Kate DiCamillo's The Magician's Elephant (Among Other Things)

I met Kate DiCamillo once. It was the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books in 2009, and I had just read The Tale of Despereaux and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. (If you haven’t read them, you should. Despereaux is a mouse with boundless heart and courage, and Edward Tulane is rabbit figurine whose epic journey parallels the journey of growing up.) I waited in line to have books signed for my mother and my aunt, who both share the courageous spirit of Despereaux, and when my turn came, I was elated that Kate DiCamillo was as kind and sincere as the stories and characters she creates.

The best part of a Kate DiCamillo book is the warm, fuzzy, familiar feeling you get once you are drawn into a simple, charming, meaningful tale. It is something like the way you felt reading The Velveteen Rabbit or Charlotte’s Web: completely enamored and a little better for having read and understood it, an experience that is nothing less than magical. The Magician’s Elephant, the story of an orphan looking for answers, delivered on the magical front—both the literal aspects of magic in the story and the bewitching effect the story has. The book is short and amazingly illustrated. The pictures tell almost as much of a story as the words, and as the happy conclusion approaches, the picture themselves get brighter and lighter, representing the growing spark of hope and wonder of the orphan Peter, and, in my opinion, of children in general. The success of the illustrations in The Magician’s Elephant makes me very excited that DiCamillo is a contributor to The Chronicles of Harris Burdick. In the book, fourteen authors each tell their version of a story based on Chris Van Allburg’s collection of illustrations, The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, originally published in 1984. The collection includes contributions from Louis Sachar, Steven King, and Sherman Alexie, and the diverse genres of the contributing authors are undoubtedly a boon for the book.

But all this leads me to consider the way in which children’s books appeal more and more to adult interests. Nothing suggests the crossover potential of a children’s book more aptly than The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick being made into a film by Martin Scorsese, a director absolutely associated with productions characterized by very adult content. The movie is garnering acclaim, and adults everywhere are enjoying what was intended for a younger audience. In the same vein, DiCamillo’s books constantly reaffirm that a children’s book is not only for children, and prove that a well-written children’s book is worth reading for children and adults alike.

DiCamillo, Kate. The Magician's Elephant. Somerville, MA: Candlewick Press, 2009.

Richard Adams' Watership Down

I consider myself to be extremely lucky because I have a few good friends who have excellent taste in books, and whose book recommendations I therefore deem worthy of consideration. Several years ago, my good friend Sarah gave high praise to Watership Down. Being somehow under the impression that the book was about a submarine in peril and on the verge of being wrecked, or down, I was surprised that she had so liked it. After my friend set me straight that it was actually about the adventures of a warren of rabbits, it was a book that continued to cross my mind, and when my local Borders closed, I took advantage of the deep discounts and snatched up the book. It has taken me about a year to get around to reading it, but like any good book, it was certainly worth the wait.

This book married all of the aspects I hope for in a novel: an unusual and creative well-told saga that had me hooked from the opening chapters. It is a tough feat to make a five-hundred-page book feel like a quick read, but this had twists and turns of the plot that had me so nervous for the characters that I could barely wait to turn the page (but too nervous I would miss something if I turned the page too soon). The book had the added perks of a few maps, which I always enjoy, and even a glossary to help remind you of the peculiar and cute Lapine (rabbit) language. The book was more than just a story; it drew you into to the idea of a distinct rabbit culture, complete with a social hierarchy, where each rabbit contributes to the community and has a distinct personality and skill. Even more delightful is the rabbit lore that is woven into the story. In the midst of a fearful situation, such as a fox attack, the rabbits are often put to ease when one of their comrades relates one of their well known and loved rabbit myths. Almost as wonderful as the myths are the aptly chosen epigraphs that introduce each chapter. Not only are the quotations pithy and interesting, they successfully foreshadow what is to come without completely giving everything away. It is indeed an impressive balance.

I was nearing the end of Watership Down as I waited to meet a friend for dinner, and when she saw what I was reading, she reminisced about reading it in high school for a religion class where the teacher claimed that aspects of the rabbits’ story paralleled the persecution of the Christians. In fact, most people I have discussed the book with have had someone tell them what the book was “really about.” They are surprised to learn that the book is simply a story, written by a father who invented the tale for his two daughters and later decided to write it down. As soon as I read about the origin of the story in the introduction, and found out it was not intended to have a deeper meaning, I almost felt a sense of liberation. I like a good, symbolic story as much as the next readosaur, but sometimes it is nice to enjoy rich, well-crafted writing and plot, and have a respite from trying to discern some intended allegorical meaning from the book. The only caution I would give is that you may never again be able to spot a rabbit without experiencing the sincere disappoint that you will never know the story of its life and the adventures and perils it has faced with its rabbit friends. 

Adams, Richard. Watership Down. New York: Scribner, 2005.