The Graveyard Book

When I studied abroad in London last semester, I lived in an area just North of central London called Highgate. Highgate Village is at the top of Highgate Hill, and it is a lovely area with many green places and a mixture of quaint and grand old architecture. It has become home to several British celebrities, which makes it a spot of interest to tourists. But more than anything else, Highgate is famous for its cemetery. As I was reading The Graveyard Book, I could not help but associate my memories of Highgate Cemetery with Bod's graveyard. The similarities are all too striking. I wonder if Neil Gaiman, as a British man, ever visited Highgate Cemetery. He must have. I have posted some pictures of Highgate Cemetery so that you can compare it with the graveyard in your mind's eye.
I was excited about the setting and context of this book because it made me nostalgic for London and Highgate, but as the story progressed and subsequently ended, I found myself wanting something more from it. Through Bod's misadventures, the reader gets to explore more of the graveyard and meet more of its inhabitants, which is stimulating and fun to read. However, I was hoping that the setting of a graveyard would be providing something cathartic for Bod. His family's murder begins the story, and though he has Mr. and Mrs. Owens for parents and Silas for a guardian, he spends a good deal of time roaming around alone.

I was hoping to find Bod an increasingly contemplative character or that circumstances in the graveyard would force him to return to thoughts of the nature of death, but I never got that feeling. Though Bod grows up surrounded by death, and with a sort of shroud for swaddling clothes, I did not get the impression that he ever fully engaged with the idea of death. Perhaps I was expecting too much from Bod, but I think I am justified in expecting more from Gaiman.

The book does not have pleasant symmetry because Bod's character does not show depth or development (apart from an improvement in speech) nor does Gaiman reconnect Bod's growing up in the graveyard to his views on death. In fact, I would argue that Gaiman sets up a cognitive disconnect regarding how Bod views death: though Bod has been exposed to nothing but the dead and the undead (Silas), he still wants to kill Jack out of revenge for murdering his parents. It does not make sense that a boy that has grown up surrounded by nothing but death (he lives in a graveyard!) would still consider death a tool by which to achieve revenge. Gaiman did not show Bod to be at all resentful of being surrounded by the dead; at most, Bod showed the normal signs of disagreement between child and authority, but it was not inclusive of them being dead. I felt unfulfilled and frustrated at the conclusion of the book as well.

Again, as we discussed in class today, the Jacks and the Honour Guard conjured up a larger scheme into which Bod was destined to play an important role. Unfortunately, this aspect of the story was also not fleshed out. I think Silas would have been a good character to provide further explanations for this larger world of The Graveyard Book, but instead his character remains painfully reserved and guarded. Also, why does Gaiman never come out and say that Silas is a vampire? He labels him as such in every other indirect way, but never actually calls him one. Was he concerned about this book being put in the "vampire book" category?

Though this was an entertaining story, I still feel as though I am waiting for something to happen. I still feel like there are loose ends that need to be tied up. This is certainly not the tidy ending that we get with Holes, but I wonder if Gaiman truly intends this sort of ambiguity in the ending. In our small group discussion today, we were saying how this ending savors of a sequel to come. If one ever does come, I will be interested to read it.

Fern and Charlotte: The Women of Charlotte's Web

As I read Charlotte's Web, I noted the fact that all the main characters were animals in a way that I never had when reading this book as a child. Even so, the characters and their plights seem just as important now as they did earlier in my life. In reflecting on how White was able to attribute so much agency and personality to these barnyard creatures, I began to see that the necessary link is Fern. The humans dwell in the periphery for the majority of the novel, but they did dominate the very beginning. Fern gives life to Wilbur through her love and concern for him. Fern literally gives Wilbur human qualities by treating him like a child when he is small. Fern acts as a defender of natural justice in arguing that each creature must be free to live out its own life. Her values fly in the face of her father's sense of (economic?) justice in which runts are a drain to the farm, but still make decent eating. Fern provides the setup of Wilbur's character that allows the reader to relate to him later.

This debate over what is "right" in life and death continues through the voice of Charlotte after the shift from the human-focused Arable farm to the animal-focused Zuckerman farm. Wilbur develops his own voice and meets Charlotte A. Cavatica, the well-spoken, intelligent barn spider. Like Fern, Charlotte wants to help Wilbur live and to prevent his slaughter. Charlotte, like Fern, sees that giving value to Wilbur as a special, unique pig and personality will stay the hands of John Arable and Homer Zuckerman's axe. Fern's sincereity and passion for saving Wilbur motivate's her father to see Wilbur's life as valuable, and does not kill him. Likewise, Charlotte's cleverness in writing Wilbur's exceptionality provides enough value to Wilbur's life for Zuckerman to not only spare his life, but to also showcase him at the fair.

Though Fern gradually loses interest in seeing Wilbur often, Charlotte's friendship, webs, and plots (involving the comical Templeton) fill his life with meaning and growth. Charlotte's character reflects the marriage of the tradtional, patriarchal image of the "earth mother" and the clever, educated, intellectual, independent woman. Charlotte's vocabulary punctuates Wilbur's barnyard education and her clever writing saves him. Charlotte balances the right amount of suggested excellence with suggested humility. She is Wilbur's friend, teacher, protector, and friend. Yet, she is also a mother and a spider. She alarms Wilbur when he sees the brutality of the way she eats insects. Yet her manner with him is calm and gentle. Charlotte also acknowledges her egg sack as her "prime opus," her masterpiece in her life. For Charlotte, it is the cycle of life and the natural world that wins over her literary works and cleverness. As a strong female character, she meets death head on. Fern sees Wilbur's value in the present, but Charlotte embraces his value in both the present and the future. Charlotte's legacy, three of her children (Joy, Aranea, and Nellie) remain with Wilbur to continue their mother's friendship and work in the barn.

Fern provides the initial human push and setup for the reader interest in Wilbur. Through Fern's eyes, the reader encounters the themes of injustice vs justice and of how to view death. Fern shows the reader that unnatural, inflicted death is injust. Charlotte demonstrates how natural death is also difficult, but it is also "right."




This is a video from the 2006 movie production of Charlotte's Web. This segment of the film highlights the moment that Charlotte marries her status as mother with her literary intellect.

What Are Parents For?

Do children really need parents to take care of them? What exactly are they taking care of? Is it necessary to form a bond with the two people who were biologically responsible for creating you? What sort of bond does it have to be and why is that important in life? What is the parent's role within society?

The Moorchild challenges traditional parental roles by posing these questions through the dissatisfying experiences of Saaski, the twice-rejected, changeling heroine of the tale, in the human world. Saaski was born in the Mound and given the name Moql'nkkn. The Mound of the Folk is described as an egalitarian community of carefree love, and perpetual childlike wonder. The twinkling lights of the cook fires light up the Gathering and every bright sparkling eye reflects a private passion for life that remains unfettered by attachment or social infrastructure. Where do families fit in to this enchanting reality?

"No youngling knew its mother-- only that it must have had one. Each mother cosseted and adored her baby until the Nursery took over, then she forgot it and returned to the Gathering and a different mate and the careless life of the Folk, in which a great deal of every body's time, whether in the Mound or Outside in the humans' world, was spent in dancing, feasting, mischief, idling, and dreaming" (16).

So basically, there are no nuclear families within the Mound; there is only the sense of loyalty to the community. The narrative seems to imply that the Nursery "takes over" after the mother has finished nursing her young. In the Nursery and later in Schooling House, Saaski/Moql runs free and wild over the Moor with her fellow Younglings. They dance and play and casually absorb the lessons in the magic of the Folk. They gain a sense of identity in relation to each other, by mimicking each other in carefree fun. Saaski/Moql is happy with this way of life, and the narrative does not give the reader a sense that Saaski misses having parents. Rather, the narrative creates a society in which parents are not normally attached and present to their children. Community child rearing is often linked with visions of Utopias because it can seem liberatory to be able to share love, joy, and passion without having to feel attachment, jealousy, and resentment. Sharing the labors of having to teach children the skills they need to be productive adults is also an appealing quality of community nurseries. Within the Mound, Saaski/Moql learns magic and how to read nature and the ways to play pranks on the humans. She is allowed to explore, the run free, to make mistakes, to discover the world with her own eyes. Her independence brings her success within the Mound. She sets her own limitations, and there is no distinction between what is taught to boys and girls as far as social norms.

This very idealized, pastoral, innocent existence is shattered when Saaski/Moql is discovered to be half human. This mixing of blood was regarded as a threat to the Mound, and so they rejected her. No one seemed to bear her ill will on her way out, and no one gave signs that they would mourn her after she had gone. The Folk live carelessly and without selfish attachment.

Saaski joined the ranks of the humans, and because she was half Folk, she was doomed a second time to be rejected. At first, as an infant in her crib, Saaski calls Yanno and Anwara her "jailers" and confesses that she bears them no love or care. The perception of the parent as a captor, as a diminutive person who forces tasks upon an unwilling victim characterizes Saaski initial reception of Yanno and Anwara. They reinforce structure in her day by giving her chores. They limit her creativity and exploration by forbidding her to wander the Moor. They blame her for the scrutiny she has spread to the family name because of her "otherness." Her independence and agency are punished in the human world.

However, the more Yanno and Anwara try to restrain Saaski and reform her to follow the social norms of the village, the more Saaski rebels. She becomes complacent, apathetic, and even contrary. She is aware of what her parents want, but sometimes judges it to be wrong. Since the tale is told from Saaski's point of view, the reader identifies with Saaski more. This identification aids in problematizing the parenting strategies of Yanno and Amwara.

Instead of reinforcing the practical skills, pastoral relationships, and gleeful pleasures that Saaski learned from her time in the Mound, Yanno and Anwara teach Saaski a world of limitations. While parenting Saaski, Yanno and Anwara are seldom happy, and in fact Anwara's health suffers because of the strain and stress. Yet, both the younglings and the elders live carefree lives of joy in the Mound. Thus, the human model of childhood contrasts with the Folk model. Through Saaski's eyes, though there are small moments of belonging and love between she and her foster parents, the human model of raising children is wrong. She feels attachment and gratitude towards Anwara for supporting her playing the bagpipes, and she enjoys learning to read with Old Bess. She was deeply moved by Yanno's violent vows to protect her against the angry mob, but Saaski never really formed a selfish attachment to these foster parents. Saaski never accepted their teachings, never obeyed, and so was never able to assimilate herself into society. She ultimately returns to the Mound, electing a life away from the human world of boundaries and cares.

To me, The Moorchild highlights the problems that come when parents cannot recognize their children; each child is different with different needs and desires and personality traits. Indoctrinating all children to fit into a single, acceptable, "normal" mold is impossible, nor should it be desirable. I do not think that an existence like to the Mound is possible either. However, I think that this book argues that a child's agency should be more celebrated and that his or her creativity and individuality should be cultivated, not repressed or controlled. Difference should be enjoyed, not hushed. Aside from attempting to indoctrinate Saaski into the social norms in the town, I do not think that Yanno and Anwara do much to enhance or enrich Saaski as a character. Likewise, parents who cannot recognize their children and seek only to change them to fit into social norms may suffer similar frustrations and difficulties.

How Magic Affects Harry's Heroism

"[Harry] had forgotten about magic -- he had forgotten that he was short and skinny and thirteen, whereas Black was a tall, full-grown man -- all Harry knew was that he wanted to hurt Black as badly as he could and he didn't care how much he got hurt in return --" (Rowling 340)


The quote above occurs during the confrontation in the Shrieking Shack. Sirius Black declares that he will be killing only one person, and Harry mistakenly assumes that he is the target. Harry feels desperate hostility towards Black because he believes the lie: that Black killed his parents and is now after him. Though the truth is uncovered later, and Black and Harry are able to begin building a relationship of love, I believe that this moment exemplifies Harry's most heroic and valued qualities. Harry Potter is a hero because of his dauntless dedication and selfless courage in the face of danger.

Yet, these are human qualities; dedication and courage are not limited to Hogwarts and the wizarding world. Harry’s heroism, like the reader’s closeness to him, does not stem from the charm of Rowling’s world of magic and the challenges therein. The inner conflict Harry felt when confronting Black in the shrieking Shack was not founded in his identity as “wizard.” Rather, it is rooted to Harry’s developing and maturing identity as a young man struggling to understand the nature of family and friends, good and evil, truth and deception. Harry’s journey mirrors the reader’s in that he must face the challenges of coming to know himself through trials and tribulations.

Though the subject matter of Harry’s difficulties is quite dark (i.e. his parents were murdered, he is abused by his aunt and uncle, he braves the pressures of school while believing that Black is trying to kill him), the magical setting of Hogwarts places a distance between the reader and these threats. Harry becomes a comfortable character that the reader can relate to and care about. Every time I read a Harry Potter book, I feel a tug at my heartstrings to pack up and trundle off the Hogwarts with Harry. For me, the value of Harry’s character as a hero is most evident when I feel myself undergoing a personal transformation with him.

When Harry confronts Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack, he puts faith in his inner sense of right and wrong, and acts. Magic and wizardry do not factor in to his judgment. For me, this moment of heroism resonates because I can relate to his sense of injustice and rage, and I admire Harry’s nerve and bravery. I believe that Rowling gives Harry’s heroism another dimension by creating a character that so many readers of so many ages can relate to and care about. He does fulfill the role of the hero in the tradition of High Fantasy, but Rowling seems to value Harry as a young man, over Harry as a wizard. In moments of emotional and personal upheaval, Harry shines brightest as a hero because he is able to overcome and believe in himself.

	GREGORY HEISLER

The Best: The Hobbit

Greetings Class!

I am Lauren Power, and my favorite children's literature book is The Hobbit. My first grade teacher read it to my class, and I have loved it ever since. I have read it six times now. I saved up my babysitting money to buy this lovely leather-bound edition when I was thirteen. I think that the playful, witty dialogue of the characters and poetic descriptive passages enchanted me as a first-grader. Tolkien's descriptive prowess has only continued to invite me into his fictional landscapes as I have gotten older. I share Bilbo's love of fine things and creature comforts, and identify with his metamorphosis through travel and adventure. After experiencing my own adventures, I have also come to suffer from his rather inconvenient condition of wanderlust.

I am a senior English major with a Religion minor. I just returned from studying abroad in London at the University of Westminster and am still adjusting to our Texas pace of life. During my time abroad I visited many other Western European countries. I have also been to Japan, China, South Africa, and Swaziland through educational and philanthropic programs. Like Bilbo, I was aided by more experienced and wiser figures (teachers and mentors) during my journeys and I treasure the lifelong friendships built through meeting challenges.

For the purpose of experimentation and in the spirit of good humor, I have included a video clip from the 1977 Hobbit animated film (two times). Enjoy!