. The Child That Books Built. New York: Picador, 2002.

Realistic Fiction--Dicey's Song

Although children's literature may be one of the less developed areas of literature in the academy, there are textbooks out there that seek to define children's literature and all of its sub-genres. One such useful book is David Russell's Literature for Children. He discusses both realistic and historical fiction in one of his chapters, and I thought his definition of realistic fiction might be helpful to our discussion of realism in relation to Dicey's Song. He says that realistic fiction "attempts to portray the world as we know it--filled with real people engaged in real-life activities" (209). He also identifies the bildungsroman as a common type of realistic fiction. We did not specifically call Dicey's Song a bildungsroman in class today, but I think that one could definitely make that argument as we see Dicey mature and learn about letting go while still holding on and reaching out. Dr. McMillan talked about how he thought the ending of the book was profound because of the insight it gave. It seems that these ideas are linked; perhaps the realism of a bildungsroman, of the coming-of-aged that we all do, is part of what makes this work profound. That's not to say that fantasies cannot be coming-of-age stories or that they cannot be profound, but perhaps a realistic bildungsroman is particularly profound or meaningful because of the truth it gives us in every-day circumstances. For me, it is more striking or profound that Dicey learns in matures in her unglamorous, unexciting circumstances of school and work and siblings than if she had magical powers to assist her.

Russell further classifies Voigt and the Tillman series with domestic and family stories or realism. Russell points out that Voigt, along with other writers of the past fifty years or so, have made an effort to show different kinds of families. Partly, this effort has been made because it is more realistic than only supplying children only with Leave it to Beaver families. Fantasies and historical novels can display alternative families as well, but I think that this novel at least makes particular effort to show the day-to-day realities, joys, and trials of the family unit. Harry Potter, for example, comes from an unusual family that is certainly not ideal, but he escapes from them and instead of eventually adjusting to or incorporating himself into the Dursley family, he escapes into the magical community. Dicey has no alternative to escape to, so instead she gets a job, get involved, and adjusts to Gram's moods and rules.

There are many elements of this novel that make it realistic, but I think two striking aspects of its realism are Dicey's maturity and her family interaction. What makes this novel realistic to you? Why does it matter?

Works Cited:

Russell, David L. Literature for Children: A Short Introduction. 4th Edition. New York: Longman, Inc., 2001.

Fear

In elementary school I read The Giver and Number the Stars, but never any other of Lois Lowry's books. After reading Gathering Blue this past weekend I now wonder why in the world I stopped reading Lowry. Her creation of future societies is fascinating. I think it was a marvelous idea to create a technologically advanced utopian society in The Giver and then an almost archaic, primitive community in Gathering Blue.

The village in Gathering Blue also strikingly reminded me of the village in the M Night Shyamalan film The Village. Both communities lack modern technology, and the people stay within the village boundaries because of a fear of beasts in the forest. When Shyamalan's movie was released, many people noticed the similarities between the color-coded system of fear that his fictional village had created and the color-coded system of warning (or fear) created by the Bush administration after September 11th. That movie made many viewers (or at least this one) think critically about communal fear and how societies both protect individuals from danger and also create panic and fear. Likewise, Lowry shows how political leaders can maintain power by creating fear within the community. The guardians in Kira's village want to maintain the fear of beasts so that they can control the inhabitants of the village. Jamison fears people learning the truth about the beasts so much he has Annabella killed for telling Kira that "there be no beasts."

Lowry states early on that fear is the primary motivator for this society: "She felt a small shudder of fear. Fear was always a part of life for the people. Because of fear, they made shelter and found food and grew things. For the same reason, weapons were stored, waiting. There was fear of cold, of sickness, and hunger. There was fear of beasts" (2-3). I would like to hope that our society is not like this one, and for the most part, I think we are different. Although we could certainly use more compassion and acceptance, our society values these qualities and praises people who demonstrate selflessness, like Mother Theresa. Lowry does show, however, how much of our actions and motivations are centered around fear. We also obsess over food and shelter because of fear of not having these essentials. Our country certainly knows something about storing weapons and creating armies because of fear. I think our obsession with insurance of various forms is a symptom of our fear of sickness and loss. We may not be at the point of abandoning the lame and weak to beasts, but Lowry shows how close we may be to such truly frightening practices. I am thankful for a great piece of literature that not only entertains, but also addresses complicated ideas and helps the reader think more critically.

Art and Writing

This semester I am taking a graduate course on authorship with Dr. Sarah Robbins. In that course, we look at different aspects of writing and authorship as they are portrayed in literature. Because of my interest in children's literature, I have been examining authors, writers, and authorship in children's literature. The descriptions of art and artistry in A Single Shard remind me of some of the descriptions of authorship I have read in other texts and experiences I have had with my own writing. I want to look at some of these passages and examine what Park might be saying about creating a literary piece as she discusses the creation of ceramic works of art.

At the end of the novel, Tree-ear looks ahead to his career as a potter with both delight and anxiety. Park writes, "He could almost feel the clay under his hands, rising on the wheel--his own wheel!--into a shape that was grace itself" (147). Reading this, I was especially struck by that description of the the clay "rising" on the wheel. Throwing pots is fluid work. The clay bends and folds with the slight touch of a hand, almost moving by itself. Sometimes this is how writing can be. Sometimes, either through inspiration, genius, or profound research, writing can be fluid, almost easy, and exciting. In an interview I found with Park, she mentions the inspiration she found through researching Korean history. That research led eventually to her writing A Single Shard. I can imagine the satisfaction of finding inspiration, and then seeing that inspiration take form into something graceful and powerful, such as this novel.

Writing is also deeply frustrating and intimidating. Tree-ear expresses a sense of intimidation and anxiety just a few paragraphs after he looks forward with joy to having control of his own wheel. Park writes, "How long would it be before he had skill enough to create a design worthy of such a vase? One hill, one valley... One day at a time, he would journey through the years until he came upon the perfect design" (148). In the same interview mentioned previously, Park also talks about her struggles with writing this novel. The same history that inspired her also caused her difficulties as she could not, for a time, find information about the land Tree-ear must cover to deliver his vases. Eventually she found a book about one man's journey across Korea. That man just happened to travel on the exact route Tree-ear needed to go on. Writing a novel is a day by day journey. We, as students, know that sometimes (or often; always?) writing is a sentence by sentence journey. Tree-ear listens to the wisdom of Crane-man in taking everything a step at a time and not becoming overwhelmed by the unknown. Park, like all authors, had to allow her work to grow on her "wheel," to have fluidity, in order to become a graceful work.

I think looking at and thinking about Park's authorship is important because of the value it places on her and her work. My studies of children's literature and authorship has shown me how often children's literature is not valued, or is not valued as highly as "adult" literature. Park examines aspects of art in her novel, and through this examination reveals some of her own artistry/authorship as well.

Works Cited:
Johnson, Nancy J. "Interview with the 2002 Newbery Medal Winner, Linda Sue Park." Reading Teacher 56.4 (2003): 394-9.

Park, Linda Sue. A Single Shard. New York: Yearling, 2001.

Girls and Knowledge

In thinking about comparisons between Pippi Longstocking and The Moorchild as we have done in the most recent writing assignment and in class today, I began thinking about the skills and talents of Pippi and Saaski. These girls are parentless, but they have some unique talents that bring excitement, and sometimes power, into their lives. Pippi is, after all, the world's strongest girl, and always has a way of making something normal new and exciting. Saaski has talents that come from her folk heritage. She is something of a bagpipe prodigy, and she can both see and read messages left by the folk in the town. I think it is interesting that in a time when the education of children, and especially girls, would have been quite different from what we are now used to, Saaski is privileged to some secret knowledge. I propose that perhaps her knowledge of these writings and of the bagpipes is more subversive because of her gender.

The villagers treatment of Saaski reminds me of the Salem witch trials and the tendency to fear women who are outsiders or exhibit difference. McGraw hints that gender did possibly play a part in the general conception of Saaski when she describes how Saaski was blamed for the birth of a two headed calf despite that there were also two boys present at the birth (40). Perhaps the villagers would have had the same reaction if Saaski had been accompanied by two girls, but I can't help wonder if McGraw is purposefully coding this account as an instance of gender-bias. It is not just that Saaski looks odd and happens to be around when weird things happen; she is also female.

Saaski's knowledge, like previously mentioned, is secret and mysterious. She can't explain how she knows how to play the bagpipes or where she has heard the songs before. She also does not know why she can read the signs. Tam, however, has some unusual skills, but they are not mysterious or secret. He knows how to juggle, a talent that Saaski finds so unique she declares it to be "wizardly," but he has gained this knowledge through traditional means (63). His dad has taught him how to juggle. Perhaps, then, boys can have unique skills through accepted, standard means of learning and education, but for a girl to have a profound knowledge or skill it must have mysterious origins.

Pippi Longstocking is comin into your world...

Maybe some of you watched this movie as a child. I know my sister and I did, and then braided our hair and held it out and marched around our house singing this song.

Pippi the Lady

Pippi Longstocking at first seems to be merely a comical, ridiculous story about a little girl living out the fantasy of having no parents at home and remarkable strength. The plot is episodic, and while I was reading it for the first time I did not think I was encountering any remarkable themes or comments on childhood. Laura Hoffeld's article on Pippi from some thirty years ago, however, convinced me of the uniqueness of this novel and Lindgren's heroine. Hoffeld discusses Pippi's comedy and joy, and in her article she emphasizes Pippi's unique freedom as a female in children's literature. It is not just the Tom Sawyers that get to have fantastic adventures away from the eyes of their parents; Pippi shows that little girls can have all kinds of fun and trouble away from mom and dad as well.

Pippi does show awareness of society and society's view of her, although in trying to fit into society and norms she is hampered by ignorance. She may try to understand school or circuses, but she can hardly get around the unimportant and important intricacies of these events when she does not understand their basic components (such as the meaning of the word arithmetic or the concept of paying to see a show). Pippi most earnestly tries to fit into society when she is invited to Mrs. Settergren's coffee party.

I think Lindgren effectively and humorously satirizes ideas about society and socialization in this chapter through Pippi's misunderstanding of expectations. Pippi earnestly wants to fit in and behave just as she knows she should, but she simply cannot do it properly. Her "very stylish" appearance mocks style itself and the adolescent's first attempts to dress oneself like an adult. Normal little girls make a big mess of their mother's makeup, but Pippi makes a big mess of red crayon, thus further emphasizing her youth and ignorance. Pippi literally does not have the tools to grow up and look like a grown up is expected too. Instead, like in many other instances in the novel, she uses her resources and seems quite satisfied with the results.

Throughout this episode, Pippi does her best but messes everything up. Even her attempts to behave by shouting orders to herself only point out her lack of understanding of social custom. Despite behavior that would certainly frustrate and appall in real life (throwing sugar on the floor, eating all the cake), Lindgren maintains that Pippi is the sympathetic character just trying to make the most of the situation. Pippi's desire to conform shows us the comedy in our own efforts to fit in.

Hoffeld, Laura. "Pippi Longstocking: The Comedy of the Natural Girl." The Lion and the Unicorn 1977: 1.1 (47-53).

"Let us now kill a pirate": The Intrusive Narrator of Peter Pan

I should probably begin this post with the disclaimer that I find Peter Pan, and especially the novel's unconventional narrator, exceedingly satisfying and delightful. In fact, the first word that comes to mind is "delicious," but perhaps that is a bit too sensual. I state all this at the beginning to let you know that my enjoyment of this novel perhaps may cloud my judgment of it, just as if it were a friend, so I will gladly accept criticism of the opinions I will now express.

In fact, let's (see? I'm copying Barrie already) start with what other critics have said. Peter Hunt agrees with other critics that the narrator's age and relation to the reader is problematic. He writes, "Barrie's mode of address... constantly moves between that of the knowing but sympathetic adult and the bitter and cynical adult, and both voices address adults and children... Barrie has no sense of balance" (Hunt 204). He continues to link this problem to the transfer of the story from drama to novel: "It may well be that what works on stage does not work on the page; it is the narrator who brings with him the serpent into the simple Eden of wish-fulfillment" (204).

I argue, however, that Barrie has created a narrator that creates a similar magic and interaction on the printed page as one finds in a theater. The audience is an active participant in a stage production; no show is exactly the same from one night to the next because no two audiences are exactly the same. Barrie creates interaction between the narrator and the reader, or the listening child, through an intrusive narrator. From the very beginning the narrator charges the reader to be engaged with the text. The narrator says, "You always know after you are two." The child reading or hearing this must think, "Did I?" and is thus engaged by asking her/himself questions while experiencing the story.

The narrator also frequently employs the first person plural to include the reader in the story. When the narrator is describing the Neverland and all its inhabitants, he or she (although, really, I think it's a he, but I'm open-minded) describes Hook's claw and then suggests, "Let us now kill a pirate, to show Hook's method. Skylights will do" (Griffith 750). When the narrator includes us in this interjection, he or she includes us into the murder of one of Hook's pirates. Putting the horror of actually committing murder aside, the fact that we feel like we have an impact on the characters is unique and rather thrilling. Just as in a theater, our laughter and applause can get a response out of the actors, the narrator here allows, or at least gives the illusion of, our participation in the story. Throughout the novel, it is not entirely clear if the narrator is reporting a story or creating one. This simulates the experience in a theater because, while watching a play, we know that the story has already been fixed and is destined for only one ending, but the actors are alive and present, we could reach out to touch/kiss/trip them at will, and thus their course seems more malleable.

Essentially, in transferring his story from acted drama to the immortalized printed word, I think Barrie bottles some of the magic of the drama and the Neverland through a creative narrator. Let us... (?) The possibilities are not limited by genre.

Works Cited:

Griffith, John W. and Charles H. Frey, eds. Classics of Children's Literature. Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Pearson Education, Inc., 2005.

Hunt, Peter. Children's Literature. Malden, Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishers, 2001.

Peter Pan Fun

My "real" post of the week (on The Golden Compass) is below, but I also wanted to share a video with you all.

This is Sing Alliance's 2007 SING act "The Second Star to the Right." It is essentially a 7 minute musical interpretation of Peter Pan.

SING is a Baylor tradition in which organizations perform what are essentially 7 minute musicals, each with its own theme. It is highly competetive. For this act, Sing Alliance won one of the coveted top 8 spots and were invited to perform the act again at the subsequent homecoming.

Enjoy!
The Second Star to the Right

Also: I am the obnoxiously loud pirate.

The Golden Compass

There are so many questions left unanswered at the end of The Golden Compass that it is hard to narrow discussion enough for a blog posting. I decided to let criticism on Pullman guide me with my topic, and although I had some frustration with a lack of available criticism in the TCU library, I did find an article relating Plato to Pullman. What grabbed me in this article was not further enlightenment on Pullman's use of Plato's analogy of the cave as we briefly discussed in class, but a phrase the author of the article used to explain intercision. He describes it as "a kind of spiritual castration, the soul being severed from the body" (Haldane 273). I am quite intrigued by this analogy because of the light it sheds on daemons's relationship to the body, the soul, and sexuality. By relating intercision to the sexual organs, I think Haldane rightly identifies part of the complex nature of the daemon. Again and again the book emphasizes puberty as a crucial point in the development of the daemon because of its stability at that time. I think our familiarity with the word castration helps us have a concept for the enormity and inhumanity of intercision, which can be difficult at first as we try to comprehend the complexities of an entirely foreign concept--having a daemon.

When I read the word castration here I also thought of the different implications for males and females. Male castration is a fairly familiar concept, and as the Oxford English Dictionary defines it simply as "the removing of the testicles," it seems to only apply to males. Female genital mutilation, however, has been in practice in various parts of the world for years, and although it is difficult to compare the two practices, just as it is comparing apples to oranges to compare the different sexual organs, an understanding of the implications of "castration" for females may help our understanding of intercision as well. Often the motive behind female genital mutilation is that after the procedure women will either not be able to have sex (perhaps until the procedure is reversed in some sense) or that she will have no pleasure in sex. The goal is the repression of female sexuality and sexual exploration. Clearly this is at least part of the motive behind intercision in Pullman's book as well. Mrs. Coulter says to Lyra, "but at the age we call puberty... daemons bring all sort of troublesome thoughts and feelings, and that's what lets Dust in. A quick little operation before that, and you're never troubled again" (Pullman 283).

My understanding of intercision is enhanced through this exploration by the possibility that detachment from one's daemon is as violent and horrific as castration. What, then, is Pullman trying to have us question? Not simply "castration is wrong." Pullman asks us to question the links between our sexuality, our bodies, and our soul. He also forces us to think about general acceptances of "right" and "wrong" in regards to sexuality and our bodies.

Finally, I would simply add that, in case you were uninformed before about female genital mutilation, it is a serious human rights issue. If you would like to learn more, you can go to the Amnesty International website.

Works Cited:
Haldane, Michael. "From Plato to Pullman--The Circle of Invisibility and Parallel Worlds: Fortunatus, Mercury, and the Wishing-Hat, Part II." Folklore 117.3 (2006): 261-278.

Pullman, Philip. The Golden Compass. London: Scholastic, 2007.

The (Mis)Education of Harry Potter

After our discussion of education in the Harry Potter books today in class I found an interesting article on education in fantasy by Elisabeth Rose Gruner. She looks specifically at wizard education in children's literature, and I thought some of what she said might be insightful as we continue to think about Hogwarts and pedagogy.

One thing that Gruner wrote that really struck me was that witches and wizards in fantasy stories are not in school to learn facts and information, but to learn who they are (218). We also discussed in class today a bit of how Harry knows who he is and how that was developed throughout the novel, but I don't think we entirely linked that to his education. Gruner argues that most of the learning in Hogwarts takes place outside of the classroom, and thus through independent learning students learn how to learn and how they as individuals learn best. Perhaps the question to examine should be whether learning works best outside of the classroom or in a more applied environment, but my initial concern is to what degree we (Muggles) are concerned about teaching or leading children to learn about who they are. How should we teach that? Can that even be taught in a classroom? The humanities always strives to examine the human condition and what it means to be human, and as a believer in the humanities I think that classroom learning can teach about the larger scope of humanity and about the self. Furthermore, as someone who was long-ago brainwashed by my English teachers, I believe that literature is among the best ways to teach the individual about the self. Through narratives, through imaginative and fantastical stories, we learn about the human capacity for good, evil, strength, and honor. Through examining characters that are both similar and different from ourselves, we question our own motives and actions.

Now my question is this: Should a primary goal of education be to teach about the self? Did you learn that in school? How did you learn? And, if literature IS a means to this understanding, how did you learn about yourself through Harry Potter?

Works Cited:
Gruner, Elisabeth Rose. "Teach the Children: Education and Knowledge in Recent Children's Fantasy." Children's Literature 37 (2009): 216-235. Web. 26 Jan. 2010.

A Wizard of Earthsea

            In critically examining children’s literature, we might (or should?) ask questions that are central or insightful to children, and the remarkable thing about children is not so much that they are small, but that they are growing. Part of growing up is forming one’s identity and translating ideas about identity into practical, daily self-conception. It seems natural, therefore, that questions about identity would be prominent in children’s literature.  In A Wizard of Earthsea, LeGuin illustrates identity through literal, physical forms by the power of fantasy, such as when Ged uses magic to change his own shape. At one point he transforms into a bird so he can make an escape, and from that experience he learns of the dangers of losing one’s identity. His mentor Ogion has to help restore him to his man-shape because his identity has become so engrossed in the bird-shape he has taken he has forgotten himself. Susan Bernardo and Graham Murphy, in their critical companion to Ursula LeGuin, relate the ideas of identity and consciousness in Earthsea to the writings of Carl Jung. They see the instances in which Ged is helped by his friends (namely Ogion and Vetch) as therapy, which Jung believed was essential to understanding and transcendence of the self. Ged certainly does get by with a little help (and wisdom) from his friends, and eventually he fully comprehends that the shadow he has released is a part of himself. His longing to know the name of this shadow ends when he calls it Ged, thus conquering the darkness by allowing it into his being and his light. He identifies even the darker parts of himself as his own self, and then can no longer be controlled or possessed by other dark forces.

Ged learns difficult lessons about himself, and the reader benefits by seeing these struggles in physical and perilous images that are not readily present in our “real” world. I imagine the power this story could have on a young adolescent, who is constantly tempted to transform her or his identity (and at times, especially for girls, her shape). Through Ged’s experience the reader learns not only the pitfalls of an overly flexible identity or one that is not willing to accept its darker portions, but also the value of wise friends.

 

Works Cited:

Bernardo, Susan M. and Graham J. Murphy. Ursula K. Le Guin: A Critical Companion.

Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2006.

Intro

Hello everybody. My name is Molly, and I am a Masters student at TCU. I am taking Children's Literature as a graduate directed study. This semester I am looking towards researching for my thesis, and I am planning on writing in some capacity on children's literature. My other academic interests include women's studies and 19th century British novels, but I am not sure exactly how those interests may be incorporated into my thesis.

I would love to write my thesis on my favorite children's author, Maud Hart Lovlace. She wrote the Betsy-Tacy series, which is set in the hills and valleys of Minnesota at the beginning of the 20th century. My favorite book in the series is Betsy and Joe. The first four books of the series are set during Betsy's and Tacy's elementary school years, the next four cover the four years of high school, and the last two revolve around Betsy's travels in Europe and her marriage to Joe. Yes, I just gave a way a major plot point, but by looking at the titles you probably could have guessed that Betsy ends up with Joe. I really love the books that cover Betsy's years in high school the most because I think Lovelace does a wonderful job of developing a smart, interesting, funny, and strong-willed woman. Betsy is a leader amongst her friends, and questions the role she is expected to play sometimes as a woman. She is also a writer. The books are fairly highly autobiographical, and Lovelace shows her own early inclinations to be a writer through Betsy. I was a pretty imaginative child and loved to make up stories and to write, so I very much identified with Betsy. I hoped that I could have the friendships, fun, and success that Betsy had while she was in high school. Betsy and Joe, which chronicles Betsy's senior year, shows all the pangs and triumphs of growing up and preparing to say goodbye to home and childhood friends.