Skip to main content

George and Martha

I have no idea if James Marshall read Arnold Lobel's work; I have a feeling he did.

In 1979, Lobel published "Alone," in which Frog worries Toad by going off to sit on his own. Toad thinks Frog has some dark secret. In fact--in a gentle Lobel-ish twist--Frog reveals that he is really quite happy, and wanted just to sit and reflect on his happiness and on his great friendship.

So sweet, so sweet, yadda yadda. But I wonder if James Marshall was consciously rewriting "Alone," in 1986, when he published "The Misunderstanding." 

Here, George the hippo reveals he wants to be alone. Martha is hurt. She goes off and mopes. Eventually, she picks up her saxophone and entertains herself, and she becomes so engrossed that she doesn't hear the phone when George calls to reconcile. George concludes that Martha is royally pissed. We might expect a reunion, but that's not how the story ends. It ends abruptly--subversively!--with this misunderstanding.

I appreciate the warmth and heart in Lobel's work, but I like Marshall's wickedness. Sometimes, there are weird, awkward misunderstandings. This reflects life as I know it.

Who kcan imagine what interesting fights might have occurred if Marshall and Lobel had ever tried to collaborate?

P.S. In one of Marshall's pictures, you can see several books. (Marshall has drawn these books.) The authors on the spines are "Jane Austen," "Tomi Ungerer," "Sendak," "Lobel" ........

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...