1 post tagged “mucumber mcgee and the half-eaten hot dog”
(Because who can say no to an evening of picture books on a rainy November evening?
...I mean ...this is for purely intellectual study... you understand...)
So, for my long lit paper this term, I'm writing about the vague catagory of "gothic picture books". What do the children whose favorite Muppets are Oscar for his attitude, and The Count for his style like to read? What texts prepare children for Scary Stories to tell in the Dark, and a Series of Unfortunate Events, and the Spiderwick series? And what can be said about them?
That's the project, and I'm still open to new book suggestions.
However, there's nothing like work you should be doing to make you dig into work that can wait, and I've got so much writing hanging over my head, a blog post reviewing my recent forrays into the books for spawn seemed just the way to relax on a Friday evening. So without further ado:
Fortunately, by Remy Charlip:
Remy Charlip is without argument my favorite picture book writer from childhood. I DEVOURED Arm in Arm as a child... quite literally destroyed it, and then took the covers that had fallen off and put them up on my wall like movie posters.
A couple of years ago, my mother spent weeks before Christmas, finding my sister and I new used copies, with the orignal cover illustrations. It was pretty magical.
Anyway, I had always bypassed Fortunately as being simplistic. It's narratively cohesive, if only in the sense that each page is a new Deus Ex Machina for the character to deal with or adjust to. But after
Brian Selznick credited it for being part of the Hugo Cabret invention, I just had to pick up a copy. The back and forth nature of the page, the way turning a page creates movement, and time, really is something to love. Reading it silently to yourself really doesn't do the trick, and the more you think about the "what happens", the more you wonder about why a book like this could possibly work. But reading it aloud, the surprise at every new page, even if you understand the structure and know the next page will be a bad (or good) event, is something just magical.
The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, by Chris Van Allsburg is such a classic, I don't know why I didn't own a copy before. I'd glanced through it before, and heard them talk about it on NPR, but tonight was the first time I really sat down with a copy. I'm currently reflected on the narrative arc of a piece which is supposedly about different stories... there's still a strongly noticable development where the pictures in the begining... the sleeping child, the thing under the rug, are points that imply a beginning of a tale, while things like the catipillars spelling goodbye, a picture that comes near the end, serve as a warning that this tale, like the "story" the picture is "taken from" is coming to a close.
So, I heard a rumor that Steampunk hit Newsweek for Halloween. Ah, Newsweek, when will you stop being a month behind on my life? I've been who you've watched to decide what cool culture is ever since that summer I was obsessed with Ryōri no tetsujin.
Anyway, how could I not pick up this little gem? It has basically nothing to do with my paper, but dude, it's got a Dream Vacuum Machine in the title, and he's wearing a top hat. I do wish, however, it had been an idealized vacuum machine, as opposed to a machine for vacuuming dreams, but perhaps that is neither here nor there. It's a fun little time; I especially enjoyed when Sneem becomes depressed, and hides in his room under an umbrella to prevent being hit by any sunlight sneaking in through the window. I mean, that's how I spend every weekend, so I could really relate.
Boris and Bella, by Carolyn Crimi
The boyfriend saw me reading this, and asked if I was reading the picture biography of Tim Burton. Grimly's illustrations are really the stuff I was looking for when I was a child myself. And while I cringe at Crimi's writing, that the two of them become a couple because they're "just the right size", I am as much of a sucker as Bella for Boris any time I see him with a shrunken head or skull teacup. (And really, I'd be right there next to her with the neon green dreads if I didn't have a day job. Those are the win!)
Speaking of which, and I'm scared to even mention this in a summary of otherwise children's books, I picked up Sarita Vendetta's particularly gory version of Strewwelpeter (for academic reasons only, you understand) the other day. I haven't read all of it, although I've flipped through her illustrations, and am familiar with the stories. Her illustration for "Jimmy Sliderlegs" stops me every time, but I do have to say I was a little disappointed with her illustration for my favorite story, "The Story of Augustus Who Would Not Have Any Soup". Judging from the scale of the arm reaching in from the side as if to feed him, it seems as if she was almost going for a somewhat fetus-esque image, but I feel like this could have been further developed. I found myself flipping back to look at the 1915 Winston printed version, with the boy that turns into an almost cave-painted looking stick figure.
I'm getting tired, and this is getting rediculously long, but I just can't help talking about this little gem. Gothic, stick-legged boy, and the little pet lizard that follows him like a puppy-- and not the slightest mention of Halloween anywhere to be found-- this is the picture book that is year-round gothic fun.
And oh! the melodrama! How delicious!
Then his stomach began to ache;
it growled and turned and spun.
"This is it," Mucumber thought.
"The dying has begun."And so upstairs he ran,
with teardrops in his eyes.
"I guess I'll lied down on the bed,
and then I'll wait to die."
All I have to say about this is that it's a beautiful example of prolepsis and dramatic irony, and that anyone who claims that children can't comprehend advanced forms of humor is sadly ignorant themselves. We know that there will be No Cat at the end. And sure enough, throughout the text, the actions of the cat and the witch build to that inevitable end. And yet...
Well. I was still totally satisfied. And amused.
Last one, promise. This book gets a bad rap from a lot of parents. And maybe the girl sitting in an armchair where what initially looks like a rug is actually a running horde of rats is a bit grotesque. But the fact that I bought this book for it's purported "gothic" nature is a sign that some people are far too obsessed with the fluff and the bunnies. Not all imaginations are pure or simple. This is a far cry from confronting the darkness, and is the pefect example of the crowbar of separation between the gothic and the surreal. Even if Yvonne is waiting with an axe.
