Liars and Saints

 In a way, "Dear Mr. Henshaw" is a companion novel to the Ramona Quimby series. Leigh Botts doesn't meet Ramona, but Leigh's issues remind me of Ramona's issues. When Ramona's father loses his job, he struggles with depression and begins smoking. When Leigh's father has his own existential crisis, there is a related string of bad decisions. Beverly Cleary doesn't mince words. Adults make errors all the time. Children have to cope with the messy behavior of loved ones. Bill Botts is so lost--so inadequate--that Leigh Botts needs to invent his own surrogate parents. He is like the bear in a Henshaw novel--when the bear's mother dies, the bear begins eating only sugar, so much sugar that he cannot hibernate properly. It's a friendly ranger who intervenes and teaches the orphaned bear to feed himself properly. One of Leigh's surrogate dads is Mr. Fridley, the observant janitor, who drums up tasks for Leigh and sings the praises of a well-develo...

  I'm self-conscious about playing for two reasons: (1) a friend once told me that my "doodles" were bland and predictable. (2) a student once complained that I wasn't adequately "fun." Knives to the heart! Words I'll never forget. I listen to my spouse with Josh; they read a Richard Scarry book together, and the adult casts aside the printed words to invent a bizarre "song-story," and the child squeals with delight. By contrast, I'm annoyed whenever I don't have words on the page. I think of a Katherine Heiny tale, where the mom rolls her eyes as she works through a wordless Jerry Pinkney book. "I don't have enough fucking shit on my plate? I need to write the fucking moral, because Jerry Fucking Pinkney couldn't give a fuck?" I am trying. I know that "play" is the means by which a kid masters language, it's so important, yadda yadda. I feed the various plastic animals, and I make them chat with one anot...

 Susannah herself is generally quite calm; she is the eye of the hurricane. The swirling matter *around* Susannah -- That's a different story. We are meant to wean Josh off "the bottle." This really needed to happen months ago, but the resulting tantrums were so unpleasant, and the bottle was just an easy, fast fix. The bottle was to Josh what book purchases are to me: Succor. I can look at Don Winslow's 1,000-page Drug War tome--"The Force"--and I can think this doesn't speak to me, and I'll never read it . And I can still purchase the book--because the extraction of sums, and the collecting of a technicolor goodie-bag.....Those parts are satisfying. An itch has been scratched. Because Josh isn't really "off the bottle," the sight of Susie with her age-appropriate bottle can be traumatic. We're talking: screaming and crying. Ultimately, Susie's bottle finds its way into J's hands. Then J's actual food--macaroni, meat sa...

 I'm not sure there is a "literature of rainy weekends," but if such a thing exists, a prime specimen must be "Rainy Sunday," by Beverly Cleary: Rainy Sunday afternoons in November were always dismal, but Ramona felt this Sunday was the most dismal of all.  She pressed her nose against the living-room window, watching the ceaseless rain pelting down as bare black branches clawed at the electric wires in front of the house.  Even lunch, leftovers Mrs. Quimby had wanted to clear out of the refrigerator, had been dreary, with her parents, who seemed tired or discouraged or both, having little to say and Beezus mysteriously moody.  Ramona longed for sunshine, sidewalks dry enough for roller-skating, a smiling happy family. “Ramona, you haven’t cleaned up your room this weekend,” said Mrs. Quimby, who was sitting on the couch, sorting through a stack of bills.  “And don’t press your nose against the window.  It leaves a smudge.” It's all there: the pelting of ...

 "Ramona Quimby, Age 8" is like a Greatest Hits album for American literature. I think literally every scene is iconic. Ramona has entered third grade, and her devil-may-care teacher says "Hey guys" -- and not "I wonder why I'm hearing so much noise...." This teacher also uses Sustained Silent Reading--which becomes a life-changer for Ramona. But all isn't well. The Quimbys must economize, so that Mr. Quimby can return to school to become an art teacher. (No more thick socks for hours of work in the freezer section of the grocery store. No more memorizing of the price-change list.) Cutting corners means serving "tongue" -- and lying to your children about what's on their plate. Mrs. Quimby has so much worry at this stage, she accidentally grabs a raw egg and stuffs it in Ramona's lunch-bag. This leads to the canonical moment: Ramona ends up spilling raw yolk all over her head. Cutting costs also means ignoring a deteriorating car-...

 I'm writing today in gratitude for Beverly Cleary, who was a "spiritual" writer. She didn't talk about God (at least not much, in my memory), but she was aware of powerful, overlooked currents in everyday life, and her writing was wondrous. One of my favorites, among Cleary's inventions, is Leigh Botts. He is lonely in California, and he writes to the humor-novelist Boyd Henshaw, who basically says: "You have a shitty situation, but why don't you stop waiting for change? Why don't you yourself make some changes?" Leigh begins to write, and his writing makes him a deeper reader, and his reading makes him inventive and empathic. The world around him doesn't get notably "better," but Leigh himself becomes stronger, and the lost, powerless page-one kid begins to seem like a distant memory.  The book seems like a magic trick: Cleary describes personal change over time, and she doesn't make you aware of her machinations and tricks. T...

 It's not news to say that Ramona Quimby is a great character, a standout in the history of American literature, and that the Ramona novels are one, long, thrilling work of art. (Could you argue that the series is *the* iconic American Novel? I won't fight you.....) "Ramona the Brave" -- the third Ramona book -- shows how an inner voice begins to assert itself. Ramona, no longer in Kindergarten, misses her carefree days. She has an idea of herself as courageous, admirable--and others begin to challenge this idea. Beezus doesn't appreciate Ramona's playground "heroism." Ramona's teacher--the dreary Mrs. Griggs--seems not to notice Ramona's artistic talent, and instead dwells on Ramona's lack of self-control. The galling thing is that both Beezus and Mrs. Griggs have a point. Ramona--in strange, exciting moments--hovers above herself and begins to understand how others might see her actions in an un-generous light. People don't automati...

  As September approaches, may I remind you of a minor classic, Beverly Cleary's "Muggie Maggie": After her first day of third grade, Maggie Schultz jumped off the school bus when it stopped at her corner. "Bye, Jo Ann," she called to the girl who was her best friend, sometimes. "See you tomorrow." Maggie was happy to escape from sixth-grade boys who called her a cootie and from fourth-grade boys who insisted the third grade was awful, cursive writing hard, and Mrs. Leeper, the teacher, mean. Just to state the obvious: Nearly every sentence in this paragraph is special. Maggie doesn't simply get off the bus; she jumps off. (We see that impulsivity once again, later, in the famous "Sorry So Sloppy" note.) Jo Ann is a best friend--but, note, she is a best friend only sometimes. Also, school is hell; if you're not dodging gender-obsessed sixth-grade boys, you're contending with the fourth graders, who feel a need to mythologize thei...

I'm thinking of the opening of "Ramona Quimby, Age 8." Ramona is writing--"slowly and carefully"--and pondering her nemesis, Yard Ape: Well, he was a problem, but so far she had not let him get the best of her for keeps. Besides, although she might never admit it to anyone, she liked him--sort of. Maybe she enjoyed a challenge.... The story starts with ambivalence: Ramona finds Yard Ape exasperating, but on some level, she is also drawn to him. Ambivalence is something Cleary returns to again and again. Scooter, bullying Henry but also supporting him. Beezus, finding her sister both intolerable and lovable. Henry, recognizing that he feels joy that he can keep Ribsy, but also acknowledging his sadness regarding the new kid, and the new kid's loss. Cleary writes about complicated emotions, and she writes in a plainspoken way. As others have noted, she doesn't talk down to children. More later -- and hats off to the birthday celebrant! With gra...

My favorite Cleary facts, in ranked order: (5) She actually based "Mitch and Amy" on her own twins (the only time this happened in her career). (4) Young and newly employed, she was confused when her boss told her to shelve the "little brown books." Little brown? Her boss was talking about the publisher "Little, Brown." (3) She once won a writing competition and then learned that literally no one else had made a submission. The lesson? "Just TRY!" (2) When she turned 100, she shrugged and said, "I didn't WORK to make this happen." Also: "Go ahead and make a big deal of this. Everyone else does." (1) She is happy--happiest--to know that kids have loved her books, and continue to love her books. That's what she wanted. More than a Newbery or a National Book Award. More soon!

Cleary's reading tastes: “Novels by British writers are among my favorites because our family has enjoyed travel in England and because they are written with an economy of words, as if they were written with a pen instead of a computer. Penelope Fitzgerald is a favorite.” I don't know Penelope Fitzgerald all that well, but I suspect that Cleary herself thinks about "economy" when she works. Understatement can be powerful. (Sondheim says, "Less is more.") Cleary's use of economy is really striking to me at the end of "Henry Huggins." Henry has just won Ribsy in a kind of devotion-tug-of-war. So: Henry is overwhelmed with feeling. And Cleary could--if she'd like--go on and on about the sensations of pride and love and excitement that Henry might be experiencing. But she knows "less is more." So: "Henry found that he was speechless." And Cleary moves on. I love that!

When Beverly Cleary turned 103, the CBC published this great list of Cleary facts: https://www.cbc.ca/books/100-things-you-might-not-know-about-beverly-cleary-to-celebrate-her-103rd-birthday-1.4095050 One fact I love is that Cleary wouldn't tolerate fads or new technology in the 2010 film "Ramona and Beezus." Cleary wanted a sense of timelessness--nothing that could easily become dated. She wanted to be able to speak to kids in any era, from any background (I think). This reminds me of her wish to write on universal themes--the experience of being a daughter, sister, pet-owner, friend. Who among us couldn't relate to all (or most) of that? Anyway, enjoy the list!

"Ramona and Her Mother" involves a meltdown. Both Quimby parents are now working--Mr. Quimby hates his job--and this arrangement is only half-functional on a good day. Change the system, and things fall apart. If your one and only car needs repairs, then shit will hit the fan. (We have all been part of a rickety structure. We know what this is like.) Mrs. Quimby gets to the repair shop after work and of course the car isn't fixed on time, and this causes Mrs. Q. to miss a bus, and the next bus is late, and by the time all Quimbys are shuttled back home, Mrs. Q. is royally pissed. One straw can break a camel's back. Mr. Quimby makes a cheerful, irritating reference to his wise, dead grandmother--"Self-reliance! Every kettle must rest on its own bottom!"--and Mrs. Q. can't help but lash out. The tension between the two Quimbys grows and grows--there are choice words about pancake batter--and eventually one isn't speaking to the other. Ramon...

"Ramona and Her Mother"--a National Book Award winner--has many stand-out moments. But my favorites are: *Mrs. Quimby revealing that she dreams of being less-than-sensible. Sitting outside and blowing dandelion fluff all over the place, even though that will mean WEEDS. *Mrs. Quimby losing her cool over the pancake batter. (Never claim that unfinished pancakes are ready--if you're warring with your husband.) *Mrs. Quimby strategically over-stuffing Ramona's suitcase, in the climactic scene. Just a reminder that that's all packed into this "mid-series" novel. It holds up really well....

A couple things I loved in "Henry Huggins." First, there's an interest in cause and effect. Henry sprinkles talcum powder on Ribsy, because he thinks it will conceal some spots. Actually, it makes Ribsy pink. But the pinkness leads to Ribsy getting named "Most Unusual Dog." But this triumph leads to newspaper coverage, which means Ribsy almost gets taken away. You can't predict everything that will happen. A second thing I loved. Other people are unknowable, and Cleary understands this. Throughout "Huggins," Scooter seems to be an antagonist--but then, at the end, it's Scooter who really stands up for Henry against the new kid. This is surprising, but it seems right. We just can't read another person's mind. More later.

(1) Beverly Cleary would start writing a novel around January 1, then finish around May, then "stay fallow" until the next New Year would roll around. (2) Ramona popped up in "Huggins" simply because Cleary noticed that not one of the town kids seemed to have a sibling. Cleary's genius: What if Beatrice had a little sister who couldn't pronounce many words, and so the name Beatrice would get twisted into "Beezus"? (3) Cleary's rule: "Make it simple. Keep it funny." (Not as straightforward as it seems.....) More to come.

As we approach Beverly Cleary's birthday....some thoughts.... *Mrs. Cleary won her Newbery Medal for "Dear Mr. Henshaw." It tackled serious subjects--divorce, an absentee parent--and it wasn't part of a series. These phenomena may have helped with the judges. *Henry Huggins appeared first in 1950, and he made his final bow in the 1970s. By contrast, Ramona popped up in 1950, and she was still around, in new fiction, in 1999. *Cleary gives major credit to her editor, who pushed for a book about Ramona, and who said, "Don't analyze your work. Just do your work." More to follow.....

"Henry Huggins" is about curiosity and hunger. Beverly Cleary--a librarian, in her thirties--noticed that (a) most kids' books were bad and (b) boys could generally tolerate a story about a dog, if nothing else. "Henry Huggins"--Cleary's debut--concerns an ordinary boy who discovers a dog around the corner. Determined to raise this dog--inspired by the dog, in a vague way--Henry makes some arrangements. He will call his mom for permission. (This requires using a phone book as a stepping stool.) Henry will bring the dog home--in a box--on the bus. When the box breaks, Henry gets off, finds a shopping bag, and ties the dog in wrapping paper. ("This is just a parcel.") When this, too, fails, Henry rides home in a police car. But: mission accomplished. The dog is now a pet. There isn't anything especially remarkable about Henry, but you root for him; he has goals, and it's fun to watch a scrappy kid with goals. Exploring a fish...

The 104th birthday of Beverly Cleary is approaching. On her 100th, she faced a great deal of media attention; she was lucid and calm, and revealed that her plans for the day involved having a slice of carrot cake. The Times recently asked novelists to name their favorite literary "comfort food," in these trying times, and someone said "Fingersmith," and someone said the poetry of Jane Kenyon, and Ann Patchett used the opportunity to try to promote a book that was just released (which seems a bit manipulative, and it's also something Patchett the bookseller does too frequently). It seems to me that the best literary choice right now is the corpus of Beverly Cleary. So I've been reading "Beezus and Ramona." If it's not Ramona's first appearance (I'm unsure, and she may have popped up in a Henry Huggins tale earlier), it's surely Ramona's first starring role. The novel concerns Beezus and her tumultuous, confusing relatio...

"Yeep! sang Ramona one warm September afternoon, as she knelt on a chair at the kitchen table to make out her Christmas list. She had enjoyed a good day in second grade, and she looked forward to working on her list. For Ramona a Christmas list was a list of presents she hoped to receive, not presents she planned to give. "Yeep!" she sang again. "Thank goodness today is payday," remarked Mrs. Quimby, as she opened the refrigerator to see what she could find for supper. "Yeep!" sang Ramona, as she printed MICE OR GINNY PIG on her list with purple crayon. Next to Christmas and her birthday, her father's payday was her favorite day. His payday meant treats. Her mother's payday from her part-time job in a doctor's office meant they could make payments on the bedroom the Quimbys had added to their house when Ramona was in first grade.... Looking for a good Christmas story? There is none better than "Ramona and Her Father." H...