Kim Wilkins writes about parents in fiction on her blog, Hexebart.
I agree with her final assessment - if I was fighting evil spirits I definitely would want my Mum along with me. In fact, I suspect I could leave it all to her while I stayed home and maybe put the coffee pot on. (Actually, Mum, isn't that what you are doing at the moment anyway?).
On the other hand, I sometimes fear that for the Noodle I have much too much in common with the Other Mother from Coraline.
The best parents in children's fiction, in my opinion, are the ones in the Swallows and Amazons books. They don't require any outlandish plotting or melancholy accidents, they just let the kids do whatever they please the whole time. And not because they don't care (unlike, say, the parents in many Diana Wynne Jones books); the mother wrestles with her desire to keep tabs on the kids and the kids are muzzily aware of it from time to time. The other device I enjoy for getting rid of adult supervision is from E.Nesbit - any of the magic employed makes the adults around just not care what happens to the children, no matter how long they disappear for or what weird events occur. Not even when the Lamb grows up from a chubby, happy baby into an alarmingly trend-conscious young gentleman.
Frankly I think this last device would come in handy from time to time in real life. Just a little dose of it.
The ones I don't like so much are where the parents are vampires. Enough with the vampires already.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Knowledge inna box
Well, kind of. I've been hanging around down in the National Library and stuffing my head full of interesting bits and pieces.
I'd forgotten how much fun it is.
Also, the cloak room person was extremely kind and put my sandwich in the fridge to keep it fresh. That's thoughtfulness for you.
I'd forgotten how much fun it is.
Also, the cloak room person was extremely kind and put my sandwich in the fridge to keep it fresh. That's thoughtfulness for you.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
O come let us adore him
Tonight the Noodle was having a bit of trouble going to sleep. It happens from time to time, and it reminds me of the times my mum would come in when I was six or seven, and she would lie down next to me and stroke my hair and sometimes sing quietly and sometimes she would go to sleep before I did, but when I woke up she would be gone.
It reminds me of when the Noodle was a tiny baby, and patting him gently on the 'nappy area' until he fell asleep and the husband and I used to take it in turns night by night because if one of us had to do it every night we would've gone crazy because just before the Noodle fell totally asleep he'd just wake up and get alert for a moment, and it was nearly enough to make a person cry because we were all just so tired. And then one night when it was my turn I had to rush to the toilet after I'd put the baby down in his cot and when I came back he was asleep. The Noodle never was one of those babies that you could move around much when he was asleep. If he fell asleep in your arms, there he stayed or awake he was. So him falling asleep by himself in his cot was a Big Big Thing. Because we were all so tired.
And then later he needed help to go to sleep in the afternoon for his nap, because if he didn't have a nap things became rather unpleasant for him and everyone else on the planet so it was quite rather very important to get him to snooze. And I would stroke his back if his back was towards me or stroke his hair gently over and over again but only in very slow four four time because otherwise it didn't work. And I would sing. Sometimes it had to be the same song, over and over and over again, Silent Night perhaps, over and over again until it turned into something like si-i-i-i-it o-o-o-o-i-i-i-t and he would finally snork off to snory sleep. And sometimes it was a medley of favourites (not all in four four time even though the stroking had to be) and you had to make sure not to repeat one because he would notice and that would wake him up and you had to make sure not stop too soon because that would wake him up. But by this time once he was actually asleep you could have invited the entire cast of Sesame Street to re-enact the Sesame Street Singalong next to his ear and he would not have stirred. Which was nice.
And then once when he was very sick he just wanted me to sing O come all ye faithful, and I remembered that just after he was born I was thinking that the song was for every child, because when they are born that is what we do. We come from far and wide to adore them, and we are joyful at their birth. And when the Noodle was born I did feel triumphant, and I don't think only God should get the fun of that feeling, I think every parent should have it and every baby should be adored.
But now when I sing that song to him he is not sick and I remember how sick he was and I am so glad that he is not sick now. And how lucky I am to adore him still (even though I've never quite managed to recapture that triumphant feeling again).
It reminds me of when the Noodle was a tiny baby, and patting him gently on the 'nappy area' until he fell asleep and the husband and I used to take it in turns night by night because if one of us had to do it every night we would've gone crazy because just before the Noodle fell totally asleep he'd just wake up and get alert for a moment, and it was nearly enough to make a person cry because we were all just so tired. And then one night when it was my turn I had to rush to the toilet after I'd put the baby down in his cot and when I came back he was asleep. The Noodle never was one of those babies that you could move around much when he was asleep. If he fell asleep in your arms, there he stayed or awake he was. So him falling asleep by himself in his cot was a Big Big Thing. Because we were all so tired.
And then later he needed help to go to sleep in the afternoon for his nap, because if he didn't have a nap things became rather unpleasant for him and everyone else on the planet so it was quite rather very important to get him to snooze. And I would stroke his back if his back was towards me or stroke his hair gently over and over again but only in very slow four four time because otherwise it didn't work. And I would sing. Sometimes it had to be the same song, over and over and over again, Silent Night perhaps, over and over again until it turned into something like si-i-i-i-it o-o-o-o-i-i-i-t and he would finally snork off to snory sleep. And sometimes it was a medley of favourites (not all in four four time even though the stroking had to be) and you had to make sure not to repeat one because he would notice and that would wake him up and you had to make sure not stop too soon because that would wake him up. But by this time once he was actually asleep you could have invited the entire cast of Sesame Street to re-enact the Sesame Street Singalong next to his ear and he would not have stirred. Which was nice.
And then once when he was very sick he just wanted me to sing O come all ye faithful, and I remembered that just after he was born I was thinking that the song was for every child, because when they are born that is what we do. We come from far and wide to adore them, and we are joyful at their birth. And when the Noodle was born I did feel triumphant, and I don't think only God should get the fun of that feeling, I think every parent should have it and every baby should be adored.
But now when I sing that song to him he is not sick and I remember how sick he was and I am so glad that he is not sick now. And how lucky I am to adore him still (even though I've never quite managed to recapture that triumphant feeling again).
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Library visit and visiting dignitary
Had the very great pleasure of meeting up with Judith from Misrule on Sunday afternoon. It was terrific to have the chance to have a good yarn about kid's books and the diverse associated creative and literary fields that kid's books generate. And she knows a lot about Canberra as well. Since I am in that stage of affection parallel with first love I adore talking about Canberra with folk. I am so glad she got in touch.
I also had a most satisfactory haul at the library on Sunday. I found a book of short stories by Robin McKinley and Peter Dickinson, Elementals: Water. Fans of both these writers will know the assured and fascinating writing that these two can turn out, and I think both are in top form. My favourite ... actually I can't pick a favourite. I like them all, but especially the first two: Mermaid's Song by Dickinson and The Sea King's Son by McKinley. They are both writers who can capture confusion and melancholy while still keeping the story galloping along at a cracking pace.
One of the others was The Red Necklace by Sally Gardner, who wrote I Coriander a few years back. I am not entirely convinced by the way the magic is integrated with the history in either book, but they are very inventive and also entertaining. The devil in it didn't remind me at all of The Master and Margarita, but he would have liked to I think.
Best of all, perhaps, was finding House of Many Ways, sequel to Howl's Moving Castle and Castle in the Air. I think Jones has developed a tendency to want to explain things quite thoroughly in her later works - perhaps this is a Good Thing, since I am still quite (or indeed entirely) at a loss to know what happened in the end of Fire and Hemlock. And I am still rather worried about Tanaqui and whether or not she ever manages to catch up with the rest of her family. House of Many Ways might not be quite as brilliant and funny and startling as some of Jones's other books, but it's certainly worth a a read. And it was certainly worth the feeling of pleasure when I found it on the shelf at the library. I love the library! It's in Canberra!!!! It does make me uneasy when Jones ties up loose ends, though. It's just not natural.
The husband, noble provider of many books and other bits of cultural material, brought home a bunch of reading copies from his work. One was The adoration of Jenna Fox by Mary E Pearson. There's romance, trauma, struggle for independence and bio-engineering. Bonza.
And now that I'm nearly finished with that lot I shall gird my loins for a bit more Gaskell, I reckon. Cranford for a bit of fun. Still plenty of death, but maybe not so much murder and squalor for a change.
I also had a most satisfactory haul at the library on Sunday. I found a book of short stories by Robin McKinley and Peter Dickinson, Elementals: Water. Fans of both these writers will know the assured and fascinating writing that these two can turn out, and I think both are in top form. My favourite ... actually I can't pick a favourite. I like them all, but especially the first two: Mermaid's Song by Dickinson and The Sea King's Son by McKinley. They are both writers who can capture confusion and melancholy while still keeping the story galloping along at a cracking pace.
One of the others was The Red Necklace by Sally Gardner, who wrote I Coriander a few years back. I am not entirely convinced by the way the magic is integrated with the history in either book, but they are very inventive and also entertaining. The devil in it didn't remind me at all of The Master and Margarita, but he would have liked to I think.
Best of all, perhaps, was finding House of Many Ways, sequel to Howl's Moving Castle and Castle in the Air. I think Jones has developed a tendency to want to explain things quite thoroughly in her later works - perhaps this is a Good Thing, since I am still quite (or indeed entirely) at a loss to know what happened in the end of Fire and Hemlock. And I am still rather worried about Tanaqui and whether or not she ever manages to catch up with the rest of her family. House of Many Ways might not be quite as brilliant and funny and startling as some of Jones's other books, but it's certainly worth a a read. And it was certainly worth the feeling of pleasure when I found it on the shelf at the library. I love the library! It's in Canberra!!!! It does make me uneasy when Jones ties up loose ends, though. It's just not natural.
The husband, noble provider of many books and other bits of cultural material, brought home a bunch of reading copies from his work. One was The adoration of Jenna Fox by Mary E Pearson. There's romance, trauma, struggle for independence and bio-engineering. Bonza.
And now that I'm nearly finished with that lot I shall gird my loins for a bit more Gaskell, I reckon. Cranford for a bit of fun. Still plenty of death, but maybe not so much murder and squalor for a change.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The writing life
Thirdcat has a terrific post on what it is to drag writing out of yourself, and how you might learn to do it should you have sufficient gumption and tenacity.
I left my own gumption and tenacity in my other trousers, dammit.
I left my own gumption and tenacity in my other trousers, dammit.
Trifle
The comfort offered by googling trifle recipes is not to be underestimated in times of melancholy.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Slumdog Millionaire
Went to see a movie at nighttime with a grownup! The excitement.
I enjoyed the movie. I thought it was very cleverly put together and balanced sentimentality with narrative drive. But I suspect I'll be forgetting about it pretty soon rather than that having it live in my soul forever. But you never know, I suppose. It's not like I've ever forgotten What Katy Did at School so clearly I can't be too fussy.
I think I'll go and read the book.
I enjoyed the movie. I thought it was very cleverly put together and balanced sentimentality with narrative drive. But I suspect I'll be forgetting about it pretty soon rather than that having it live in my soul forever. But you never know, I suppose. It's not like I've ever forgotten What Katy Did at School so clearly I can't be too fussy.
I think I'll go and read the book.
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