God, that was weird. I have clever, interesting children, but I can't imagine taking life advice from them. Sally's seven -- she doesn't know anything useful yet.
figured out which television the family should buy
I didn't read the whole article, but if you have an adolescent around, this is probably not bad advice.
I direct all questions about hockey to Keegan, since I know almost nothing about it and he thinks of little else. On the other hand, I never have any questions about hockey other than "how did your hockey lessons go this week?"
Well, yeah, I suppose if I wanted to know something about Pokemon, I'd direct questions to Sally and Newt. And then listen to endless bickering as they disagreed about the fine points. Wait, that happens even when I don't want to know anything about Pokemon.
See, I get when the parents ask the kids' input on things like, "Where should we go for our vacation?" or "How do you think this lamp would look in our living room?" Not life changing decisions, but an opportunity to let the kid know her/his perspective is valuable and lets the kid get some practice thinking about the decisions to be made.
But who are these parents asking their kid whether to sell a condo or -- dear heavens! -- which prospective suitor to date?! Seems like a sure fire way to mess up your kids...
There is a vast difference, it seems to me, in soliciting the input of your children, particularly on this regarding which they have informed opinions--which video game to buy; McDonalds or Wendy's, or as Brock Landers notes in 2, which TV to buy--which is a good idea, and some of what the article is talking about, which is crazy (or at least would be a non-starter Chez Idealist). Or shorter, what LizardBreath said in 1.
These days my daughter, who is three, freely offers her advice whenever she feels Daddy should STOP TALKING NOW or should GO AWAY.
Wow, gender check. I figured Gonerill was for one of Lear's evil daughters.
Not life changing decisions, but an opportunity to let the kid know her/his perspective is valuable
Yeah, so don't understand that perspective. But I don't have kids.
Of course, like all such articles, it mixes the prosaic with the nutty as if they were all the same thing, "listening to your kids."
I can see being a single parent making the confidant/companion aspect more important earlier than otherwise. And as several have noticed already, kids, particularly teenagers, are often better-informed about some subjects, and this is a good opportunity to involve them and let them be taken seriously. But that's old hat.
This quote freaked me out:
"That's what makes it hard," Ms. Seidler said. "When your own child is more sophisticated or intuitive or sensitive or funny than the men that are out there."
That can't be healthy.
8: It is, but the connection between the reference and my own gender is somewhat more tenuous -- basically the result of signing up with that name for some online game eight or nine years ago, then having that gradually become the default for other semi-pseudonymous online things because the browser "autofill form" function long ago got used to putting that value in the "Name" field.
Karah who figured out which television the family should buy and turned her mother onto the band Coldplay....
That sentence right there should warn you about the dangers of listening to your children.
Hey, hey, #13, I turned my mom on to lots of cool music when I was in middle school. Rancid, for example, and Velocity Girl, and the pre-sellout Mighty Mighty Bosstones.
Dammit, Sally's been emailing people again.
7: My 2.4 year old grandnephew just said his first sentence. He was sick and only wanted his mother to hold him, and when my sister picked him up, he said "Off of me!"
He also has picked up a phrase from his teenage second cousin: "Oh, man...." (with exasperated teenage intonation).
17: I don't see why gender is now determined given the construction of that sentence.
OK, everyone recalibrate their Gonerill pervs. Apparently Gonerill is not to be played by Keira Knightley.
Not unambiguously, but most people are more likely to tell cute stories about their kids being hostile at them than at their spouses.
Back in the good old days, options would be presented in the form "Do you want to go to bed now, or do you want me to whip your ass?" And we liked it!
17: 8 s/b 15.
Also, I can't begin to express how happy I was when Keegan stopped caring about Pokemon.
23: Granted.
I'm happy that Sylvia is only tangientially involved in Pokemon and the rest of the trading-card games, through her friends who are enthusiasts.
I'm stunned by how long it's lasted. I'm too old for Pokemon the first time around, but not by much -- it showed up when I was in high school, I think. And it's still very popular. I'm hoping Sally and Newt burn out on it soon; they picked it up from an older boy in the building, and maybe when he outgrows it they'll lose interest.
Oh man, I met a single mother once who was just like this. She was a composer who travelled from residency to residency all over the world with her son, who was about six or seven when I met them. Towards the end of a rather drunken evening she told me all about how her son was psychic and she never made any major decisions without consulting him. He was a ghastly child, but also sort of fundamentally bewildered.
25: Experience around my house indicates that yes, they lose interest in Pokemon cards, but only because Yu-Gi-Oh cards are even more enticing.
a ghastly child, but also sort of fundamentally bewildered
I'm off to modify my will, requesting the quoted text for my headstone.
The Japanese have a lot to answer for.
27 -- Thanks: "Yu-Gi-Oh" is what I meant by "the rest of the trading card games" in 24.
That really is a beautiful line. Instantly brought to mind a kid I know, too.
29 -- The Japanese (indeed the same subset of "the Japanese") also gave us Studio Ghibli -- I think the trade-off is worth it.
That's the saddest thing about rotten parents -- looking at ghastly children and thinking "It's really not your fault that you're awful, but I still don't want to interact with you. And when you grow up, you'll probably still be awful, and by then I'll blame you for it."
(Of course, in places like ancient Egypt, where Tutankhamen became King Tut at 8 or 9, they had to care.)
What's this line doing there?
I have also met a mom of the type described by JM. Her son (~6-8 y.o.) was required to make decisions even when he had no idea what he wanted. It seemed nightmarish to me.
"I can see being a single parent making the confidant/companion aspect more important earlier than otherwise. "
Yeah, see, I can see exactly how the single parent thing would create a great temptation to make your kid into a confidant or (as one person in that article termed it) "partner." Perhaps precisely in that situation that idea seems unbelievably unhealthy. Had a therapist at one point who described that phenomenom as "parentifying" children. When kids feel like they have to take care of mom or dad, it creates much anxiety -- b/c, of course, who then is left to take care of them?
Some ghastlies grow up to be sane and sensitive and kind; there's a bit of alchemy to it.
The mother wasn't a horrible person, she really did love her son, but she was such a sad, self-deluded drip of a mother. From a barebones description of this childhood---"My mother and I travelled all over the world, from concert to festival to concert..."---it might seem rather glamorous, but, jesus, a parent would have to be much more organised to make it less of a hell for a child.
Ms. Seidler said that Sam often reassures her that when the time is right, Mr. Right will appear. ("It's so Zen," she said.)
People actually say "It's so Zen"?
35: Trying to make the point that giving children adult responsibilities isn't unprecedented?
You know, this is the flip side of what we were talking about last week with letting kids go outdoors unsupervised -- it's a fair bet that none of these kids who are being relied on for life decisions are allowed to run to the store for a quart of milk. Can't we figure out if they can reliably cross the street before asking their investment advice?
I have to find a poem that my first grade daughter can memorize. It has to be 1 1/2 to 3 minutes long. I want some thing memorable but not sucky.
I was thinking birches but that may be too hard.
I am currently thinking waters of march or Robinson Crusoe's Story Any suggestions?
Sally's seven -- she doesn't know anything useful yet
My daughters, who just turned four, appear to be at the height of their advice-giving powers. The other day Siobhan said, "Daddy! Let's pretend we're sleeping, and this is our dream!" Life has flowed merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily ever since.
I knew a kid whose Rajneeshee parents only gave him one rule: "Do whatever you feel doing like while we do what we feel like doing." He was the most depressed single individual I've ever met.
(To I have to explain "Rajneeshee" to you children?)
42: Just thought it was an odd place to stick that factoid.
Good poems for first graders to memorize can be found in Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends. Oh wait, 1 1/2 to 3 minutes long? The longer WtSE poems tend to have difficult words in them. But maybe "Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too"?
40: My God, this kid is the gatekeeper to his mom's ass, and he knows it. So now he has to sort out the pervs after his own little butt from the normal heterosexuals whoare just trying to get an in with his mom.
43: Not long enough, perhaps, but Larkin's "This be the verse" immediately springs to mind.
43: Adventures Of Isabel
Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
43: Housman's shorter poems are pretty easy to memorize.
43: This one should suit the little ray of sunshine. The only hard word is the title.
Or:
THE TALE OF CUSTARD THE DRAGON
By Ogden Nash
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Semi-pwned, since the one I suggested actually is long enough.
My (single) mother gave a lot of credence to my opinions--quite possibly more credence than they deserved--but certainly not at age 7 (of course she also wasn't a widow yet, then). Starting by age 12 or 13, though, certainly. I don't think she was specially deluded or a creep to do so. Also, though I think she might have talked about this credence in terms not unlike those in this article, that didn't actually mean that she wasn't perfectly happy, when it came down to it, to do lots of things that I thought were a terrible idea.
Maybe one of the Maurice Sendak Nutshell Library books -- they are eminently recitable and probably about the right length.
53: Did you have the lovely illustrated version? We had a lot of fun with that.
Of course, I am ghastly, so there's that.
No, I didn't know there was one. I bet Newt would like it.
53 -- some kids dramatized that at my daughter's school talent show. Kind of fun but they really dragged it out.
43: Something from Alice in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass, perhaps?
What about the Ghastlycrumb Tinies?
43: Also, Der Struwwelpeter, which teaches valuable lessons as it entertains.
59: I think ours is in the box of books to be sorted through and possibly given away. If I'm able to sell my wife on being ruthless, I'll send it to you.
Further to 51, this one might be about right:
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,
The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.
Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.
There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
One season ruined of our little store.
May will be fine next year as like as not:
Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.
We for a certainty are not the first
Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled
Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed
Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.
It is in truth iniquity on high
To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,
And mar the merriment as you and I
Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave.
Iniquity it is; but pass the can.
My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore;
Our only portion is the estate of man:
We want the moon, but we shall get no more.
If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours
To-morrow it will hie on far behests;
The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours
Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts.
The troubles of our proud and angry dust
Are from eternity, and shall not fail.
Bear them we can, and if we can we must.
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
LB, why did you name your kid after Gingrich? We've been wondering for some time.
Okay, probably not actually this, but it would be great:
A freckled and frivolous cake there was
That sailed upon a pointless sea,
Or any lugubrious lake there was
In a manner emphatic and free.
How jointlessly, and how jointlessly
The frivolous cake sailed by
On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly
Threw fish to the lilac sky.
Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare,
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.
Up the smooth billows and over the crests
Of the cumbersome combers flew
The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake
Of herself and her curranty crew.
Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim
(This dinner knife fierce and blue])),
And the frivolous cake was filled to the brim
With the fun of her curranty crew.
Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare -
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.
Around the shores of the Elegant Isles
Where the cat-fish bask and purr
And lick their paws with adhesive smiles
And wriggle their fins of fur,
They fly and fly 'neath the lilac sky -
The frivolous cake, and the knife
Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye
In the wake of his future wife.
The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea
To the beat of a cakey heart
And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel
That love is a race apart
In the speed of the lingering light are blown
The crumbs to the hake above,
And the tropical air vibrates to the drone
Of a cake in the throes of love.
One of those inexplicable crushes we all get on rightwing politicians? Or is that just me.
(It may make more sense if I mention again that Sally is short for Sallymander.)
65: What Buck doesn't know about Newt's biological father, won't hurt him.
Warning to Children
Children, if you dare to think
Of the greatness, rareness, muchness
Fewness of this precious only
Endless world in which you say
You live, you think of things like this:
Blocks of slate enclosing dappled
Red and green, enclosing tawny
Yellow nets, enclosing white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where a neat brown paper parcel
Tempts you to untie the string.
In the parcel a small island,
On the island a large tree,
On the tree a husky fruit.
Strip the husk and pare the rind off:
In the kernel you will see
Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
Red and green, enclosed by tawny
Yellow nets, enclosed by white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where the same brown paper parcel -
Children, leave the string alone!
For who dares undo the parcel
Finds himself at once inside it,
On the island, in the fruit,
Blocks of slate about his head,
Finds himself enclosed by dappled
Green and red, enclosed by yellow
Tawny nets, enclosed by black
And white acres of dominoes,
With the same brown paper parcel
Still untied upon his knee.
And, if he then should dare to think
Of the fewness, muchness, rareness,
Greatness of this endless only
Precious world in which he says
he lives - he then unties the string.
Robert Graves
Have her do Prufrock. You can get through it in three minutes if you speak very quickly.
"The Owl and the Pussycat" might be good. Or, "The Jumblies".
"anyone lived in a pretty how town" is catchy.
So that's the connection between Sally and Lizards, it's all so simple, I should have seen it before.
It is. There must be a good Frost, too.
What about this one?
Robert Frost - Gathering Leaves
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
For a first grader, or really most any age, something that's been set to music is probably easier to memorize ie Puff the Magic Dragon.
67: only slightly.
"walking through the woods on a snowy evening" is always a good choice.
"The Waste Land," perhaps?
No, probably not.
The prologue to Canterbury Tales? (In Middle English, of course.)
An ex-girlfriend (the crazy blonde, to be specific) told me that when she was in the 1st or 2nd grade, she got up and recited Lear's "The Owl and the Pussycat" ("O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love / What a beautiful Pussy you are, / You are, You are! / What a beautiful Pussy you are!") and was terribly confused as to why the entire gymnasium nearly peed itself with laughter. Left the stage crying before she was done.
83 -- yeah, that is an awesome stanza.
As is the idea of an anatomically correct gymnasium which can pee itself. Jimsy Wetsy.
Granted that more than half the creepiness in this piece comes from the Style section's eternal crusade to turn factoids into burgeoning trends, I don't understand what these parents were thinking when they chose to frame their relationships with their children this way.
I ask my eleven year old what she thinks all the time, and I factor information she gives me and her opinions into my family decisions because she's a member of my family. I wouldn't dream of allowing her to make those decisions, because decisions have consequences. An eleven year old doesn't have the equipment to cope with negative consequences to family decisions, and she shouldn't be put on the hook for them because I choose to abdicate my responsibility for them.
She only gets to be a kid for a very short time. It's disgusting to take that time away from a kid because their parent has boundary issues.
A small child of my close acquaintance has a beloved stuffed leopard known as "Little Pussy", and has been known to kick up a severe fuss at bedtime if Little Pussy cannot be located. (No, he hasn't been watching the Sopranos.) I'm hoping the leopard will be lost and forgotten before the double entendre is figured out.
The number of poems mentioned in this thread which I have used in puzzles hits three.
THE PYTHON
A Python I should not advise,--
It needs a doctor for its eyes,
And has the measles yearly,
However, if you feel inclined
To get one (to improve your mind,
And not from fashion merely),
Allow no music near its cage;
And when if flies into a rage
Chastise it, most severely.
I had an Aunt in Yucatan
Who bought a Python from a man
And kept it for a pet.
She died, because she never knew
These simple little rules and few;--
The Snake is living yet.
Another Silverstein poem that would probably work, is that one about the alligator going to the dentist's office. What's one dentist, more or less?
Oh, not my favorite Belloc
As a friend to the children
commend me the Yak.
You will find it exactly the thing:
It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,
Or lead it about with a string.
The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet
(A desolate region of snow)
Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
And surely the Tartar should know!
Then tell you papa where the Yak can be got,
And if he is awfully rich
He will buy you the creature --
or else
he will not.
(I cannot be positive which.)
although
I shoot the hippopotamus
with bullets made of platinum
because if I used leaden ones
his hide would surely flatten 'em.
Is good too. Probably not school-friendly, though.
God knows I try to make the time, but I generally have to let her father abuse her when work gets heavy.
If I had not been before, I would now be totally in love with lizardbreath for her taste in poetry. Graves and Belloc: pure perfection!
This one has the pictures, lovingly if not legally scanned in.
And, best of all Matilda. Just about the right length, too.
(straining)
Must not... turn cute kids' poetry... towards evil... purposes...
This seems appropriate, plus it's one of my favorite pieces of childrens' verse:
James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother", he said, said he;
"You must never go down to the end of the town,
if you don't go down with me."
James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown,
James James
Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James
Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down to the end of the town and be
back in time for tea"
King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES
MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY;
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN TO THE END OF THE TOWN-
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!
James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming _him_.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother", he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town with- out consulting me."
James James
Morrison's Mother
Hasn't been heard of since.
King John
Said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.
King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
"If people go down to the end of the town, well,
what can anyone do?"
99: Mine too, read to me by my dad, read by me to my daughter and son. Loved the interwar illustrations too.
102: My parents didn't really read me any sort of verse, but my father did read me the entire Ring Trilogy except the verse, which he said was too awful to churn through.
I'm starting to think I really missed out by neither reading nor being read to as a child. (Outside of school.) Some of these are great.
It's not a fit for this assignment, but when I was seven or eight I really liked Robert Louis Stevenson:
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.
And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;
And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.
I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.
99: James, James... set to music back in the Jurassic by the Chad Mitchell Trio:
http://www.mailordercentral.com/rediscovermusic/prodinfo.asp?number=CMT3281D
The John Birch Society cut is great too.
102: I read so much British children's literature (never Enid Blyton, or Swallows and Amazons type stuff, strangely) that I grew up describing things as "before the war" and "between the wars" and meaning WWI and WWII. I also suspect I may have described people as having died "in the war". Which, given that I was born in 1974, is a bit much. There was definitely an undertone of the-classiness-of-British-things, although that came more from the immigrant Swedish side of the family, along with a vast array of pre-1950 British kids' books. Victorian, even--we had a lovely, battered edition of the sententious short stories of Mrs. Molesworth.
I wound up reading a lotof my mom'sw books from her childhood--Tom Swift, Hardy Boys, etc., and later her collection of Ace Doubles. Definitely colored my sense of language and social mores.
Ooo, English children's books. E. Nesbit? I'm biting my nails trying not to push Five Children and It on Sally before she can read it comfortably.
I read some archaic Peewee Herman / Roy Blakely Boy Scout books published in the 1930s. I also read several books from the Nancy Drew mystery series -- I was years ahead of my time in feminist shit.
108: I hate Ace Doubles. They screw up my alphabetising of the SF collection.
109: If Sally likes fantasy/SF, there's a contemporary author she might like whose books' reading levels range from small child to adult: Diana Wynne Jones. Then there's Penelope Lively and Helen Cresswell and...
We had a simply terrific maybe forties edition of E Nesbit's short stories about dragons--sort of a creamy yellow cover with scarlet illustrations. I particularly remember the plague of various sizes of dragon, so that the heroine got a tiny, tiny dragon in her eye and had to see the doctor.
Diana Wynne Jones! Like Ursula Le Guin, a writer who is deeply concerned with the role of the UN...although their politics are a bit different. Her books before the mid-nineties are the best, and her first book is really, really creepy. She also had a strange childhood---eeek, the tamarind rice, burning!
111: Tell me about it. I have a separate section for my Ace Doubles for just that reason, and even then it's frustrating. You could just pick yellow or red side up, but then they switched to white and blue a little later on, so you can't even stay consistent.
What kinds of books were published as doubles? I've never seen any. (The tamarind rice was a total loss, but luckily it's mostly from a mix and I hadn't added the vegetables. No cooking and Unfogging!)
113: I've never read those, and now I must find them.
I tried Sally on Howl's Moving Castle, given that she loved the movie, but it didn't take off.
Mostly, I think I need to back off for a bit -- there are so many children's books I love so much that I think I may have gotten pushy, and given rise to resistance.
E Nesbit's short stories about dragons
Don't settle when it comes to dragon stories. Insist on the very best.
Just forbid them to her--either it will break her spirit utterly and she'll be pathologically obedient forever or else she'll be into them as soon as your back is turned. Or perhaps (as in my own case) a little bit of both.
How old is Sally again? What else does she like to read?
When I was a kid I liked books about flying people. Two I can remember being awesome were "Karlsson on the Roof" by Astrid Lindgren, and "No Flying in the House" by Betty Brock.
"Doublebacks"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dos-%C3%A0-dos_binding
I avoided alphabetizing trauma by filing them in the order I read them.
7, and the latest thing she's been reading is Hans Christian Andersen.
And I just discovered that one of my favorite of the bunch, Starhaven (backed with The Sun Smasher), was written by Robert SIlverberg under a pen name. Fun!
Have you tries the Prydain books by Lloyd Alexander on her?
I'm planning to, but I'm in a backing-off period. Again, I may have gotten overly enthusiastic about some earlier books -- the Andersen she's reading now is something that I never mentioned to her, and she found on the shelves for herself.
How does she feel about Hans Christian Anderson? I remember both being fascinated by the stories and resenting them because they were so cruel.
Have you tried her on any of the Jane Langton books? The Fledgling, topically enough, is about a girl who can fly, and The Fragile Flag is responsible for turning me into the dirty hippie that I am today. (Your results may vary, of course.)
Speaking of flying, how about the "flying to the disco" episode in DWJ's The Ogre Downstairs?
Langton's entirely new to me. Excellent.
I was always annoyed by Hans Christian Andersen books when I was a kid. I read 3 or 4 stories, and thought "You know, nothing in these stories is fun, and everything just gets sadder and sadder and sadder until everyone dies. And nothing's fun at all." And the illustrations didn't help, becuase they looked too unrealistic.
The category "Hans Christian Andersen books" also includes Oscar Wilde's "The Happy Prince", by the way.
I'll repeat my endorsement of the Rootabaga stories.
Two others I recall enjoying as bedtime stories from an age when I was reading some myself, but also still being read to regularaly are the Mrs Pepperpot stories and Calvino's collection of Italian Folktales.
I kind of liked "The Happy Prince", because it was about social activism and self-sacrifice.
But you what I resented the heck out of? A Bridge to Terabinthia. So manipulative.
A Bridge to Terabinthia.
Now appearing on a big screen near you.
130: Did you ever hear the recording of Carl Sandburg reading the Rootabaga stories outloud? He may be a bit overrated as a poet (fog, little cat feet, etc) but:
"Do you wish a ticket to go away and come back or do you wish a ticket to go away and never come back?" the ticket agent asked wiping sleep out of his eyes.
"We wish a ticket to ride where the railroad tracks run off into the sky and never come back--send us far as the railroad rails go and then forty ways farther yet," was the reply of Gimme the Ax.
"So far? So early? So soon?" asked the ticket agent wiping more sleep out of his eyes. "Then I will give you a new ticket. It blew in. It is a long slick leather slab ticket with a blue spanch across it."
133: I know, and I am full of chagrin, let me tell you.
These were among my favorite books as a kid, not least because they are physically kid scale.
On a somewhat older tip there's "Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel," "Ferdinand," and most awesomest, "The Phantom Toolbooth."
All pretty darn male oriented in some ways, but what can I tell ya.
Any time of year is nice!
For eating chicken soup with rice!
Zippety Zound! Alligators All Around...the story of my life.
Er, 137 is about the Nutshell Library.
134 -- yes, I most remember his version of the Wedding of the Rag Doll and the broom handle. If you follow the link above, I typed in the opening of another story that absolutely loved coming across it now (as an aside, the copy of the book that I found in a box has an inscription from my parents to my brother dated the month before I was born. I found that touching) and SB mentions that the stories are available online.
One other recommendation for a semi-childrens book. When I was 8 or 9 my parents would amuse me on car trips by reading me puzzles from What Is the Name of This Book and they were great (for some reason I never like Martin Gardner's puzzles as well, I think I came across them too late).
Your kids are well past this stage, but a favorite book of mine, then of Keegan's, and currently of Noah's is Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb (mentioned here previously). So when I came across this image last night, I immediately emailed it to Keegan, who's over at his mom's house 'til this weekend and newly obsessed with email.
I just got his reply: "Well, that confirms it. We need to send you to a mental doctor."
A vote for the Mervyn Peake poem in 66.
45. A friend from college used the see the Bagwhan's Rolls driving around in his hometown. The compound was near where he lived.
Whoa, I had totally forgotten having the Rootabaga Stories read to me. They were WEIRD, and also the reason I didn't eat rootabaga until I was an adult.
I'm going to guess that The Gashleycrumb Tinies as a suggestion for the poetry assignment was a joke, but actually, it would be awesome to hear a little kid recite some of Gorey's stuff, if you could find a verse that was long enough.
I had memorize Kipling's "If" when I was in... uh... 3rd grade, maybe? Wicked boring. Also, the preamble to the Constitution. Also boring, and I didn't even know what the hell I was saying, although now it would be cool to be able to recite it from memory.
A Bridge to Terabitha is a dire fucking move, though. Take the kid to Meet the Robinsons instead, which is actually good, to my surprise.
Ooh, I liked "Hand Hand Finger Thumb" a lot, good rhythm, an the monkeys looked cool. I'm pretty sure part of the reason I always liked jazz was imagining a high-hat playing during readings of "Green Eggs and Ham."
Not really a kid's book, but more like whatever they call it, "young readers" - I read all of The Great Brain books about 20 times. All of Roald Dahl's stuff is great too.
Surely there's been a favorite kid-lit thread or ten around here before?
Speaking of unsolicited opinions - I'm going to Chicago for the first time ever on Tuesday/Wednesday. I'm going to have some free time - what should I go see?
I suspect Howl is aimed more at early adolescents. Does she like short stories? They're usually more fun for the early reader, just because the end isn't quite so far away.
Is she reading real HCA or a bowdlerised version? I remember getting nightmares from The Red Shoes and The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf, much less the non-Disney The Little Mermaid. I didn't understand Anderson's shoe fetish till much much later.
There are a serious of odd fantasy/mystery/science fiction/thriller juveniles about a girl named Molly Moon that HM loves.
And there are lots of them. Series are your friend.
Ooh, old favorites. I totally agree with Beefo Meaty's set in 136, though I'l be disappointed if LB doesn't already own a copy of the Phantom Tollbooth. I remember reading Five Children and It somewhere around that age and liking it, though that (along with things like Harriet the Spy) did confuse me about why nobody seemed to have cooks or maids.
How about A Wrinkle In Time?
99 -- are any of you guys familiar with the Chad Mitchell Trio's performance of this verse? I love it.
For a curse-the-darkness guy like me, this thread is hell. This is not the wonderful Unfogged of old -- the Unfogged that I joyfully put at the very front of my procrastination queue. This is a degenerate, disgraceful, positive-thinking, pseudo-Unfogged.
it would be awesome to hear a little kid recite some of Gorey's stuff, if you could find a verse that was long enough.
Perhaps The Insect God?
"They removed the child to the ballroom, whose hangings
And mirrors were covered with a luminous slime;
They leapt through the air with buzzings and twangings
To work themselves up to a ritual crime.
They stunned her, and stripped off her garments, and lastly
They stuffed her inside a kind of a pod;
And then it was that Millicent Frastley
Was sacrificed to The Insect God."
Actually, this gives me the creeps just reading it to myself.
152, 153: And I with my Housman. You can't hardly get more Emerson-friendly than that. And Matt F had Prufrock in there somewhere, another fine choice.
I'm convinced Emerson takes guilty pleasure in Milne.
Whatever it takes to bring a little smile to that surly visage,
Emerson.
ROOTABAGA STORIES ARE THE SHIZNIT
THE PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH IS ALSO THE SHIZNIT
Look I don't think we have to spend our time getting bogged down in discussions of what is and is not the shiznit...
I did so love The Phantom Toolbooth.
No you're misreading -- he did love it.
That's a good reason for almost anything - a bit used perhaps, but still quite servicable.
I seem to have lost my way.
Perhaps you will be able to pick up a new one at the auction.
Late again. My suggestions for kids' lit:
Age 0-3: Is it red? Is it yellow? Is it blue? by Tana Hoban
Age 4-6: One Morning In Maine by Robert McCloskey
Wee Gillis by Munro Leaf
Age 6-7: Andrew Henry's Meadow by Doris Burn
Age 8 and up: Tolkein, DWJ, Genet, Burroughs, Tolstoy, Welsh and of course all the Holling Clancy Holling books.
For the poem? How about Poe's "The Bells"? You can used the Phil Ochs version for a mnemonic, and if you can teach a seven-year-old to pronounce "tintinnabulation" correctly, you can do anything!
Reading rainbow!
Oh, also, speaking of the shiznit, if you finna drop some mad scrilla, check this out
Time for some Althouse commentary. Check out this thread, where the comments combine the themes of torture denialismand "That Brit sailor chick is a fat-ass" to unpleasant effect.
If you're willing to entertain animal characters in your excellent fantasy books, I recommend Manx Mouse, Watership Down, and The Tale of Despereaux.
146: weather permitting, go to Navy Pier, rent a bike, and bike along the lake. Beautiful (and very very flat)--one of the best ways to see the city. Though I don't think the weather is permitting right now, in which case: Art institute, and the gorilla exhibit at the Lincoln Park zoo (the zoo is free--that's the best exhibit by far though; some of the others are a bit cramped and depressing for my tastes).
The architecture really is great. Only on Chicago do they stick churches on top of skyscrapers on Washington Street is one of my favorites. There's the "Magnificent Mile" and Loop on Michigan Ave., of course; I also really like walking along State Street in the Gold Coast. (All of this is close to downtown and anyone can point you there).
What she can't see under, she overlooks! Let's go by inches, it's quicker.
I assume that "Caka" is Cala typing hastily. Cala, I left a note for your at the APA.
ORilly? I just got in. And can't type. You left a note for my what where what now?
On the message board in the mezzanine. It's completely uninteresting; I was just taken with the fact that there were messages pinned up for people by name, and even slips of paper provided to facilitate such message-leaving—it was quite charming.
"Your" is of course a typo.
(It may make more sense if I mention again that Sally is short for Sallymander.)
Oh that's so clever! How lovely. I never realised before.
dude, I really don't want to get hit with the Cakabat. sounds messy.
A Bridge to Terabithia
Gods but I fucking hated that book.
There's been so much love for children's literature here, perhaps it's time to hate. My son hates A Light in the Forest, and doesn't understand why he was asked to read it. Not by us, by the school.
168: Oh, yes, Holling Clancy Holling! Especially Paddle-to-the-Sea.
A lot of this stuff lends itself to being left lying around, rather than directly handed out. I know I was a lot slower to read anything that somebody my father told me was good than I was to poke through my grandfather's attic or even prowl around the mess of stuff on the shelf in the living room.
On the other hand, like Emerson, I read a lot of Nancy Drew books. I read the Hardy Boys books, too, but they didn't really lodge themselves in my psyche in the same way. For all that Nancy Drew is a privileged white kid whose adventures created an unrealistic whatever, I found it pretty damned awesome that there was a girl out there eavesdropping and driving off with her friends to solve mysteries and making her father worry all the time.
183: I'll tell you what I hate. Teachers (or parents) who just want books that won awards. Could be The First Annual Nestle(r) SnackyCake(tm) Kiddie Lit award, and they'll still be happier with that than, say, The Enormous Egg.
(Which is a fabulous book that Sally and Newt would probably both love. It has a hero named Nate Twitchell and a dinosaur named Mr. Beasley.)
185: And just look how you turned out.
Nancy Drew: promoting buttsex for future generations.
I read a lot of The Three Investigators as a kid.
189: And just look how you turned out.
I read a lot of Nancy Drew books
Me, too. Although I missed the buttsex part. I will have to re-read them.
The school librarian was disturbed by my reading habits, but I didn't like the Hardy boys. Possibly because they reminded me of two bratty bullies in the neighborhood who were my best friends, in the sense that they didn't always bully me, only sometimes.
This is going to turn into a porn titles for children's lit thread, isn't it?
192: Do you think she was concerned she'd be blamed for encouraging/permitting your proclivities, or felt a responsibility, merely as a responsible adult/authority figure for intervening, or does the distinction only make sense now, and wasn't separable back in the day?
Me, too. Although I missed the buttsex part.
And just look how you turned out.
It's almost as useful as "or so the mullahs would have you believe."
193: I've got your Very Hungry Caterpillar right here...
People without kids may be unaware that there is a vast ocean of crap kid-lit out there, and try as you might to keep it away, some of it inevitably washes into your house. I've been discreetly tossing Berenstain Bears books into recycling for a while now.
And it's hard when your child really likes and wants to be read to from a book you really dislike. Sometimes you say no, have your other parent read that if they will, sometimes you just do it.
Possibly because they reminded me of two bratty bullies
So true. They didn't remind me of the bullies in my particular school but at a very early age it was easy to spot them as boring jocks. They seemed like the kind of guys who'd think you were weird if you didn't want to, I dunno, do whatever Stereotypical Guy Thing X they were up to and I already loathed those people. I read a bunch of them anyway, though, because hey, they were around.
Possibly because they reminded me of two bratty bullies
Same impression here. We must have been much more innured to guy stereotyping then, or so it seems, but that was too much.
I'm late, but may I still applaud 99 for the way it tied the thread together? And then I propose
I'm not frightened of pussycats
They only eat up mice and rats
But a hippopotamus
Could eat the lot of us
which could easily be stretched to three minutes with a suitably dramatic reading. And kidlit? Alan Garner.
It's almost as useful as "or so the mullahs would have you believe."
Or so the mullahs would have you believe.
And just look how they turned out.
Speaking of which, any opinions one way or the other about Susan Cooper? I remember enjoying, but I remember almost nothing about the books.
As far as less than immortal childrens books go, I remember reading all of the Oz books and, later, I went through a devoted Encyclopedia Brown phase (quick, what is a word in English that contains three sets of consecutive double letters [AABBCC]?).
Also, I would agree with everyone else that the Phantom Tollbooth is a treasure (overly verbal people love the Phantom Tollbooth: Film at 11). Related to the Phantom Tollbooth, I came across a Jules Feiffer collection in middle school and loved it.
As long as we're mentioning classics I should also mention The Little Prince, a book which, I sometimes fear, had a significant impact on my personality growing up. It speaks so strongly to my streak of romanticism, I feel that it must have shaped that streak.
Accoommoodate
Tenneesse
Commttee
Flooddoor is not actually a word
I give up
quick, what is a word in English that contains three sets of consecutive double letters [AABBCC]?
Bookkeeper! I went through that same phase.
207 -- I'm glad I'm not the only one.
The OZ books: also awesome.
The OZ books: also awesome.
Yes, but also clearly kind of schlocky. Though I do remember spending a while trying to figure out how the carpet that is always rolling itself up at one end and unrolling at the other end would work -- magic, clearly, and it did allow them to cross the great desert.
I hate Le Petit Prince with a grim passion.
204, 207: Me too, so I was pretty upset when Bugs Meany finally whacked him.
204: I was very into the entire Dark is Rising series as a lad, but on further reflection The Dark is Rising itself and maybe The Grey King are the only really exceptional ones. Also, did you know that Susan Cooper wrote a Dianna Wynne Jones-style romp awhile ago called The Boggart? She did, and it's quite good. Probably appropriate (as in: not-boring-for) ages 7 or 8 and up.
186, 197: The quality of the Newbury and Caldecott selections seems to have declined precipitously in the last 20 or 30 years, with a very few exceptions.
Last thing regarding kids lit: One of those back-to-the-land magazines, which focuses on mountain man type skills, had a book review a few years back of The American Boys Handy Book by DC Beard, a work I happen to possess. It had been purchased at a library sale. The reviewer noted darkly that the volume, which includes, among many other projects, and idea for making a small bird-killing device out of a length of bamboo and some pebbles, had probably been withdrawn to make way for "liberal children's books." Yep, those liberals -- always trying to prevent children from engaging in healthy out-of-doors activities like killing songbirds. What a contrast to all the brave conservative childrens' book authors of today.
I hate Le Petit Prince with a grim passion.
That seems extreme. Why?
Why?
It has something to do with the fine line between limpid and limp. Some of it is lingering resentment at having to read it in school, though.
Actually, I can understand. The book has a very strong tone which (in translation at least) constantly verges on twee (or whatever twee would be, without an element of whimsy).
I read it early and often enough that I unapologetically love it, but I do understand. Though I have a hard time understanding the comment in My Dinner With Andre when Andre says that he imagines Nazis loving the Little Prince.
I hate Le Petit Prince with a grim passion.
I always remember it as La Petite Prince. Seems more appropriate.
Draw me a sheep, motherfuckers.
Did someone mention The Little Prince?
When I was a kid, my favorite book was Julian May's They lived in the Ice Age. The last page, which described the possiblity of a future new ice age illustrated by a picture of a bubble city in a howling snow storm, filled me with pint-sized fear and shivering.
219:
Quoting from the other linked thread:
"The Little Prince really creeped me out when I was a kid"
That was your problem -- you read it as a little kid. That Little Prince is no kid. He's some weird psycho dreamer. With impenetrable, creepy, cold idears, doncha know. Made of stars and all that.
Not that I remember the book terribly well.
I'd read it in the original had I not been convinced by my elders that studying Spanish was preferable to French, after my high school cut the Latin program.
Draw me a mother, sheepfuckers.
He's some weird psycho dreamer.
It is possible that I am conflating my memories of cold, creepy, idealistic Frenchmen with the little prince.
223:
Julian May was writing when you were a kid?
Huh. I'll have to look into that. I was semi-embarrassed to become absorbed in May when I was 24.
Thanks for the poem suggestions. Since my kids have to recite a memorized poem once a year grades 1-8 and I have 4 kids, I am sure that I will use a bunch of the suggestions.
Also thanks for the anti-suggestion on the "owl and the pussycat". That one was previously on the list.
Yes, but also clearly kind of schlocky.
But fun! Also, the moment in... oh, damn, The Land of Oz, maybe - anyway, when we find out that Dorothy's companions had become great officials of the land and that time has passed and it's now a generation or more later and things change and problems still arise? Wow. In third grade that was a mind-blowing blast of reality about how life goes on and on and no story ever really ends.
Also, for the over-8's: Rosemary Sutcliff!
re: 229.
Perhaps I am McManly Pants' evil twin. I loved the Oz books as a kid, too.
There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh-air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was their Albert
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
'E'd a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much to the ocean
The waves, they was fiddlin' and small
There was no wrecks... nobody drownded
'Fact, nothing to laugh at, at all.
So, seeking for further amusement
They paid and went into the zoo
Where they'd lions and tigers and cam-els
And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big lion called Wallace
His nose were all covered with scars
He lay in a som-no-lent posture
With the side of his face to the bars.
Now Albert had heard about lions
How they were ferocious and wild
And to see Wallace lying so peaceful
Well... it didn't seem right to the child.
So straight 'way the brave little feller
Not showing a morsel of fear
Took 'is stick with the'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear!
You could see that the lion didn't like it
For giving a kind of a roll
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im
And swallowed the little lad... whole!
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence
And didn't know what to do next
Said, "Mother! Yon lions 'et Albert"
And Mother said "Eeh, I am vexed!"
So Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Quite rightly, when all's said and done
Complained to the Animal Keeper
That the lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it
He said, "What a nasty mishap
Are you sure that it's your lad he's eaten?"
Pa said, "Am I sure? There's his cap!"
So the manager had to be sent for
He came and he said, "What's to do?"
Pa said, "Yon lion's 'eaten our Albert
And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too."
Then Mother said, "Right's right, young feller
I think it's a shame and a sin
For a lion to go and eat Albert
And after we've paid to come in!"
The manager wanted no trouble
He took out his purse right away
And said, "How much to settle the matter?"
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?"
But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone
She said, "No! someone's got to be summonsed"
So that were decided upon.
Round they went to the Police Station
In front of a Magistrate chap
They told 'im what happened to Albert
And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his o-pinion
That no-one was really to blame
He said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing
"And thank you, sir, kindly," said she
"What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy lions? Not me!"
I loved the Three Investigators too. Our last kid is lucky(ish) to be a girl, as C wanted to call a boy Jupiter (for Jupiter and Teardop - not sure whether it was the band or the song he liked), and I was finding it hard to resist, given the many happy hours/weeks/years I'd spent with Jupiter Jones. Didn't like the Hardy Boys as they just seemed like arrogant wankers really. For brother stories, I really liked the Willard Price Adventure books, with Hal & Roger. Never liked Nacy Drew though.
I have shelves of stuff that I loved as a child here, and my kids much prefer the books they find themselves too, which is frustrating sometimes. But also fine, as there is so much good stuff getting published constantly that they can't read everything! I just don't give them a choice of bedtime story - at the moment I'm reading them Harriet the Spy, and my 6 year old boy is the one who's most into it.
Harriet the Spy introduced me to the concept of the dumbwaiter.
And for that matter, families with private chefs. I read about Harriet's home life like it was science fiction. "Okay, let's stipulate Ole Golly and work out the implications." Though, not really like that, since I was in fourth grade.
Yeah, my girls were amazed: "She's rich! She never sees her parents!"
The very rich are different from you and me. They have cake every day after school.
226: Le Petite Prince, the Le Corbusier of space.
ben, I left you a note. I am tempted to leave a maze of notes, and make it the APA Pacific Da Vinci Code Enlightened Brethren hunt.
As a kid, I read a lot of The Great Brain and Encyclopaedia Brown. I think I must have liked them at the time but in retrospect they seem pretty lame.
Also: I am reading Julie of the Wolves to Sylvia now, which I don't remember having read as a child, and it seems pretty good.
I hate Le Petit Prince with a grim passion.
The Great Brain... in retrospect they seem pretty lame.
There is a lot of evil in this thread.
...Are you saying Le Petit Prince and The Great Brain are evil, or that it's evil to hate on either of them? (Or something else altogether?)
You know, it's just dawning on me that the Great Brain books were all I knew of Mormons as a kid. (I think even my awareness of the genealogy stuff came later, in my teens.)
There may also have been a Sid Fleischman book that had Mormon characters...hm. Are there other well-known children's books that feature Mormons? What am I forgetting?
Boy, Snark and I really need to get back on that kidlit.org project.
Huh. I had forgotten that the Brain family were Mormons. I remember now, I guess it just didn't really sink in when I was reading though. Mostly I just remember the old-west-pioneersiness of it, and of course the feats of intellect.
Roald Dahl-even his kids books have a nice evil edge to them. Especially Matilda.
Then there are the autobiographical books of Gerald Durrell(lawrence durrell's brother)-"My family and other animals" is a minor classic.
You who rightfully praise The Dark is Rising are aware of this, right?
249: IIRC, they were 'gentiles', but most of the rest of the town was Mormons.
