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Stuff I'm Reading

 Faulkner had Yoknapatawpha County; Elizabeth Strout returns again and again to certain fictional parts of Maine.


My favorite village is the world of Ezra Jack Keats's imagination. This world seems to be Brooklyn, or something like Brooklyn. You get a hill for sledding, a shadowy area for big kids, a large apartment complex, an alley, a mailbox. That's all you need.

The main figure in Keats's world is Peter, a little boy who (famously) stores a snowball in his pocket; storing the snowball will mean "fun on another day." Peter has certain struggles: evading the big mean boys, writing and mailing a letter, learning to whistle, coping with his sister Suzy. Peter also has a compelling sidekick, Archie, whose main drama involves bonding with, then managing, an especially spirited cat. Additionally, there is the mysterious Amy, a friend of Peter's; Peter invites Amy to a party, and this taboo-busting gesture leads to a schoolyard scandal. ("Peter, what are you doing? NO GIRLS ALLOWED!!!")

A main theme in these books is playacting; children learn by constructing elaborate fantasies, and the fantasies seem to sprout up from thin air. Peter wills himself toward maturity by aping his own father. Archie wins fans by "becoming" an old man; this talent leads to Archie's staging a big-budget production with costumes and props. Notably, Peter redirects his big-brother frustration toward something constructive; he uses empty slippers to invent a prank involving "the Invisible Man."

When I'm tired, I can't always focus on a novel--but, always, I can focus on a Keats picture book. I'm amazed by the subtlety; for example, Archie at one point decides not to feel exasperated by his cat, but instead to consider the cat's motivations. Archie's ensuing epiphany is surprising and inevitable and thoroughly correct. When Peter feels frustrated with his sister, Keats doesn't moralize or pass judgment; he dramatizes the frustration, then shows how a small change is sometimes possible.

Finally, I'm obsessed with Keats's opening sentences, which are wonderfully authoritative and far, far from anything resembling self-indulgence. "I'm writing a letter to Amy...." "On his way to meet Peter, Archie saw someone new...." "Look what I found....motorcycle goggles!"

I just think Keats was a genius.
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