Jerry Pinkney: "Puss in Boots"

A favorite character of mine is Puss in Boots. This cat belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, who basically has nothing else to go with his name.

Some might feel despair, but Puss in Boots uses his brain. He begins catching rabbits and presenting them to the King, and he claims the rabbits are gifts from the Marquis.

Then the cat's ambitions grow. You can't get anywhere without a good suit. Puss has the Marquis take a few laps in a nearby pond. Then he, Puss, assails the King: "My lord has gone swimming, and someone has stolen his fabulous clothing!" The King--recalling the rabbit-gifts--provides the Marquis with a new set of duds.

It's these duds that allow the Marquis to feel emboldened; soon, the Marquis is speaking casually with a Princess. Meanwhile, Puss runs off to a nearby palace, discovers the owner is a shape-shifting ogre, tricks the ogre into becoming a mouse, and eats the mouse. Now, the Marquis has a home for his Princess, and for himself.

This is a story about "industry" and "savoir faire." Should we attack mice? Maybe not. But perhaps the act can be forgiven when we recall the nastiness of the ogre.

Jerry Pinkney's version--featured here--is as colorful and lively as anything else that Pinkney has done.

Comments

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...

The Death of Bergoglio

It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog