I have new admiration for the children's writer Kate DiCamillo:
We left in the middle of the night.
Granny woke me up. She said, "The day of reckoning has arrived. The hour is close at hand. We must leave immediately."
It was three a.m.
We went out to the car and the night was very dark, but the stars were shining brightly.
Oh, there were so many stars!
And I noticed that some of the stars had arranged themselves into a shape that looked very much like someone with a long nose telling a lie--the Pinocchio constellation!
I pointed out the starry Pinocchio to Granny, but she was not at all interested. "Hurry, hurry," said Granny. "There is no time for stargazing. We have a date with destiny."
So I got in the car and we drove away.
I did not think to look behind me.
How could I have known that I was leaving for good?
I thought that I was caught up in some middle-of-the-night idea of Granny's and that when the sun came up, she would think better of the whole thing.
This has happened before.
Granny has many middle-of-the-night ideas.
This passage is from the almost-beginning of "Louisiana's Way Home," a new kids' book worth reading. Kate DiCamillo began writing when she moved to a cold and snowy state and had to find a way to entertain herself through her first new-location winter. She says she enjoys showing kids how (most likely) they will be just fine. How life requires some scrappiness and ingenuity and problem-solving.
The first sentence in the passage could be quoted in writing classes: It's alarming and plainspoken, and it demands that you continue reading.
The scene becomes stranger and more absorbing. A child with a possibly deranged grandmother, a grandmother who speaks of "days of reckoning" and "dates with destiny." What is admirable is that DiCamillo is "painting" the grandmother in confident strokes; she doesn't need to claim that the grandmother is eccentric, but can instead illustrate the eccentricity with a few swift lines of dialogue.
I also like that the child, Louisiana, does not offer a direct response to her grandmother. Instead--perhaps to cope with the strangeness of the situation--she finds her mind wandering. She stares at the sky and spots the Big Dipper--which she believes is really an illustration of Pinnochio's growing nose. (How often have you spoken urgently to a child, only to discover that the contents of the child's mind are so, so different from what you would wish? And how often do kids construct stories that conform in no way to "received wisdom"? Louisiana's image of Pinnochio seems to suggest that this child may be interested in storytelling, and in the difference between truth and fiction.)
Most stories are journey stories, and this one doesn't waste time. We are on the road, ready to meet destiny. We are hooked.
The narration remains as brisk and surprising as you might expect. A virtuoso performance.
Also: a novel that appeared on few, if any, Best of 2018 lists....as far as I know.
We left in the middle of the night.
Granny woke me up. She said, "The day of reckoning has arrived. The hour is close at hand. We must leave immediately."
It was three a.m.
We went out to the car and the night was very dark, but the stars were shining brightly.
Oh, there were so many stars!
And I noticed that some of the stars had arranged themselves into a shape that looked very much like someone with a long nose telling a lie--the Pinocchio constellation!
I pointed out the starry Pinocchio to Granny, but she was not at all interested. "Hurry, hurry," said Granny. "There is no time for stargazing. We have a date with destiny."
So I got in the car and we drove away.
I did not think to look behind me.
How could I have known that I was leaving for good?
I thought that I was caught up in some middle-of-the-night idea of Granny's and that when the sun came up, she would think better of the whole thing.
This has happened before.
Granny has many middle-of-the-night ideas.
This passage is from the almost-beginning of "Louisiana's Way Home," a new kids' book worth reading. Kate DiCamillo began writing when she moved to a cold and snowy state and had to find a way to entertain herself through her first new-location winter. She says she enjoys showing kids how (most likely) they will be just fine. How life requires some scrappiness and ingenuity and problem-solving.
The first sentence in the passage could be quoted in writing classes: It's alarming and plainspoken, and it demands that you continue reading.
The scene becomes stranger and more absorbing. A child with a possibly deranged grandmother, a grandmother who speaks of "days of reckoning" and "dates with destiny." What is admirable is that DiCamillo is "painting" the grandmother in confident strokes; she doesn't need to claim that the grandmother is eccentric, but can instead illustrate the eccentricity with a few swift lines of dialogue.
I also like that the child, Louisiana, does not offer a direct response to her grandmother. Instead--perhaps to cope with the strangeness of the situation--she finds her mind wandering. She stares at the sky and spots the Big Dipper--which she believes is really an illustration of Pinnochio's growing nose. (How often have you spoken urgently to a child, only to discover that the contents of the child's mind are so, so different from what you would wish? And how often do kids construct stories that conform in no way to "received wisdom"? Louisiana's image of Pinnochio seems to suggest that this child may be interested in storytelling, and in the difference between truth and fiction.)
Most stories are journey stories, and this one doesn't waste time. We are on the road, ready to meet destiny. We are hooked.
The narration remains as brisk and surprising as you might expect. A virtuoso performance.
Also: a novel that appeared on few, if any, Best of 2018 lists....as far as I know.
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