Skip to main content

Growing Up

 For a long time, I've wanted to write about a kind of "B Team" Beverly Cleary book--"Strider"--and to give my enthusiastic recommendation.

"Strider" is a journey story. Our hero, Leigh Botts, is a few years older than he was in "Dear Mr. Henshaw." He meets an abandoned dog--"Strider"--and begins running on the beach. This leads to the beginnings of a track career, early attempts at dating, and a renewed interest in writing. That's all.

Once again, Cleary dazzles just by paying close attention to ordinary life. Leigh is not a superhero. His problems couldn't be more average. He feels irritated when his sloppy dad probes him for information on his mother; he, Leigh, knows and resents that he is being used as a kind of "dating spy." Cleary touches on class: Leigh meets a much wealthier kid and slowly starts to discover that the kid deals with loneliness in his own way. (Everyone has an inner mess, or several messes, to cope with.) Also, Cleary describes the special hell of working with an uninspired English teacher; Leigh's depressed homeroom "superior" thinks that her job is just to discourage kids from writing "gonna," in all contexts, and we can imagine/recall what this sad experience is like.

Quiet, compelling, plausible -- a nice follow-up to "Henshaw." The Paul Zelinsky drawings are also a treat.



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...