One of the shelves that got moved was my “to read” shelf–all the books that I’ve bought and never read.  It didn’t seem like that many books until they were stacked vertically.  I know it could be worse–heck, I have friends who have much bigger piles than I do.  But in a way, it stresses me out. 

And then I read this article, a review on NPR of Elizabeth’s German Garden.  I bought this book years ago (maybe 10?) and have never cracked the cover.  Of course, I must also confess that I only bought it because this book was one of L. M. Montgomery’s very favorite books and is where she borrowed that immortal phrase “kindred spirits.”  I bought it as a curiousity, never thinking that it might actually be a book I enjoy.  And based on this review, I think I might really like it.  I started feeling really guilty about all the books in my house that were interesting enough to buy, but haven’t yet been read.

Over the last year or so, the vast majority of books I’ve read have come from the library.  Which is a great and wonderful thing, and it’s not like I’m going to abandon the library.  But I have decided this: as soon as I finish the two books that I currently have checked out, I’m going to only read books that presently reside in my house for one month.  It’s a break from the library, as magical as it is. 

And though I’m not one of those bloggers that inspires challenges and such, I do invite you to join me in a library break and tackle your own to-read stack.  There’s no telling what we might discover on on our own shelves.

So, what should I read first?

As a grownup, I still have this feeling that I should be reading more in the summer.  After all, it’s been super hot, and reading is something you should do in the comfort of air conditioning.  Plus, summer tv just isn’t as good.  But every year, my visions of reading the summer away in June turn out to be not so true in August.  The pesky real world always gets in the way.  This year has been even more annoying–I added a reading goal to my goodreads profile.  According to their lovely bar graph, at my current rate, I’m 8 books behind.  At least this is better than earlier in the week when I was 9 books behind.

So what have I been reading this summer?  Lots and lots of varied things.  Not a huge amount of kidlit history (hence, the dearth of posts lately), but here are a few recent reads, somewhat related to kidlit history.

Papa Married a Mormon by John D. Fitzgerald.  Not kidlit at all, but Fitzgerald is best known for his Great Brain books–and this is really the first version of those stories, told to an adult audience.  I had really mixed feelings about this book.  On the one hand, it is a great slice of life/memoir of the Western frontier.  On the other hand, I kept waiting for it to have the sparkle and humor of the Great Brain books, and it never quite made it.  Perhaps if I read this first, I would have liked it more.  However, I do find it fascinating that he wrote two versions of his family’s story for two different audiences.  I can’t think of any other authors that have done similiar things.

Jane of Lantern Hill by L. M. Montgomery.  My memories of Jane were vague, but I certainly remembered her delight in keeping house.  And since I was enjoying rearranging after the roomie moved out, a bit of domesticity felt right.  This is one of Montgomery’s last novels (published in 1937), and it felt incredibly odd to read about cars.  There aren’t supposed to be cars on PEI!  But think of the changes in the 30 years since Montgomery had published Anne. . .

 A mention of an early edition of Alice in Wonderland in Lethal Legacy by Linda Fairstein (a fabulous mystery set in the world of rare books and the New York Public Library) caused me to bump up Alice I Have Been by Melanie Benjamin on the To-Read list.  I’m about halfway through it now.  I’ve never really thought much about the real life counterparts to classics.  Granted, the story of Alice Liddell and Lewis Carroll is a bit more questionable than the origins of some other children’s classics.  But I do wonder how Alcott’s surviving sisters felt about the runaway success of Little Women.  Did Laura’s sisters really want to relive their early strugges though Little House?  Something to ponder.

Is summer a season of reading for you too?  Where have your bookmarks been lately?

There are many, many things that thrill me about this book.  Finally, all your major questions sparked by the history in this book are answered within it!  The original text is restored, after having been “silently” cut decades ago.  And it’s just a pretty book.

But my biggest thrill is that I finally have proof that people besides me value this book and realize how important it is–to both literature and history.  When I was doing my research for the article on Dallas clubwomen during WWI, I knew I wanted to focus not on the extraordinary–the women who worked outside the home, went to France as nurses, or did any number of remarkable things.  No, I wanted to focus on what most women would have done–fit war work into existing lives.  Those lives were stretched, but not completely undone.  And as I wrote that paper, I desperately wanted to quote Rilla, though I just couldn’t quite justify it.

If I had to pick just one book to explain my whole thesis about kidlit history–that there is some history that is be found in children’s literature and can’t be found anywhere else, this book would be the one I would pick.  Primary sources on the emotions and daily lives of the women that watched and waited are hard to find.  We tend to document the extraordinary.  Though these women were living in extraordinary times, I don’t think they realized how much their lives were changing.

Montgomery knew she was telling the story of the masses of Canadian women that worked at home and waited.  She wrote “In my latest story, ‘Rilla of Ingleside,’ I have tried, as far as in me lies, to depict the fine and splendid way in which the girls of Canada reacted to the Great War–their bravery, patience and self-sacrifice.  The books is theirs in a sense in which none of my other books have been: for my other books werew written for anyone who might like to read them: but ‘Rilla’ was written for the girls of the great young land I love, whose destiny it will be their duty and privilege to shape and share.”  Lefebvre and McKenzie go on to say “Rilla of Ingleside thus pictures, as no other war novel of its time does, a uniquely Canadian perspectie about the women and families who battled to keep the home fires burning throughout this tumultuous era.” 

Frankly, I can’t think of another novel, from any country, written so closely after the war that takes the time to talk about the home front.  So, I lift my glass to Montgomery for writing this wonderful book in the first place.  And I lift my glass to Benjamin Lefebvre and Andrea McKenzie for working so hard to put this book in a wider context and give it the attention it so richly deserves. 

For now, United States readers have to order this book directly from Canada.  Here’s hoping that one day it will be easily available in the United States.  The good news is that the exchange rate is currently almost even.  Trust me–you need this book in your personal library.

I’ve always found it somewhat ironic that when discussing either the Anne series or the Betsy-Tacy series, someone will periodically sigh and say “I really like Anne (or Betsy), but Emily speaks to me in such a different way.  I adore her.”  What are the odds that these much-beloved but not quite as famous characters just happen to share the same name?  But this sentiment, though spoken often, is usually spoken quietly.  It’s not quite sacrilege, but there’s this underlying feeling that we’re supposed to like the big name, the name that made the author famous, more.  But  somehow, there’s a passion for these two very different and yet very similiar Emilys.

In celebration of the recent re-issue of Emily of Deep Valley, an event that has been heralded throughout the land, I present to you: A Tale of Two Emilys.  These wonderful characters have so much in common, yet both are often ignored in favor of the bigger star of Anne or Betsy.  I read these two books back to back, knowing that these two characters had some similiarities, but hadn’t realized how much they truly had in common.  Basically, if you love one Emily, you’ll probably love the other too.

Both Emily’s are orphans, though they’re not orphans like Anne Shirley.  They live with family, even though that family doesn’t always understand them.  Aunt Elizabeth doesn’t get Emily’s sense of humor or her need to write.  Grandpa Webster doesn’t understand Emily’s desire for college.  But Emily Starr contiues to write, and Emily Webster continues to learn.  Lovelace wrote about Grandpa Webster and Emily:

He looked up quickly.  “Your last day of school?”

“Yes, and not just for this year.  I’m graduating.  Do you remember, Grandpa?

“That’s right,” he answered in a pleased tone.  “You told me you were.  Now you’ll be at home all the time.”

Emily was silent.

“I wouldn’t let you stop until you finished high school,” said the old man, sounding proud.  “Would I, Emmy?”

Both girls have slow, shy smiles.  Emily Starr finds her first real friend in Rhoda Stuart, only to be dumped as soon as someone more interesting came along.  But then Emily finds her true friends–Ilse, Perry and Teddy.  Emily Webster never quite fit in with her cousin Annette and her crowd and is even more out of the loop once they head off to college.  But then she makes friends throughout her community–friends in Gwen Fowler, Yusif and Kalil, and of course, Jed Wakeman.  Can I digress just a moment to let you know how dreamy I find Mr. Jed?  Yep, of all the love interests created by Lovelace, he just might be my favorite.  Double sigh.

Both girls make the best of their situation.  Emily Starr finds the scraps of paper to write and write and write.  She doesn’t let herself be cowed by Aunt Elizabeth (sometimes I wish I had a “Murray look” of my own!).  Emily puts up her hair and begins to fill her time with things that interest her–dancing lessons and piano lessons and the Browning club and the Wrestling Champs and English lessons for the Syrian women. 

Both girls live in a home full of old-fashioned traditions–traditions that they love, even though they both acknowledge that other people may not understand.  New Moon still burns candles; the little house on the slough is decorated just as Emily’s grandmother left it.  And though neither girl really resents these traditions at the beginning of the novel, they embrace by the end in a way they hadn’t before.  Montgomery wrote:

“I suppose you’ll not like candles very well, Emily, after being used to lamps at Wyther Grange,” said Aunt Laura with a little sigh. . .

Emily looked around her thoughtfully.  One candle sputtered and bobbed at her as if greeting her.  One, with a long wick, glowed and smouldered like a sulky little demon.  One had a tiny flame–a sly, meditative candle.  One swayed with a queer fiery grace in the draught from the door.  One burned with a steady upright flame like a faithful soul.

“I–don’t know–Aunt Laura,” she answered slowly.  “You can be–friends–with candles.  I believe I like the candles best after all.”

Aunt Elizabeth, coming in from the cook-house, heard her.  Something like pleasure gleamed in her gulf-blue eyes.

“You have some sense in you,” she said.

I really, really adore both of these books.  It’s been a while since I’ve reread either of them, and their magic just washed over me.  Montgomery has this richness in language that some people might call “purple” but it feels like home to me.  But there are such pointed insights into people and emotions and the world around us that it can take my breath away–and most importantly, makes me stay up far too late reading.  Sometimes the observations seem so obvious, but no one has laid them out in quite the way that Montgomery does.  For instance, chapter 21 “Romantic but not Comfortable” opens like this:

A certain thing happened at New Moon because Teddy Kent paid Ilse Burnly a compliment one day and Emily Starr didn’t altogether like it.  Empires have been overturned for the same reason.

Lovelace doesn’t use as many words as Montgomery, but her observations are no less sharp.  I just love this exchange between Emily and Grandpa Webster:

“Emmy,” he asked.  “Is Jed courting you?” . . .

“Why, Grandpa!” Emily cried.  “What makes you say a thing like that?’

“Well,” he answered defiantly, “it looks that way to me.  It’s flowers, flowers, flowers!  And candy, candy, candy!  And books!  And shows!  And picture of Abraham Lincoln for me, although he’s a rebel and he admits it.  By Jingo, I know courting when I see it!  I went couring once myself.”

Both of these books are deeply satisfying.  And the new edition of Emily of Deep Valley is even more satisfying.    Included is a bit of background on the woman, Maguerite Marsh, on whom Emily is loosely based and a too short biography of Vera Neville.  Mitali Perkins wrote an amazing foreword, one that I’m not ashamed to admit made me tear up a bit.  It’s one of those essays that speaks eloquently to the power of the right book at the right time.

And maybe that’s what’s most important about Emily Starr and Webster.  For so many girls, these books have been the right book at the right time.  As Mitali wrote in her foreward “Yes, Emily has many likeable character traits, but unlike Betsy, she isn’t best friend material at all.  Why not, you might be wondering?  Well, because Emily is me.”

He’s coming out with a new edition of Rilla of Ingleside, one of my all-time favorite books that is filled with all the great WWI historical details that I crave.  I love that they’re answering all those questions right in the same volume and can’t wait to check it out.  Isn’t it just beautiful?

Highly recommend the article linked to above.  And check out his blog too!

I believe I have officially started my Christmas wish list. . .

Exhibit A:  My Summer Reading Club Logbook, from 1988, when I was 8 and 5/6 years old (yes, the fraction is on the logbook).  Some sample books, some of which I’ve been thinking about lately and am about to reread or have reread recently:

Trixie Belden, # 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,  7, 8, and 9.  (It appears I didn’t read these in order–must have had to wait my turn at the library!)

Henry Reed’s Journey (am currently reading Henry Reed’s Babysitting Service)

Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Dead Eagles

The Long Winter

Meet Theodore Roosevelt (I’m currently reading the gigantic Edmund Morris bio of Teddy).

Turn Homeward, Hannalee

The only thing that appears to be missing is anything by L. M. Montgomery.

Exibit B:

But never fear!  In a paper dated September 4, 1990 (6th grade), I had to list both short term and long term goals and how to reach them.  One of my long term goals (and I swear I am not making this up!) was:

“Collect all L. M. Montgomery books.  How to reach: Paying attention to lists of books and sales.”

Yeah, I’m still working on that one, though the list has greatly expanded to include first editions.  But still!

Exhibit C:

And finally, in another paper from 6th grade.  It appears that the assignment was to write a persuasive letter.  I’m guessing that we could write it to anyone living or dead because, well, you’ll see.  Here’s my letter:

April 8, 1991

Dear L. M. Montgomery,

I just love your books and think I would make an excellent character.  I’m smart, a talented writer, and full of mischief.  I have many adventures and misadventures.  My friends are almost as nice as me.  The book could have stuff in it about goals and mischief.  I also have a short temper which would make quite a few interesting chapters.  As you can see, my life could easily be turned into a best seller.

Ummm, yeah.  I didn’t have an ego at all!  But it is obvious that the love was quite deep.

My love for L. M. Montgomery was growing just as the scholarship was taking off.  Volume 1 of the journals had been published in 1985, and I received my copy in 1993 (I was 13.  Yes, I’ve been a nerd for a very long time).  I think by then I had read a biography or two, so knew that Montgomery’s life wasn’t all sweetness and light.  But the journals were still a bit of a shock.  Part of me admired her more–there are few hints of the darkness in her novels.  But another part of me realized that I probably wouldn’t have been friends with her if our paths had happened to cross.  You know, if I lived in Canada 100 years ago. . .

I’m not saying that I feel a need to be a kindred spirit with the writers I love.  But some of these writers feel so familiar and cozy, even though I’ve only “met” this one side of their life or career.  I want to know more, but it always changes the relationship a bit.

I hadn’t realized that Louisa May Alcott did anything besides write children’s novels until college.  And suddenly, she was in my American Lit class and I was reading a story called “Transcendental Wild Oats.”  In the last couple of years, I’ve read a lot more of her other writing–Hospital Sketches, a few other essays, etc.  My admiration for her has only grown.  Personally, I don’t think any of Alcott’s children’s books can be fully appreciated by the average fan without taking her extraordinary life story into account.  But I don’t think this is necessarily true of Montgomery.  Sure, it’s important for scholars to dissect these intricacies of life and fiction, but I’m not sure how much more I personally get out of her stories by knowing the larger context of Montgomery’s life.

One of the great things about this blog for me personally is that it is forcing me (well, force may be a bit strong of a word) to re-read books or try ones that have been on The List for a long time.  I’ve mentioned several times that I am completely head over heels in love with Elizabeth Enright and the Melendy family.  A friend who is also on the Elizabeth Enright bandwagon offered to lend me Doublefields, a combination memoir/short story collection by Enright.

I was almost nervous when I picked it up.  My love of her is new and strong–I’ve now read most of her kidlit (Thimble Summer  and all the Melendy books) and really, really liked them.  But what if that didn’t transfer to the rest of the work?  Would I be disappointed?

Umm, no.  The memoir section was fabulous. I saw traces of the Melendys in her life, and her personality really seemed to come through.  I could be completely wrong, but I think the two of us would have a great afternoon together, talking and laughing.  I think I could have been friends with Elizabeth Enright.  We have the same philosophies about kids.  Her childhood was different than most, but not heartbreaking like Montgomery’s.  She’s someone I would love to have gotten to know.

I don’t feel that way about all of the authors I love.  Most of them, I am perfectly content to love them from afar.  But, if time were not a limitation, I would be writing lots and lots of fan letters to Enright, begging her to come to my house for tea or wine.  My fan letters to Montgomery and Alcott would be very, very different.  Plenty of admiration, but not offerings of friendship.

Are there authors you wish you could be friends with?  Or is this my own strange fantasy world?

And though I certainly adore the fact that Betsy and Joe are listed–after all, the last chapter of Betsy and the Great World is one of the greatest romantic cliffhangers of all time, I can’t help but think of some of the other great couples of kidlit history.  In no particular order:

Ma and Pa Ingalls.  She follows him across the midwest, each time hoping for a better life, making homes in places that must have been very, very lonely.  Until she puts her foot down.  He plays his fiddle, makes jokes, and fiercely loves his family.  As a kid, they never would have been on the list.  As an adult, I admire how they stuck together, never argued in front of the kids, and both made compromises for each other.

Anne and Gilbert.  Though they ultimately became a somewhat boring couple in the later books, the early stuff is fabulous.  From the teasing and the competition to pushing each other when both have college dreams deferred, it’s an incredibly satisfying friendship–at least for Anne.  Gilbert loves her from the beginning, and it is sometimes very frustrating how long it takes Anne to see what’s right in front of her nose.  But he’s always there–rescuing her and waiting patiently. 

Betsy and Joe.  Though mentioned above, they deserve their own paragraph.  Betsy, daughter of one of the world’s greatest families, falls in love with orphan Joe.  And there are lots of adjustments to be made, mis-understandings, the usual heartache in young love.  But the misunderstanding almost kill the reader as they wait and wait for what has to happen.  And when it does!  Again, one of the best romantic cliffhangers and resolutions Ever.

Miss Allen, the Library Lady and Charlie.  The sisters of All-of-a-Kind Family already love the Library Lady, as she is the one with the books.  And Charlie is the mysterious peddler that works with their father who brings them treats.  By accident, the girls bring them together again–discovering  a tragic love story that was rightunder their noses.  So satisfying–and a wonderful realization of childhood fantasies.  What kid wouldn’t want to help out some of their favorite adults in that way?

Mary, Dickon and Colin.  Sometimes, love triangles happen.  And though the kids in The Secret Garden don’t really get to that part of life where romance really takes off, there is definitely some jealousy going on for Colin and Dickon.  Both fall in love with Mary, for very different reasons.  But perhaps the true romance here is the garden itself and the story behind it.  Sigh.

So, what am I leaving out?  Any other fabulous romances?  And another question: how did these stories shape your own childish thoughts about romance?

When I was a kid, reading through Montgomery, I had this idea that true romance took years to develop.  Seriously, how long did it take Anne and Gilbert to finally get together?  And then there’s the story of Leslie Moore–talk about depressing.  And all the other minor characters throughout her novels and short stories–people that had to wait 10, 20 years to be with the one they loved.  Yikes! 

Or what about the unfortunate idea that the man you’re really meant for will marry your sister?  I am still not over the whole Jo/Laurie/Amy thing.  Luckily, I had no sisters.

So while there are some great models, there are some truly frightening romantic scenarios in kidlit.  Perhaps I should blame my childhood reading on my very practical attitude towards romance.  Even as I continue to believe that my Joe is out there somewhere. . .

“We must let the New Year in,” he said.

Outside was a fine blue night.  A sparkling ribbon of moonlight garlanded in the gulf.  Inside the bar the harbor shone like a pavement of pearl.  They stood before the door and waited–Captain Jim with his ripe, full experience, Marshall Elliott in his vigorous but empty middle life, Gilbert and Anne with their precious memories and exquisite hopes, Leslie with her record of starved years and her hopeless future.  The clock on the little shelf above the fireplace struck twelve.

“Welcome, New Year,” said Captain Jim, bowing low as the last stroke died away.  “I wish you all the best year of your lives.  I reckon that whatever the New Year brings us will be the best the Great Captain has for us–and somehow of other we’ll all make port in a good harbor.”  —”New Year’s Eve at the Light,” Anne’s House of Dreams, L. M. Montgomery

I have long loved this image of New Year’s Eve and have even been known to open the door at midnight.  It has all the qualities in a New Year’s Party that I look for–good friends, laughter and stories.  No fancy parties for me!

Here’s to a 2010 filled with lots of good books and good history.

I have yet to find a decent biography on Frances Hodgson Burnett, though based on the little bit I do know, it’s a great story.  There are lots of biographies on Laura Ingalls Wilder, but I’m not sure any of them have jumped to that final level of biography.  I’ve not seen anything significant on Sydney Taylor or Elizabeth Enright.  And though work has been done on Maud Hart Lovelace, none of it is what I would call biography.  Each of the recent non-fiction books focus on one part of her life, not the whole story.  And while Sharla Whale’s Betsy-Tacy Comanion is a commendable piece of research, it’s not even close to a biography.  The snarky part of me thinks it’s really just a collection of BT trivia.

Two exceptions for this lack of scholarly consideration for children’s authors are Louisa May Alcott and L. M. Montgomery.  In recent years, Alcott has finally become know for being more than just the writer of Little Women, but also part of one of the most interesting and intellectually well-connected families of the 19th century.  Eden’s Outcasts by John Matteson is a stunning dual biography of Alcott and her father Bronson.  Bronson was a fascinating though frustrating man.  I’ve long been fascinated by how much happened in Concord in the mid-19th century, and this book help explains how it became such an intellectual hot spot.  This week, PBS’s series, American Masters, is featuring Alcott.  In Dallas, it’s airing on December 28 at 8 p.m.  No idea on where this particular documentary falls in the biography spectrum, but it’s probably worth a look, especially if you’re unfamiliar with Alcott’s work beyond Little Women.

Currently, I’m in the middle of one of the best biographies I’ve read in quite some time: Lucy Maud Montgomery: The Gift of Wings by Mary Henley Rubio.  Montgomery scholars have a truly amazing cache of primary sources.  LMM kept a journal for most of her life (and constantly recopied and revised it).  They began publishing the volumes in the mid 1980s–I received my copy of Vol. 1 back in 1993.  (I was 14–yep, the nerdiness goes way back!)  Many, many biographies have been written.  Books of scholarly essays have been published.  Books of her letters have been published.  When I heard about the new biography, I figured I would probably read it eventually, but it wasn’t a huge priority.  After all, I’ve read more than a few biographies of LMM.  I’ve read 3 volumes of her journals.  I felt like there wasn’t too much more to learn.  But then I had a conversation with another LMM fan/scholar at a convention about the other Maud.  Kate told me it was the definitive biography, a must-read, and fabulous.  It took me a few months, but I finally followed her advice.  And now, I can barely put it down.

Rubio’s research is astounding.  She sets LMM’s life in context, her writing in context, and has remarkable insights into why LMM did what she did.  I have newfound respect for LMM’s grandmother.  I have more sympathy for her husband.  And I cannot wait to re-read all of LMM’s novels.  This is the kind of biography that more writers of children’s literature deserve.  Again, Rubio has it easier than many with the wealth of material.  However, she also gives LMM the respect she deserves–and the place she deserves in our society.

Frankly, I’m tired of these author’s stories being discounted because they only write for children.  Aren’t children the most important audience?  These stories have become a part of our lives and our psyches, because we read them when we were young.  They have shaped generations of young minds.  Isn’t it time we know more about what shaped them?

Excuse me, I have to get back to my book.

PS  If I’m missing any key and wonderful biographies of kidlit history authors, please let me know!