Skip to main content

Wild Things

I'd argue that Arnold Lobel's story "Alone" had a major impact on James Marshall. "Alone" has Frog going off to contemplate his own great happiness. Toad--the worrier--thinks something is wrong. Toad's anxieties grow, disaster ensues, and Frog repairs all damage by giving a speech about his occasional wish for solitude, and about how being alone is not the same as being angry.

This story seems to have led to Marshall's "The Misunderstanding," and I'd say it also led to "The Secret Club." 

In "The Secret Club," Martha spots George sneaking off. "Where to?" she asks, and George, unwisely, states that he is headed for his secret club. Martha doesn't hear every word in that sentence. "I'll join." And yet: "You can't, it's a SECRET club." And yet: "George, you can let ME join you...."

This goes on and on, until Martha forces her way in. George is seated at a desk, conducting official business as president of the Martha Fan Club. "I hope you learned your lesson," says George, gently. And--sheepishly--Martha nods.

Lobel and Marshall have one theme: We can never really know other people. But the two writers have two approaches to this theme. Lobel presents his evidence in a gentle, realistic way. For Marshall, the emphasis is on the heightened, the comical, the ludicrous.

I like both approaches. (Right now, my heart is really with Marshall.) I do wish that Marshall and Lobel had collaborated on something--anything--before both men died.

*P.S. Correction. I just discovered Lobel's "Alone" came out AFTER "The Secret Club." (Both Lobel and Marshall were publishing in the seventies, with some Martha stories following some Toad stories, and vice versa.) I do know Marshall includes Lobel--explicitly--in the story "The Special Gift." I'd say the current of influence ran both ways.

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...