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Books, characters, heroes

Hero and Everyman

elouisebates

First of all, let me apologize to everyone who has posted a comment since Tuesday evening. Apparently Blogger’s “hiccup” yesterday caused it to lose all comments made on Wednesday and beyond. Grr. We had some interesting stuff going, too!

And now, on to the actual post:

Watching NCIS:LA (yes, I watch both NCIS and NCIS:LA; and no, it’s not just for the eye candy (although that doesn’t hurt)) this week, I was struck anew at the difference between the Hero and the Everyman, and how both are vital to tell a compelling story.

Ha! Bet you didn’t know one could  get such revelations from NCIS, did you?

In brevis, the Hero is someone we aspire to. He or she is the one we admire, the one who shows the most praise-worthy traits, the one who gives us an example and makes us yearn to be better.

The Everyman is someone we can relate to. He or she is the one we feel akin to, we understand, we wince in sympathy, and as he or she interacts with the Hero, we get a sense of how we would interact as well. The Everyman makes the story real and personal.

Hollywood, in general, seems to get this confused. They try to make the Hero and the Everyman the same character. This might work in a few cases, but usually just ends up leaving the audience with nothing and no one to aspire to. We, as a society, need True Heroes. Tortured heroes, after a while, get old.

Many high fantasies have the opposite problem. They have the Hero with no Everyman, which leaves the audience feeling disconnected. We as humans need someone to relate to, as well.

A good example of how this works well can be seen in the Chronicles of Narnia. In Peter, we have the Hero. One of the biggest gripes you will hear from fanfic writers is that Peter is impossible to write realistically, because he has no flaws. That’s not because he is a “Gary Stu,”but because he is a Hero. He’s the one everyone looks up to and want to be like.

The Everyman? Well, he goes by the unfortunate name of Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and when we first meet him, Lewis tells us he “almost deserved” his name. Poor Eustace is a nuisance, a pest, hates and is secretly jealous of his noble cousins, and even after he is changed still maintains his Everyman status. In The Silver Chair Trumpkin the Dwarf can’t even get his name right, first calling him “Useless,” and then wanting to know just how he is “Used to it.” When the Prince, Puddleglum, and Eustace fight the serpent, we are told that Eustace’s blow lands on the body and skitters off the scales without doing any good. He thoroughly enters into every adventure, but doesn’t have any special skill that makes him unique or special.

By The Last Battle he has grown, even to the point where he can fight alongside the King (another Hero), but he is still the Everyman, just doing his best with his limited abilities. It is Jill who has the special ability to move almost unseen through the woods, Jill who rescues Puzzle, Jill who is the lone archer during that last battle, where Eustace is the first one captured and thrown in the stable. Eustace is never made a king, unlike his cousins. He is never referred to as “lord,” as Digory is (and both Polly and Jill, it seems, become “Lady” without any difficulty in the matter). He is just Eustace throughout, growing into a loyal Friend of Narnia, and giving his all without ever having anything special to give.

(In case you can’t tell, Eustace is my absolute favorite character from the Narnia series.)

In NCIS:LA, which started this whole train of thought, Callen and Sam act as the Heroes (Sam as the True Hero; Callen gets to be the Tragic Hero). The rest of the team is heroic in its own way, too, and it isn’t until Deeks comes along from the LAPD that we get a more human character. Deeks is brave enough, and good at his job, but he isn’t exactly the super-dooper expert at anything like the rest. He even looks more ordinary: scruffy, regular build, etc. Through his interaction with the team, and how he slowly integrates with them and develops his own set of skills has been one of the reasons I keep watching the show. That, and it’s fun to watch things blow up.

There are, of course, a lot of ways you can play with The Hero and Everyman roles, to expand them a bit. Take Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings as a classic example. There you have:

Aragorn – True Hero

Boromir – Guy who thinks he’s the hero, but weakly gives in to temptation.

Faramir – Guy who also thinks Boromir’s the hero (and he isn’t), but doesn’t give in to temptation, thus qualifying himself for the role of Lesser Hero.

Frodo – Everyman who grows into the Hero by the end. Those are also becoming more common (and one of my favorite characters to write), and are also important for humans – because we need to see that ordinary people can grow to do extraordinary things.

Sam – Everyman

Then, of course, you have Eowyn (I think Eomer comes under the Lesser Hero category), who plays a similar role to Edmund in the Chronicles of Narnia. They both start out wanting to be the True Hero, but by the end have accepted a subordinate role quite happily – Eowyn as a Healer and wife to the Steward, and Edmund as ruler equal to his sisters, and under his brother. Lucy and Susan, in CoN, have their own roles as well, of course, but those are slightly harder to define. Lucy is Inspiration, and Hero, and Joy, and Faith, and … well, she’s Lucy. Susan is more akin to Boromir (HEY – fanfic crossover with a Susan/Boromir pairing, anyone?), in that she starts out heroically but gives in to her weak points. Unlike Boromir, who dies for his transgressions, we are allowed to hope, at the end of the CoN, that Susan may yet repent and attain the role of Restored Hero.

To return to the initial idea of Hero and Everyman – I think it helps, as a writer, to define these roles. Not that your characters have to fit exactly into a mold, but in a world where anti-heroes are frighteningly popular, and the everyman, if he exists in the story at all, is either a joke or a cynic, I think it is important to remember why these types of characters are so enduring. As I said in the beginning: We need to have someone to aspire to, and we need someone to relate to. Those two desires are part of what makes us human, and it’s part of what most stories, I think, are trying to tap.

After all, there’s a reason why classic hero stories are classic. There’s a reason why NCIS and NCIS:LA are so incredibly popular.

It’s because they touch on the universal needs and desires we all share, to have a hero, and to try to grow into one ourselves, even though we are just ordinary people.

Are there other great examples of Hero and Everyman in literature or television/movies I missed? I know I only touched on a couple. Who is one of your favorite Hero characters, and one of your favorite Everyman characters? Do you think my understanding of why these characters are so important is accurate, or would you disagree? What are some other characters that are important to us as humans? And are you a fan of the NCIS shows, too?

1920s, writing

Dialogue Difficulties

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I love writing dialogue.

I can write pages and pages of nothing but dialogue. Not even anything else interspersed between, just “…” he said. “…” she said. On and on, for miles. I took advantage of this with my first novel (which reads like a rip-off of every major fantasy novel ever written and therefore will never be seen in public): I wrote the first draft as though it were a play, just dialogue with occasional “stage cues.” For the second draft, I went through and added to the dialogue, filled in the pencil outline with colored ink, so to speak. It worked well enough for that story, because it was so unoriginal, but I’ve never been able to make it work since.

So now I strive very hard to add body language, scenery, scent, emotion, everything that one needs, in between the dialogue. Sometimes I still get carried away, though, and realize that I’ve completely ignored plot development for half a dozen pages while I let my characters have a marvelous meandering conversation. Which is lifelike, true, but most likely boring and frustrating for anyone but myself to read. Then I have to go back and prune it down, insert clues to the plot and/or character development into the dialogue so that it has a point.

Part of the difficulty for me is that it is through conversation we get to know people – how they think, how they feel, how they react in any situation. Since I write mostly character-driven stories, rather than strictly plot-driven, conversation seems the best way to show my characters, rather than just telling the audience what they are thinking, feeling, etc. However, it is the unspoken actions, as much as the spoken, that reveal a person, and that is where I struggle.

Compare:

“I don’t like being told what to do,” Maia said.
“I don’t particularly care whether you like it or not,” Aunt Amelia replied.
“You are being unreasonable,” Maia said.
“That is irrelevant,” said Aunt Amelia.

Or:

Maia folded her arms across her chest and tried to appear as stern and immovable as her tiny aunt. “I don’t like being told what to do.”
“I don’t particularly care whether you like it or not.” Aunt Amelia was superbly indifferent to Maia’s attempts at intimidation.
Maia uncrossed her arms and stamped her foot, forgetful of the dignity of her nineteen years. “You are being completely unreasonable!”
“That,” said Aunt Amelia, a smirk lurking at the corner of her mouth despite her best efforts, “is irrelevant.”

Well? Which one shows the characters better? Then add some scenery at the end:

The bees blundered drunkenly from flower to flower, unaware of the battle of wills that was raging in the center of the garden. The heady scent from the early roses tickled Maia’s nose and increased her irritation with her aunt. How dare she ruin a beautiful June day like this, with the sun shining and the fluffy clouds darting playfully across the azure sky, with her unreasonable demands? It was enough to make even a saint lose her temper – and Maia was no saint. Nor did she have the wisdom of Athena, despite the marble statue looming over her shoulder that suggested otherwise.

It’s not perfect, and I know many other writers could do far better – but it’s getting there. Another half-dozen novels, and maybe it will come more easily to me!

Do you prefer to write dialogue or scene settings? What are some of your pitfalls you have to combat in your writing? Have you ever written a novel that was cookie-cutter imitation of whatever is popular in your particular genre? If it was fantasy, did it have a character who was half-elven? (Mine did!)

Books, influences, writing

Influences: LM Montgomery

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I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t acquainted with Anne Shirley. I can’t quite remember now which came first, watching the movie or reading the book, but they certainly happened close together. Thankfully, the movie never ruined the book for me, and while these days I have to grit my teeth through parts of the sequel (and I refuse, utterly and completely, to ever watch the third), even knowing and loving the books as well as I do, I can still watch the movie without flinching.

This fellow might have something to do with that. Oh, Gilbert!

I’ve never been as big a fan of the Emily books – I adore Emily of New Moon, but the later two books of the trilogy get under my skin in parts. Frankly, Emily herself infuriates me the older she gets, as does Ilse.
However, as one who grew up in an extended family that can only properly be called a clan, with aunts and uncles and cousins galore, as well as second cousins and the like (my father is the oldest of eight; his father was also the oldest of eight, and his mother was one of five), my favorites out of all of LMM’s works would have to be the Story Girl books. And not just because my sister and I watched Road to Avonlea every week on CBC when we were growing up! The books are so different from the show.
For one thing, the books didn’t have him. Oh, Gus!

Ahem.
I love LMM’s writing style. I even love her “purple prose.” I’ve been writing LMM fanfiction since 2005. I started it as a bored and lonely newlywed, while Carl was at work and I needed something to distract me from my loud and inconsiderate neighbors, and the fact that I had no car or any way to get away during the day. Escaping to PEI, and a simpler time, more romantic way of life, an era I’ve always loved … well, it just might have saved my sanity. It certainly brought me some wonderful friends (hi, Adrienne and Cathy!) who shared my love for LMM and her works. 
Thanks to LMM, I learned how to explore different genres of writing besides just YA fantasy. I learned to play with different styles, to change my tone depending on what type of story I was writing. I learned that, as Mr Carpenter tells Emily, “pine woods are just as real as pigsties, and a darn sight more pleasant” – meaning, don’t let other people force you to write ugly things just because they are “realistic.” I learned how to write gentle romance (romance of any kind always having terrified me before).
I also developed a mad, passionate love affair with adjectives and rambling descriptions, which I am now desperately trying to combat. Not all influences are good!
I recently started my eleventh LMM fanfic (yes, for those of you who follow my LMM stories, that would be Gwen’s WWII story). I am not exactly working hard on it, having a few original projects that are taking most of my attention, but it is growing in my brain and a little bit on paper. No matter if I ever get published, or wherever my writing takes me, I suspect I will always have some LMM story brewing on the side.
It’s the least I can do to honor the woman who brought such magic to my childhood (and adulthood, if I’m honest).
Did you grow up reading the Anne books? Did you have a crush on Gilbert Blythe (or Gus Pike)? Is there a book that you have read for so long that you can’t remember a time when it wasn’t part of your life? Do you write or read fanfiction at all?
characters, fiction, writing

Curiosity Killed The Cat …

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… but it saves the character.

I’ve been getting bored with doing nothing but research, research, research, and very little writing. So the other day, just for sheer fun, I started a story set in 1920s England – an adventure-fantasy: Dorothy L Sayers meets CS Lewis, so to speak.

Or at least, that was my intention. About 6,000 words in, I noticed a deadly flaw.

My heroine was boring.

She was the eldest of three sisters (I like writing fic where the eldest is the heroine – it goes against traditional convention so well). She was the responsible one against her sisters’ frivolity. She was plain compared to their beauty and charm. She was shy in society. She was ….

*snore*


If my main character was putting even me to sleep, in a story that was supposed to be frothily fun, I had a problem.

So, like any sensible person, I took the matter to Facebook (and to Twitter, but nobody responded there – my FB friends are all much better, apparently, at answering writerly dilemmas), and got some helpful tips.

I mulled them all over, looked at their examples of good heroes/heroines who were responsible yet still interesting, and came up with a definite character trait to redeem this poor girl.

Curiosity.

To get a feel for the era and tone, I’ve been re-reading the Lord Peter books (such terribly hard research, I know). Lord Peter is an amazingly complex character, but one trait that really makes him stand out from the crowd is his imagination and curiosity. Sayers describes his curiosity as all-emcompassing, the kind that drives him to find out where his drains lead to and unravel the emotional history of income-tax collectors.

My dad mentioned Brother Cadfael as another main character who is moral and responsible, but with an unquenchable curiosity that leads him, even as a monk, to poke his nose into everything that comes along.

Then I got thinking about others: Kate Talgarth, from the Cecy & Kate books, who might be something of a drip if it weren’t for her curiosity and wit. Jane Stuart, of Jane of Lantern Hill, who really starts to shine when she moves to PEI and is able to indulge her curiosity for life. Mrs Pollifax, by Dorothy Gilman, who joins the CIA as an elderly widow because she is bored, and whose interest in people gives her new zest for life. Pride & Prejudice’s Elizabeth Bennet, who along with her sister Jane is the only responsible person in her entire family, including her parents, but who is also endlessly curious about people and life. Lucian, one of my favorite of Lloyd Alexander’s heroes, starts out his book by nearly losing his head due to an deadly combination of responsibility and curiosity.

I could continue, but I’ll spare you. I’m sure you’ve picked up the gist of it by now. Curiosity is both a virtue and a flaw for a character. Most human beings suffer from it to one degree or another.

I think I have a tendency, in order to keep my characters from becoming impossibly perfect and likable, to make them too drab. It’s also entirely possible that as I have always been fairly responsible, and hence always labeled “boring” (or the far worse “Goody-Two-Shoes”), that my own life experiences are bleeding into my writing. Let’s face, life as a stay-at-home mom to two littles brings with it plenty of need for responsibility, and not much outlet for being fun or exciting.

So this was a good reminder for me personally as well as authorially, that being responsible does not automatically equate being dull. A healthy dose of curiosity (with a sprinkling of wit and sense of fun) goes a long way toward combatting being boring.

What are some of your tricks to make a dull character start to shine? Are you a curious person? Do you think responsible is always the same as boring, in real life or in literature?

characters, families, heroines

Jo March and Sundries

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This was going to be a post on Jo and Laurie, and why I don’t think they would have been a good couple, but I’ve been ranting about Amy various places lately, and realized that this post needed to mostly be about Jo, with everyone else tossed in as they relate to her.

First of all:

Even though Josephine “Jo” March did not make it to my list of favorite literary heroines, she only missed it by a hair, and only because I already had twelve and couldn’t justify making it any longer. And also because Louisa May Alcott’s moralizing-on-the-brink-of-preachiness style of writing has such a tendency to get under my skin that my irritation with her can bleed into my feelings toward Jo.

But Jo is still an old friend, and someone I admire. Her growth through “Little Women,” and then as she is seen in “Little Men” and “Jo’s Boys,” is both realistic and beautiful – she becomes a gracious and responsible woman without losing any of her strength, her independence, or her individuality. Watching her learn, with the help of her mother, how to control her temper has always been a favorite theme of mine throughout the first book. Watching her as a mother to her two boys, and pseudo-mother to a whole host of other children in the later books, is almost as delightful. Her struggles to accept Beth’s mortality, and the strength that she lends her family during that time; her fierce rebellion against growing up before deciding to turn it to her advantage; her hatred of society’s meaningless conventions … she is a dear, our Jo.

And, of course, her friendship with Laurie. O, that controversial topic. Let me state my position right off the bat:

I do not think Jo and Laurie should have been married.

There. I said it.

Now, hold off on the pitchforks for just a moment and let me explain (then you can all come charging at me again, if you like).

I don’t think Laurie ever really respected Jo enough as a person. He didn’t take her seriously. He was in love with her, that much is true, but emotion alone is not enough to build a strong and lasting relationship. As Jo herself said, he would have resented her writing after a while, because it took her away from him. He would have been embarrassed by her oddities and how awkward she was in society – or worse, he would have been amused by her, and treated her like an exotic possession, to be brought out to startle polite company.

And Jo didn’t take Laurie seriously, either. She never would have believed he truly meant anything he set out to do, and would have treated him with a calm condescension that would have infuriated and deflated his ambitions. She would have sensed that he relied on her as his conscience, and would have resented that. She would try to fit into what she thought he wanted her to be, and hated every minute of it, and ended by hating him.

At least, that’s how I see it. They were the best of friends, but not all best friends should marry. I suppose it made more sense to me as a kid, because, you see, my best friend was a boy, and almost everyone around us assumed that we would fall in love as we got older and get married. We knew, though, that such a relationship would never, ever work, that our temperaments were too alike in crucial areas and too different in others, that the very things that made our friendship so strong would destroy us if we were ever so stupid to fall in love.

And life proved us right, as we are both happily married to other people now, and still very good friends. Ethan was, in fact, the one that introduced me to my husband, and he was best man at our wedding.

Having said all that, I still cannot forgive Amy for marrying Laurie. Or for existing, for that matter. I have never been able to get over the way she destroyed Jo’s book. And I know she almost drowned/froze in the river afterward, but all that did was turn it around so that Jo was the bad guy and Amy the suffering victim. If she had killed a living pet of Jo’s nobody would have let her off so easily. Jo’s book was as alive to her and important as any pet could have been!

And then Europe. If she really was a good person by that point, instead of simply having all the outward appearances of goodness, she could have said to Aunt Carrol, “Thank you so much for your offer, Aunt, but Aunt March did always promise to take Jo and it isn’t right that she should lose this chance just because she was having a bad day due to me forcing her to do something she didn’t like and isn’t good at; please take her with you instead of me.” I hate how she was portrayed so sweet and good, and yet took everything Jo ought to have had, and calmly accepted it as her due. She knew that Laurie loved Jo, and had no way of knowing that Jo didn’t love him, but she fell for him anyway, never once thinking of her sister bearing all the family burdens at home. Selfish beast!

I’ve also never really liked Professor Bhaer, though I can accept him better in the latter two books. Still, though, I get the impression that LMA tossed him in because she knew her readers would never allow her to leave Jo unmarried. Not that I wanted Jo to be alone and single all her days (UNLESS SHE WANTED TO), but the professor was just … bland. There was nothing to him. Jo should have married someone strong, to match her, but gentle where she was sharp, and calm where she was excitable, and vice-versa. Someone with a rich sense of humor and a good view of the world. Someone – and this is very important – practical and fun, who could help her regain some of the spirit she lost during those hard years nursing Beth and after Beth died (while Amy was off in Europe stealing Laurie). Someone who viewed life as an adventure, not a philosophical treatise. Basically, she married her father, and I never liked Mr. March.

Poor Jo. She got cheated by LMA in so many ways. I can understand why so many people wanted her to marry Laurie, because of how gypped she was of a proper happy ending, but I still veer away there. Not Laurie, not a character LMA ever wrote (perhaps because she never met a man like that), but someone, somewhere, had to be a match for our beloved Jo.

And maybe he would have been able to squelch Amy, as nobody else was ever able to do!

What are your thoughts on the Jo-Laurie relationship? Did you like Professor Bhaer? Is boiling in oil too kind for Amy?

Books, influences, reading list

Two Giants

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I’ve been re-reading the Redwall series ever since Brian Jacques’ death. Thankfully, I own all of them but the most recent, so the biggest challenge in reading them has come from trying to remember the original published order instead of the chronological order I had them in on my shelves. Thank goodness for internet resources!

With the passing of Diana Wynne Jones, I’ve decided to intersperse the Redwall books (and the Flying Dutchman books, which I also own) with some of hers. I was going to start re-reading the Chrestomanci books, but I don’t own any of those, and somebody else at our library must have had the same idea, for the first two were checked out today when I looked. As was Howl’s Moving Castle, which was my second choice.

So I’m reading Enchanted Glass right now, and I have the collection of short stories Unexpected Magic to read as well. It’ll do until I can get my hands on the Chrestomanci books.

I came to Jones late – not until last year or the year before as a matter of fact. I’m not sure how I missed her as a kid – with my affection for Lloyd Alexander, E Nesbit, and others of like ilk, she would have been right up my alley.

Be that as it may, I have thoroughly enjoyed her books ever since I discovered them. Sometimes I have a hard time wrapping my head around what’s happening, and often the endings leave me feeling vaguely confused (or, in the case of Fire and Hemlock, completely and totally confused, and having to re-read the ending several times over to make any sense of it). But I like that. It’s not the same frustration I feel when I read Robin McKinley, and the first half is thrilling, I get bogged down in the second, and by the end I am so in the dark I barely remember the story I’m reading at all (though oddly enough I keep going back to McKinley, so there must be something compelling about that sort of writing, too).

I like having to think while I read. I like the sense of satisfaction when I’ve figured out the hidden twist (I was so very tickled when reading The Game because I got it before All Was Revealed); and I like, sometimes, knowing that the writer completely pulled the wool over my eyes.

The Redwall books are my comfort books. Not only have I read them a million times, they all follow the same pattern. I know exactly what is going to happen in each one, and reading them gives me a comforting sense that everything is right with the world, and whatever isn’t will work out eventually.

I’m so very, very sad that these two marvelous writers had to die at all, especially so close to each other, but I think that reading their books intertwined with each other is actually going to be very good, and very helpful for me as a writer, because it will be me a much clearer sense of their very different styles, and what each style accomplishes, and what I need to do in order to achieve a certain atmosphere for my books.

And hopefully in studying their styles I will start to break myself of my habit of over-using adjectives – something I didn’t even realize I did until I was working on the last few chapters of my LMM fanfic the other day, and discovered that I peppered it with adjectives all over the place. Not too bad for LMM fic, since she was also adjective-happy, but not a habit I want to indulge in for my own writings!

Are you familiar with Jacques and Wynne Jones? What do their books do for you? What are your “comfort” books, and what are your “mind-stretching” books? Which do you prefer in the Redwall series, hares or otters? And finally, what are some of your bad writing habits that you have a hard time shaking?

Books, families, favorites, fiction

Favorite Literary Families

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The Blythes (Meredith children) (LM Montgomery):

These were the very first families to come to mind when it came to best literary families. Anne and Gilbert are completely impossible always-loving, always-patient, always-kind, -understanding, -wise, -funny, etc, etc, parents. Of course, maybe that’s not impossible when you have a Susan Baker to do all your dirty work – the disciplining, the maintaining the household, the practical day-to-day details. Heck, I want a Susan Baker! Maybe then I can finally be the fun mom I’ve always wanted to be.

Be that as it may, Gilbert and Anne are awesome parents, and the children are just as winsome and lovable as their parents. I confess to a special fondness for Shirley, the poor unmentioned child through the latter books, who merits only a few sentences in Rainbow Valley, and one or two lines in Rilla of Ingleside.

The Merediths are not so lucky as the Blythe children – in Rainbow Valley their mother is dead and their father is neglectful. Things have looked up for them in Rilla, but through it all they have forged a funny, kind, loving friendship between themselves that is charming. Whenever I think of great sibling friendships, I think of these two families first.

The Seven-Day Magic families (Edward Eager):

I enjoy all of Eager’s families, but these two sets of siblings (and their families) especially touch me. John and Susan and their eccentric Grannie (who is AWESOME, by the way), and Barnaby, Abbie, and Fredericka with their funny and warm parents. I like that their parents/guardians are neither stupid nor unkind nor dead/otherwise absent, and that much of the magic revolves around them. Grannie gets her own adventure, with the children coming along but very definitely playing a side part; and Abbie’s entire wish has to do with her father. Very, very fun families.

The Melendys (Gone-Away Lake cousins) (Elizabeth Enright):

After listing Rush and Randy among my favorite heroes/heroines, you didn’t think I’d leave the rest of the family out, did you? The Melendys are such a delightful family – they bicker, make up, support each other, tease each other, and above all, enjoy each other’s company – even Father and Cuffy. And when a new member of the family joins them in “Then There Were Five,” it just gets even better.

As for the Gone-Away cousins … Julian and Portia always reminded me of my cousin Zachary and me. We were inseparable as kids, getting into trouble and out of it, always finding adventures everywhere we went, even occasionally including the younger ones in our mischief. I love finding literary relationships that mirror those in my own life! Alas, Zach and I never discovered anything so wonderful as Gone-Away Lake and Aunt Minnehaha and Uncle Pin, but we had some pretty marvelous adventures of our own.

The Stanton family (Susan Cooper):

My dad is one of eight children, and reading about Will’s large, loving, normal family always reminded me of Dad and my aunts and uncles. I especially appreciate how each of them has their own distinct personality, from artistic Max to motherly Barbara to vain Mary – and especially, of course, the musical genius Paul, among the others. The friendship between Stephen and Will, eldest and youngest, is beautiful, and the poignancy as it changes when Will comes more fully into his own as an Old One makes me catch my breath every time.

The Wimsey family (Dorothy L Sayers):

We don’t actually see much of the Wimseys after marriage and children, but what we do is delightful. The views on parenting and individuality in children expressed in the short story Tallboys has shaped much of my own views – and this only in a few lines! But that is part of Sayers’ genius, that she wraps truths up in such simple phrases and presents it so clearly that one doesn’t need more words than a few (something I obviously have yet to attain, given the length of these posts). And the relationship between Lord Peter and his wife (working very hard here not to spoil the outcome of the series for those who haven’t read it yet by giving away her name) is just perfect.

The Beresfords (Agatha Christie):

The marriage between Tommy and Tuppence was always described as a “joint venture,” and the way that they shared in everything, from government work to parenting to running a detective agency, has always charmed me. Carl and I have taken occasionally to describing our marriage as a “joint venture” (okay, that’s how I describe it, but he always agrees), and we too try to share in everything as an equal team – each with our own strengths, but always working together.

The Pevensies (CS Lewis):

Others have described the friendship between the Four far better than I could – if you really want to see why I love them so much, go read Andi Horton’s Valley Verdant or Kingdoms Come … or any of her works, really. I will content myself with saying that they each have a very special bond with each other, and it is precious to see.

The Rays (Willards) (Maud Hart Lovelace):

The Rays, with the exception of Margaret (since we had only two sisters), always reminded me of what my family might have been like had we lived back in that era and been just a little bit wealthier. Julia and Betsy bicker as children and grow up to be the firmest of friends. Their parents love them and guide them but also trust them to make their own decisions and own mistakes, and are always there to help them pick up the pieces and move along. Mr. Ray even allows the girls to join a different church when they are able to tell him why, telling them he is prouder of them for thinking it through and wanting to be part of a church than he is sad that they want to leave the church they grew up attending. In that same scene, he gives them one of the best pieces of parental advice ever: “You might as well learn right now, you two, that the poorest guide you can have in life is what people will say.”

As for the Willards, as seen in “Betsy’s Wedding,” they are just fun and real, and I love, love, love reading about Betsy’s trials and triumphs as a young bride!

The Marches (Bhaers) (Louisa May Alcott):

There are many things people could criticize Mr. and Mrs. March for in their parenting, but they always loved their children unconditionally and did their best to raise them according to their principles. I have always appreciated Marmee’s work with Jo in learning self-control. I do not like how they always coddled Amy – but then I’ve never been able to forgive Amy for destroying Jo’s book AND for getting to go to Europe just because Jo was having one bad day, so I would have liked to see her thoroughly squelched by her parents once or twice throughout the book. Ahem.

As for the Bhaers, the love they showered on even the most unlovable of children through “Little Men” and “Jo’s Boys” is a lovely example of unconditional love. And the fact that they go about life in their own way, regardless of what society thought, is also delightful. The brotherly love between Teddy and Rob is so sweet, too.

The Fairchilds (Tuttle cousins) (Rebecca Caudill):

Not many people, I find, are familiar with the delightful books about the Fairchilds, or “Saturday Cousins,” which introduces us to the Tuttles. And it really is a shame, because both families are charming. Quaint, of course, hearkening back to that “simpler era” so many nostalgically yearn toward, but with everything that still makes a good family today – loyalty, friendship, love, trust, and guidance.

That same thread, in fact, weaves through all of the families on my list here. The same traits that my family always strove toward, and that I now strive to accomplish with my own family. In many ways, I look toward parts of these families for guidance in my own journey through these difficult waters of raising children. I am so thankful that literature, through heroes, heroines, and families, has given us all something to look up to, and something to strive for.

I may never be an Eilonwy, or a mother like Anne Blythe, or a brilliant and sensitive detective like Lord Peter, but they all can provide me with guideposts along my own journey. And really, what more can we ask of these fictional friends?

And the end of my “Favorite Literary …” series (unless you all can think of another list of “favorites” I ought to write)! Did your favorite literary family make it to my list? Who would you have added? Who would you have left off? Does anyone in the entire world actually like Amy March?

Books, characters, favorites

Favorite Literary Heroes

elouisebates

As I did favorite literary heroines last week, I thought it only fair to turn my attention to the men this week! Ready? I promise, I will try to be less wordy this time around. So, without further ado, I give you …

Lord Peter Wimsey (Dorothy L Sayers):

I first met Lord Peter in a library in Pennsylvania, a few years after getting married. I’m ashamed to admit that, newlywed though I was, I promptly fell head-over-heels in love and have never recovered. It took me ages to reconcile myself to Harriet Vane! (Possibly partly due to the fact that the first book I read featuring her was Have His Carcasse, so I got to see all her anger and bitterness without having a clue why – which made her very unlikeable. I mean, if you’re going to be Lord Peter’s love interest, at least be worthy of him!) I did eventually come to accept Harriet, and amusingly enough, Gaudy Night is now one of my favorite books – one of those I would take to a desert island if I was going to be stranded there a year.

Sigh. Lord Peter. It’s a good thing I met him after I got married. And a good thing my husband already knows about all my literary crushes, else this post might be slightly awkward!

Taran of Caer Dallben (Fflewddur Fflam) (Lloyd Alexander):

Taran Wanderer is another one of those books I would want to take with me to a desert island. It is the ultimate bildungsroman, a perfect coming-of-age story. I absolutely love how Alexander takes all of Taran’s notions about heroism and honor and glory and turns them on their heads – and then how Taran has to do all that he dreamed about as a boy, only it has lost its appeal, and he wishes to be a simple Assistant Pig-Keeper again. I also appreciate how the one thing he wanted to be the most he couldn’t quite master – because isn’t that how life really is? We don’t always get to live out our dreams; sometimes we have to let go of what we want the most and accept what life gives us instead.

As for Fflewddur, he is just a delight to read about. His tendency to stretch the truth because reality is so dull, his valor and nobility, his boredom with being king of such a well-run kingdom … such a joy!

Eustace Scrubb (CS Lewis):

Don’t get me wrong, I like Peter, Edmund, Digory, Caspian, Rilian, and Tirian as well – but Eustace tops them all. Perhaps because he is such an Everyman – we can’t all identify with High King Peter the Magnificent, or King Caspian the Seafarer, etc, but who hasn’t been an obnoxious jerk at some point in their lives? And to be redeemed from that so beautifully – not to a kingship, as with Edmund’s redemption, but simply to living a better life as Eustace – is wonderful to read.

And, I like his practical outlook on life, and his occasional snarkiness even after he is un-dragoned.

Martin the Warrior (Brian Jacques):

We had Mariel among the heroines, and now Martin for the heroes. Martin is everything a hero should be – brave despite his small stature; noble; loyal; true-hearted … he even has a secret sorrow from his past! His friendship with Gonff the Prince of Mousethieves is one of my favorite friendships in all literature (even better than Sam and Frodo, because there’s no nonsense about master/servant between Martin and Gonff). Martin leaves a legacy that carries Redwall through every danger and strife. He may be a mouse, but he has the heart of a lion!

Roger Hamley (Elizabeth Gaskell):

Roger Hamley is another one of those characters I wistfully wish was real. Although he does remind me of my husband in many ways … ahem. He is good and kind; he is loyal and faithful; he is both gentle and strong; he sacrifices his own desires over and over again for the good of others. Along with Molly Gibson, the reader learns to love him gradually over the pages of Wives and Daughters, and I, at least, always wanted to shake him for his incredible stupidity in falling in love with the charming but shallow Cynthia instead of valiant and quiet Molly!

Gilbert Blythe (LM Montgomery):

For any girl who grew up reading and loving the Anne books, Gilbert Blythe automatically became her ideal beau (I think – at least I’ve never met anyone who loves Anne and not Gilbert). Despite the fact that Montgomery doesn’t, in fact, flesh his character out very much beyond the first book, he remains one of literature’s best heroes. Anne’s House of Dreams is one of my favorite books of the series, not just because it introduces Leslie Moore, who is such a rich and full character, but because of the deeper glimpses we get into Gil’s character. The struggle he goes through in having to choose between the right thing and what his (and his wife’s) heart wants … he is truly a good man. And he loved Anne so faithfully for so many years, even when it looked like there was no hope – who could resist that?

Henry Tilney (Mr. Knightley) (Jane Austen):

Will I lose all credibility if I confess that I’ve always found Mr. Darcy rather stupid? I do, however, positively adore Henry Tilney. His sense of humor, the fact that he is not above teasing Cathy, his close friendship with his sister, his sense of honor and duty … he is a real, three-dimensional person, and a fun one, at that.

Mr. Knightley is on here both for his goodness (he is a true gentleman) and for the fact that his love does not blind him to the flaws of his beloved. In fact, he loves her so much that he has to do everything he can to help her become the very best person she can be, even if she never loves him in return. That didn’t sound very romantic to me as a kid, but now? Swoon.

Rush Melendy (Elizabeth Enright):

Rush is the ideal older brother, I’ve always thought. He almost always makes time for Randy, even when he is exasperated by her; he listens to her; he shares her same impetuous nature. Plus, when given a choice of anything to do by himself on a Saturday afternoon, he chooses to go see an opera. Siegried, no less, which brings back happy memories for me of staying up late on Sunday nights with my sister and parents to watch the Ring trilogy on PBS – my sister and I had never thought much of opera before then, but Wagner fascinated us. So I can identify with Rush there! I’ve also always like how he overcomes his reluctance to teach piano in order to raise money for the war (especially the unexpected outcome of his lessons with the school bully). He, like all of Enright’s characters, is a very human, very likable kid.

Will Stanton (Susan Cooper):

At age eleven, Will Stanton discovers he is not a normal mortal boy at all, but the last-born of the Old Ones, and is thus swept into a life of danger, adventure, and sorrow. Yet through it all, Will maintains his practical outlook on life, and his humanity even when he has to make the hard, cold choices. The Dark is Rising series is one of my long-time favorites, not just for the Arthurian thread that runs through it, but for Will himself. The youngest of a large family, friend to the Pendragon, quester for the Signs, nemesis of the Dark Rider … yet what makes him such a relatable hero is his utter normality through it all, the fact that you feel, but for the odd gift of being born an Old One, he could be anyone you know – the boy next door, maybe, or even you yourself. (And his attempts to learn the Welsh language always make me giggle, every time I read them!)

James Tarleton (Patricia C Wrede (and Caroline Stevermer):

In my heroines post, I mentioned how much I relate to Kate. Yet oddly enough, I see nothing of my husband in Thomas. Instead, he is very much a James. Almost everything about James makes me think of Carl, especially in The Grand Tour, when Kate is exhausted and weary and says how much she misses English toasted cheese, and James merely comments that she should get some rest, and then she’ll feel better. That is exactly the sort of thing Carl would do. Of course, Kate thinks about how glad she is that she isn’t married to James, as it would be very squelching to have a husband like that, but somehow, Carl and I get along just fine as we are.

Brother Cadfael (Hugh Beringar) (Ellis Peters):

I blame Brother Cadfael for giving me a romanticized view of monastic life in the medieval age. Not that Peters whitewashed anything (at least, I don’t think she did), but Brother Cadfael made being a monk seem AWESOME. You could have close communion with God and still have a hand in everything that happened in your corner of the world. Nothing happened without Cadfael knowing about it, and certainly his understanding of grace, hope, and love were advanced far beyond his day and age.

Hugh was of a different sort, but just as terrific. As under-sheriff and then sheriff, he recognized his liege’s flaws, yet stayed by him loyally. He upheld the law to the letter, and conveniently turned a blind eye to Cadfael when morality and justice didn’t quite match the law. He could not go against the law himself, but he could let his friend do so without a qualm. Cadfael and Hugh’s friendships is one of the best in all mystery literature, not least because it is most definitely not Holmes-and-Watson. Hugh is not the idiot sidekick, but a worthy detective and human being in his own right.

Wil Ohmsford (Terry Brooks):

The Elfstones of Shannara was the first Brooks I ever read. I got it from the library without ever having heard anything about Shannara or Terry Brooks; I picked it out based solely on the cover art and the fact that “elfstones” sounded really cool (I was young at the time!). Despite the fact that much of it was probably too old for me, I devoured it and loved it (the only other Shannara book our library had at the time was Druid of Shannara, which meant that for the next several years I bounced between both Shannara series, never knowing for sure which era each book I discovered was going to be set in, and getting completely confused until I had finally read all of them and could start setting them in order in my mind … proof of good writing, that I didn’t just give up out of frustration!). Wil, I liked not just for his part-human, part-elven heritage, which was a fairly new concept to me at the time and seemed very daring. It was his reluctance to do his part of the quest – not just because he didn’t think he was worthy (although that was part of it), but because he was morally opposed to what he was being asked to do (kill), and yet it was the only way to save the world, and he the only one to do it. That battle that he went through was what really drew me in, and what kept me coming back to the Shannara books even though I could never keep straight who went where and what happened when!

Well, that wasn’t quite so lengthy as the heroines. As with last week, which ones do you agree with, which ones would you have left off the list, and who would you add?

Next week, I think, will be favorite literary families (which will most likely be a much shorter list). Will your favorite be on it?

characters, favorites, heroines

Favorite Literary Heroines

elouisebates

I’ve been seeing a few posts around the blog-o-sphere lately compiling a list of people’s favorite heroes, heroines, couples, families, you name it. Well, thought I, I have my favorites too. Why not share? I was only going to do ten, but I found I just couldn’t cut it past twelve (plus a few who are so closely connected to each other I just put them in the same entry).

Ready? Here goes!


Eilonwy, Princess of Llyr (Lloyd Alexander):

When I think of favorite literary heroines, Eilonwy is the first to come to mind. Which is appropriate, really, as I cannot imagine the outspoken princess ever taking second place to anyone, for any reason. If I tried, I am sure her response would be, “Louise of Bates House, I am not speaking to you!”

Eilonwy is delightful for so many reasons. She’s spunky. She doesn’t sit around and wait to be rescued – in fact, she is quite often the one doing the rescuing. She tells the hero exactly what he needs to hear, and never pampers his ego. She is brave and strong, but realistic, too – she is frightened at times, and mourns the losses of those she loves. She can be unexpectedly kind, too, which is a nice trait in a heroine.

She can use magic, but gives it up to fulfill a greater destiny. She can ride and fight and quest (though I have to wonder how and where she found armor and weapons to fit her small stature in The High King). And though she is beautiful, she is happiest when dressed in practical, comfortable clothing, and doesn’t really care about her appearance at all. Ah, Eilonwy. If and when my girls get to the “princess” stage, I am going to encourage them to be a princess like you!

Mara Jade (Mirax Terrik) (Timothy Zahn and Michael A Stackpole):

These two might strike some as a little odd (or at the very least, they show my geek side), as they both come from the Star Wars Extended Universe novels. The beautiful and deadly Mara’s first appearance is in the Thrawn trilogy, while Mirax and her smuggler’s ship Pulsar Skate grace the pages of the X-Wing series. I love them both.

Not just because they get to fly (and fight) circles around the boys of the Star Wars universe. Not just because they, along with Leia and some others, provide great heroes for the females of this world who happen to like Star Wars (there are more of us out there than many realize). Not just because they are both beautiful and smart.

It’s for all of these reasons, and a few others. They are strong and brave, and yet still vulnerable at times and in places. They aren’t perfect. Mara is about as flawed as you can get, but she fights to become better, to overcome the tragedies in her past. She doesn’t wallow. They neither of them are all about the angst – they are much more apt to go blow something up instead of burst into tears.

That’s my kind of heroine.

Anne Shirley (LM Montgomery):

Is there any little girl who didn’t grow up loving Anne? (Aside from little girls who grew up on PEI and had her shoved down their throats so much they can’t stand her – I’m thinking of you, Andrea!) she was an orphan. She had red hair. She was spunky and smart. She had a ferocious temper. She lived on a beautiful, magical island with two wonderful guardians. She had an amazing imagination. She got into, and out of, scrapes with charming regularity. She had a best friend who adored her. She chased her dreams and found them. She had Gilbert Blythe. Need I say more?

Miranda “Randy” Melendy (Elizabeth Enright):

Thimble Summer is the best known of Enright’s books, and I do like Garnet of the long wheat-colored braids; I have also always been tremendously fond of Portia from the Gone-Away books. Randy, though … possibly because she is in four books instead of one or two … Randy has always had a special spot in my heart.

She is the second-youngest in a family of four. Her older sister Mona is beautiful and poised, a talented actress. Rush, one step above Randy, is a brilliant mathematician and remarkable pianist. Randy? She likes to draw and dance, but she always feels inadequate in her older siblings’ shadows. Yet she doesn’t mope about it – for the most part, she just admires them intensely, and pursues her own path.

I always felt like my older sister was good at everything, while I was just the clumsy little sister (just like Randy – although I never fell out of a boat in Central Park, or ran my bike into the back of a bus) (I have, however, sprained my ankle ice skating). Like Randy, though, I tried not to let it affect me too much; my parents always told me to focus on what I liked, instead of always thinking my sister could do it better. Which explains the writing!

I think Enright’s illustrations also affected my fondness for Randy. That mop of curly dark hair, especially when she’s leaping and pirouetting, that snub nose … she just looks delightful. More than that, she looks like the kind of girl I would have wanted for a best friend when I was ten and eleven. What more could you ask from a heroine?

Anthea (Bobbie) (E. Nesbit):

I have searched and searched, but I can’t find Anthea’s last name anywhere. She is the second-oldest of the Five Children and It children, whom I first met, actually, in The Phoenix and the Carpet. Nicknamed “Panther” by her siblings, Anthea is smart, kind, practical, and thoughtful. One of my favorite parts of Phoenix is when the carpet has taken the Lamb away, and Anthea makes Cyril hit her hand with the poker so she has an excuse for her tears when she goes up to Mummy’s room. Bravery, practicality, self-sacrifice – all in one simple scene.

Bobbie from The Railway Children is the same sort. When she find out by accident what happened to her father, she joins forces with her mother to keep the secret from the younger ones. When she wistfully wishes to the injured Jim that she was a boy, he reassures her that she is just fine as she is (did anyone else want the two of them to get married when they grew up?). And that final scene where she sees her father coming off the train and runs to him … I havenever been able to read that without sobbing desperately. Oh yes, I love Bobbie.

Elizabeth Warrington “Betsy” (or Betsye or Bettina) Ray (Maud Hart Lovelace):

Betsy is a bit like Anne to me – how can you not love her? It always saddens me to hear of people who did not grow up with Betsy, Tacy, and Tib. I’ve always appreciated so much that Lovelace takes us from when Betsy is five all the way to when she’s a young bride. I grew up right along with Betsy and the Crowd, and they were all so real to me, from mischievous Winona to demure Carney to gallant Cab to that idiot Phil Brandish. And Joe, of course! Betsy and Joe are one of my all-time favorite book romances.

Betsy is a writer, and wrote from the time she was a child (just like me!). She was also a thoroughly normal girl, concerned about her looks, her popularity, BOYS, family, being a better friend and person … I first read about her struggles and triumphs as a newlywed when Iwas a newlywed, and I felt like finally, I wasn’t alone in trying to figure out all this living-with-another-person business!

Plus, she lived during one of my favorite time periods in history. Her clothes … oh, I’ve always been so grateful to Lovelace for providing such rich detail of what it was like to live back then!

Mariel Gullwhacker (Brian Jacques):

What’s that? You weren’t expecting to find a mouse on this list? Silly you! Mariel whacks gulls and searats and all sorts of vermin. She doesn’t ask for pretty compliments, but if you don’t show her respect you just might fight a knotted rope between your ears! She is as brave as a badger and loves her father beyond all reason. She is my kind of mouse!

Anne Elliot (Jane Austen):

I like Elizabeth Bennet, but my absolute favorite of Austen’s heroines is Anne Elliot ofPersuasion. Not impossibly good, like Fanny of Mansfield Park, but steadfast, noble, and quietly brave. She has one of the finest characters in all literature – truly someone to aspire toward! Persuasion is my favorite Austen novel (with Emma a close second), and Anne is the main reason.

Well, Anne and Lyme. Someday I will travel to England and visit Lyme!

Elizabeth Ann “Betsy” (Dorothy Canfield Fisher):

Another Betsy makes the list! This one from Understood Betsy, one of my favorite childhood books. She starts out horribly smothered, but by partway through, Betsy becomes another one of those strong heroines I love so well. Her resourcefulness is what really draws me to her, though – her constant question of “What would Cousin Ann do?” and then figuring out the best solution to her problem – so remarkable! How she rescues little Molly from the Wolf Pit … how she learns to overcome her math phobia (oh, how well I empathized with her difficulties there!) … her plan for helping the little boy at school get adopted … most especially how she figures out how to get herself and Molly home from the fair after they’ve been abandoned there. At only ten years old, no less!

My mother’s family is from Vermont, and so I think I was drawn to Betsy even more because she went to live on a farm in Vermont. Reading descriptions of the old farmhouse made me think of my great-grandparents’ home, which in turn always made me feel cozy and comfortable while reading Betsy’s exploits.

Kate, Lady Schofield (Caroline Stevermer (and Patricia C Wrede)):

The Cecy and Kate books, though I didn’t discover them until after I was married, have become some of my all-time favorite YA lit. I suspect, had I read them when I was a teen, Cecy would have been my favorite. Her impulsive behavior, her “we must do something” attitude, her not-always-justified self-confidence … all traits that would have appealed greatly to my teenage (or younger) self.

As an adult, however, I found myself empathizing much more with the more cautious and clumsy Kate. Oh, especially her clumsiness! The fact that she never feels herself adequate for anything until the crisis comes, at which point she stops thinking about herself entirely and simply does what is necessary reminds me, in my most honest moments, so much of myself. When she doesn’t care one whit about what people think about her, but panics over the thought of disappointing her husband or damaging his reputation? Oh yes, all me. Yet she always, always rises to the occasion, which is not so much me but what I want to be.

Curiously enough, though, the man I married is more a James than a Thomas … but that’s a topic for another post!

Tuppence Beresford (Agatha Christie):

Thanks to my mother, I began my love affair with Christie’s books at age twelve. Poirot, naturally, was my favorite at first … until I met Tommy and Tuppence.

Dear, terrier-like Tuppence, with her good instincts and plans that should never work yet somehow always do? She delights me. As detectives go, Miss Marple is now probably my favorite of all time, yet Tuppence still remains one of my favorite heroines, simply for her outlook on life. And I love the fact that she and Tommy look upon their marriage as a great adventure, and a joint partnership. That’s the kind of mentality Carl and I have always tried to have for our marriage!

Lucy Pevensie (Tarkheena Aravis and Jill Pole) (CS Lewis):

I could not – could not – just pick one favorite from Narnia! I know many people don’t think Lewis was very fair in his treatment of women in Narnia, but these three have been examples of bravery, spunk, determination, faith, and strength since I was a very little girl. Valiant and loving Lucy, wood-wise and independent Jill, fearless and honest Aravis … Lucy follows her heart when no one else believes; Jill travels through bleak lands to rescue a prince and fights by the side of a king; Aravis leaves privilege, comfort, and everything she knows for a life of freedom. I would be proud to call any of these three strong girls friend!

Whew! This turned out to be longer than I expected … and I’m sure, as soon as I hit “publish,” I’ll think of more I should have added. Oh well!

Next up with be my top twelve favorite literary heroes. Ooh …

Did your favorite heroines make the list? Who would you have included that I didn’t? Who would you have left off? Opinions welcome, the stronger the better!

children, fantasy, influences, writing

Influences: Edward Eager & E Nesbit

elouisebates

I put these two writers together because of how inextricably their writing styles are connected in my mind. That, and because I only discovered E Nesbit through Edward Eager’s books.

I’m not sure how old I was when Mom helped me find this great-looking book in our local library – green and white hardcover, with a front figure who was half girl, half knight (and a very smug cat in the background). It looked terrific, so we brought it home to read.

That book was Half Magic, by Edward Eager, and not just me, but my mother and sister fell in love with the four siblings, who squabbled and worked together and had fun and were thoroughly human. The magic was perfect, too – not only was it not magic that just came easily to them, they didn’t even understand its rules. As Eager himself put it, first it thwarted them, then they had to learn how to thwart it, and in the end, when they had finally learned how to work it well, they gave it up for something better.

When we went back to the library the next week, we promptly checked out all the rest of Eager’s books, and loved almost all of them just as much. I’ve never been quite as fond of Magic or Not? or The Well-Wishers, but even those I’ve grown to appreciate more as I’ve gotten older. Knight’s Castle led me to read Ivanhoe at age twelve (no easy task, but well worth the effort), and I remember building Lego castles to imitate Torquilstone for months after.

In each of his books, Eager’s children reference reading E Nesbit’s books. This, naturally, led me to search for some of her works, as well. Mom was familiar with the Bastable books, but not the others. I think the first one I read (also borrowed from the local library) was Wet Magic, a solid red hardcover with no dustjacket, looking alluringly thick and mysterious. From there I discovered The Phoenix and the Carpet, and all the rest of her wonderful works.

Confession: I actually prefer Eager to Nesbit. I know she was a pioneer, and I admire her tremendously, but sometimes I feel there’s almost too much of a hard edge to her stories. Eager’s are a bit more light-hearted, and I enjoy that – though that’s a matter of personal taste, and I can certainly see why someone else might prefer Nesbit for that very reason.

My favorite Nesbit book, as it was for the children of Half Magic, is The Enchanted Castle, and when my parents got me the hardcover with Paul O Zelinsky’s stunning illustrations for a birthday present one year, I was thrilled (I think it might have been one of the first hardcovers I ever owned – if not the first, then one of the very earliest). I still have that book, displayed prominently on my shelves.

Through Eager and Nesbit, I learned the fun in reading – and writing – real people, as opposed to caricatures. I learned that reading about children arguing and teasing each other, and making up, and being loyal to each other through it all, just like my sister and my cousins and me, was delightful. I learned that one didn’t have to fall through a rabbit hole, walk through a wardrobe, or travel by tornado to find magic – it just might be lurking around the next corner. One should always keep ones eyes open, because one never knew when magic might happen.

And really, what better way to live than in that kind of delightful anticipation? I might never have found actual magic (by the way, what a great title for a book – Actual Magic), but I certainly found the world a very magical place all on its own, just by keeping my eyes open to its possibilities.

I’ve always found it very sad that there was no successor to Eager, as he was successor to Nesbit. Others have imitated, but nobody else has come close to matching their style, their wit, and their fun.

I’ve always had a sneaking hope that maybe, someday, I might be able to take up that mantle. After all, if I benefited so much from reading them, oughtn’t I help point the way back to them for future generations of readers, as well?

Are you familiar with Edward Eager and/or E Nesbit? If so, which author did you find first, and which do you prefer? Do you remember what books that meant a great deal to you as a child looked like? What were some of your earliest favorites, and how did they shape your perception of the world?