Watership Down-- Richard Adams

My worlds collided last week in a great little discussion group on housing rights. We watched a snip from the inspiring documentary "A Village Called Versailles" and read about preserving Asian enclaves and immigrant neighborhoods in the face of gentrification and anti-immigrant ordinances. We talked about opportunities for people to band together to fight developers and local government... but the whole time I was thinking about rabbits. Why? Because at the time I was halfway through Watership Down.

This is more a testament to the depth of the latter than my superficial appreciation for the former (at least I hope so). I just hope no one was turned off this book after seeing the scary cartoon.

For those who have not had the pure joy of reading it, Watership Down is the story of a group of rabbits who flee a warren destroyed by developers. They pass through some strange places, encountering other lapine communities with radically different social structures, making for some clever allegory.

Above all, however, Watership is a classic adventure story, with elements reminiscent of folk mythology and Homer's epics: heroism, prophecy, fraternity, and the journey home. It was only after this discussion group that I began to appreciate a third dimension of the story-- how to unite a community, who decides and speaks for a group, and sustaining a social organization are classic themes in community organizing also explored in the book.

In short, it's worth discovering, rereading, and passing on.

Third Year at Malory Towers-- Enid Blyton

This book was loaned to me by the wonderful D, an Enid Blyton fan from a tender age. She has fond memories of the Malory Towers series, though she handed this book to me with the caveat, “You know, it’s kind of weird. And British.”

This book is definitely amusing. It would be wrong to evaluate it in the same way I have for other books here—it’s old-school, and yes… very British. I love the way people talk, and say things like “harem-scarem” and “don’t let us.” And they call their sleeping quarters “dormies.” It’s a good thing I didn’t read these books when I was young and impressionable, or I would definitely have talked like this and suffered ridicule.

The characterizations are also awesome. First is the classroom teacher, Miss Peters, who the students describe as “hearty”—like it’s a bad thing. That is, when the author is not not describing her as straight-up “mannish.” I think those are the only two words to describe Miss Peters, actually. Then we have new student Wilhelmina, who goes by “Bill,” and she is a tomboy who loves horses. Even before she shows up, it comes to the students’ attention that she has seven brothers, and one girl remarks, “well, she must be half-boy herself.” Awesome! The other new student is Zerelda, who is American. (Who named a kid Zerelda, I do not know.) Anyway, Zerelda prances around fancying herself a future film star and, in a twist of irony for American readers, the students make fun of her accent. Awesome again! Oh yes, and Zerelda is demoted a grade because the American school system failed her and she is not used to having to work hard. Can I get a third awesome?

The other students are caricatures—they each have a quality and a talent, as well as a designated friend they pal around with. Apparently the main character, Darrell Rivers, has a temper, but I didn’t really see much of that in this book. Everyone seems to be pretty happy all the time.

There is something remarkably soothing about this book. It’s pleasant and well-paced, and it’s comforting to know that nothing truly bad will ever happen to these girls at Malory Towers (D, correct me if I am wrong and the school burns down in the last book or something). It’s safe, predictable, engaging, and—frankly—a nice change from some of the rather intense stuff I’ve been reading lately. I could totally see myself getting really into the series as a kid and wishing my parents would send me to boarding school in Cornwall.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn- Betty Smith

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn came with me on a cross-country flight. On the plane and in the airport, three different people came up to me and asked if I was enjoying the book, because they remembered reading it when they were young. For many, the book is not only about the experience of childhood, but part of childhood itself.

Not so with me. I first attempted this book as a 12 year-old; I abandoned it because the first scene was just too rosy—it opens on 11 year-old Francie enjoying a glorious summer Saturday. She buys penny candy (“oh! The glorious things I could buy with this nickel!”), checks out a library book (“I am reading every book in the library, starting at the beginning of the alphabet, oh how I wish I could read all the books in the world!”), and surveys her neighborhood from the fire escape of her home (“isn’t Brooklyn the most wonderful place you could ever imagine?”).

At the onset, I was irritated by Francie’s naivete. But then I felt like a huge jerk, because 50 pages in I realized that Francie’s childlike wonder was illustrated largely so readers could observe its near-instant evaporation. The charming father slowly drinks himself to death, the hard-working mother barely conceals her favoritism for the other child, and Francie grows up feeling painfully alone. She plays “North Pole” with the family when they have no more food in the house. She receives poor grades in school when she writes about her life and a teacher lectures her that “poverty, starvation and drunkenness are ugly subjects to choose.” She is nearly abducted by a rapist.

There is a hard edge to the narrative, but it is not without sweetness— the grim bits are folded in the golden honey of nostalgia, by turns poignant and cloying. Ultimately, I was won over by Francie—as the story wore on and she was faced the premature responsibilities and disappointments of adulthood, I was relieved when her old sentimentality and sensitivity bobbed to the surface. I was also touched by Francie’s complicated and yet kindred relationship with her mother, and their shared resolve to keep the family alive.

The most compelling character, however, is Brooklyn itself. The book offers a window into early 20th century New York City, the indignities of tenement life, the troubled diversity of immigrant neighborhoods, and the anticipation of the Great War. The horrors and wonders of Brooklyn are what make this book, particularly for those who know and love Williamsburg.

The ending of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn seems facile but, frankly, had the book ended 20 pages earlier it would have destroyed me. I am therefore willing to forgive the dubious/ highly convenient change in circumstances that allows Francie’s family to pull through. This plot resolution is essential, because otherwise this book would be called A Tree Tries Desperately to Survive in Brooklyn and Tragically Fails.