We’re going away for a few days, so I won’t be blogging. This means I’ll miss Poetry Friday as well as Cloudscome’s Garden Stroll on Sunday. Since I’ve come to really enjoy taking part in both of these, I thought I’d do a post combining this week’s gardening with a poem by the most eloquent of gardeners, Wendell Berry.

I can’t get over how satisfying it is to see the vegetables growing — even though I don’t EVER have cravings for vegetables. A few weeks ago, this is what the garden looked like:

Compare that to this week’s view:

We’re enjoying the harvest of lettuce, washed here by my two enthusiastic helpers:

Wendell Berry’s “The Man Born to Farming” captures some of the wonder of watching a garden take off on its own. The title suggests that it’s about the farmer, but really all he does is offer himself; the growing process takes over and does the rest:

The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout
to him the soil is a divine drug…
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
That the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
Like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
Descending in the dark?

You can read this short poem in its entirety here (along with a few others). Of course he’s many times better at gardening than I am, but I have just a taste of what he’s feeling.

Our other major project has been to replace the stones that edge my flower garden beside the garage. Here it is a few weeks ago in its tumbledown state:

My parents-in-law offered us some large stones, and brought them over yesterday. In my zeal, I started right in hauling off the old rocks without waiting for my husband to come home from work. After all, as I mentioned before, I have two enthusiastic helpers! I didn’t make them do it, but I couldn’t hold them off from trying:

(Note the stuffed horse in the shoulder pouch!)

Then I hauled over the new rocks, using the hand truck they left. End result:

Want a closer look at that hosta?

I feel a little like Jack and the beanstalk with it… It just keeps growing.

All that’s left in the trailer is this pair of monstrous boulders. I’m leaving them for my husband. Seems like Wild At Heart said something about men needing a beauty to rescue and an adventure to live. He can kill both birds with one stone here — I mean, uh, two:

Me, I cuddled up for a good long time last night with an aching back and this.

It’s an electric back massager. I know, I know — a back rub is more romantic. But I was looking more for relief than romance! I think I’ll be able to move again today, at least enough to pack for our trip! Have a great week.

I’m a big fan of Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day. I saw the movie first, then read the book. Recently Paula of Great Stories reminded me of it, and I thought I’d look for another book by this masterful author. I found Never Let Me Go on the library shelf. 

I’ll give a brief overview that sidesteps spoilers. But then, since part of my purpose in blogging is to remember and come to terms with what I read, I’ll write a bit more specifically about my thoughts and reactions. If you think it’s a book you might want to read, skip that part, read the book — then come back to finish the post and share your thoughts!

What’s it about? The children of Hailsham, a secluded school in Edenic rural England. They’re told repeatedly that they’re “special.” They’re encouraged to be creative and artistic, and above all physically healthy. But there are no parents mentioned, only “guardians.” It’s a somewhat nurturing environment, but curiously impersonal. There’s no sense of purpose, no sense of the future, no transcendent awareness of any kind — only painstaking accounts of the minutia of life: conversations, cliques, social pressures. As the story unfolds, we learn the reasons for the school’s peculiar character.

****** 

As in The Remains of the Day, Ishiguro places us inside an airtight, strictly limited narrative consciousness. 31-year-old Kathy is a product of Hailsham trying to reconcile her experiences in hindsight, and we’re confined to her point of view. There’s no omniscient voice pulling us aside and explaining to us what’s happening; we have to find our own footing in Kathy’s imperfect perspective. Not far into the novel, we learn that Hailsham is a community of clones who have been created to donate their organs. The story raised questions for me regarding:

• Science. This novel has been classed as science fiction, though it doesn’t have some of the trappings I associate with the genre. In some ways it’s a more modern version of Frankenstein, or one of Hawthorne’s stories. But it’s told differently. It’s not a rant or a sermon, but a thoughtful imaginative attempt to get inside the propositions of biological engineering and see what it does to humanness — for the clones, and for those who care for them.
• Incrementalism. I was struck as I read by how the utter objectification of these people was simply an extension of some ways of seeing already in place. We already have many ways of referring to people as a class or type — ethnic labels, gender labels, religious labels, income brackets, medical statistics. We already have ways of blurring our humanity with clinical language. We already have pornography. We already have the reduction of sexuality to “having sex.” It didn’t stretch me too much to imagine the world of this novel, which simply extends these phenomena over the existing lines – rather than inventing new phenomena.  
• Nature vs. nurture. As others have pointed out, the clones don’t protest their fate. Kathy speculates that part of this may be because they were told their purpose early on, when they were developmentally ready to accept it before understanding it. They all grow into adulthood, and not a single one rebels. How am I similarly conditioned? How much have I accepted in the strangely surreal way these clones have accepted their fate? How many things am I passing on to my children, consciously or unconsciously, that they are accepting uncritically? One of the main thrusts of the story is that the clones are fully human, and I think their willingness to be conditioned is one of the more disturbing aspects of humanness.

There are more questions, more ponderings, more responses than I have the wherewithal to write here. But when it comes down to evaluating the novel, I don’t reject its high quality as art, but I don’t think I would recommend it, either. It’s wrenching, but not terribly convincing as a fictional world. Much of it has a contrived feel. It raises worthy questions, but nothing much happens; it moves at a sleepy pace. The author describes the response he hopes for in this interview: 

This is a very sad novel, but there was also something quite affirming in it because the characters are so decent. That response is probably closest to what I was trying to get at. The fact is, yes, we will all fade away and die. But people can find the energy to create little pockets of happiness and decency while we’re here.

That’s a modest aim, and I’d say that’s an accurate description of my response to the story. But in the end, I read in search of something more than that. My worldview dares to hope for something more than that — even though history keeps us honest about our track record as fallen human beings, and even though our present world gives us lots of reasons for anxiety.

There are thoughtful blog reviews of this book (which include more links) at Dog Ear Diary, Semicolon, and Books ‘n  Border Collies. There’s also a review on “Fresh Air” here.

This morning at breakfast, my 7-year-old and I discussed the blue jay, that despicable cannibal of baby birds, and how glad we were to see the adolescent cardinals and robins that had eluded his wicked schemes:

Me (in an inexplicably perverse mood): But you know, we eat baby birds, too. Daddy has one every morning, and you’re about to cook one for yourself.

Her (looking alarmed): Eggs!

Me: (sagacious nod)

Her (sighing in relief): But they’re not formed yet.

Me: No. They haven’t hatched yet, have they?

Her: The hen and the rooster haven’t walked around and around the egg yet. That’s how it happens. The hen and the rooster are in charge of starting the creation.

*Disclaimer: when asked, she said she’d obtained this information last year in kindergarten.

My favorite parenting book so far is Boundaries with Kids. It’s given me terms for understanding my children’s behavior, and taught me the importance of disciplining them as someone who’s on their side, who’s firm but not angry, and who is helping them to recognize and respect the defining boundaries that will surround them all through life.

The basic principle is to state what the consequence will be if a certain boundary isn’t respected, then let the consequence occur. My problem is that I’m not very creative with consequences! I thought I’d share a few of mine here, and ask my readers for some input. What works for you?

Here are mine.

1. For hurting your sister: one warning, then if it happens again, I forbid them to play together for a certain period of time. They immediately start thinking of how much they love to play together, and what they lose when they don’t respect each other. It also communicates their value to me; they are worth protecting from harm.
2. For failing to complete a job (clean your room, clear the table, feed the dog, etc.) within a certain time limit: a toy gets put away for a period of time.
3. For failing to manage a scatterworthy toy (legos, lincoln logs, crayons, beads…): toy is put up for 24 hours. Sometimes they lose the privilege of playing freely with it, and can only do so under supervision.
4. For defiance: extra chores, though I have a hard time thinking of ones suited to ages 7 or 4. Any suggestions? (They often resist doing their chores, but they LOVE anything to do with sweeping, spraying and wiping, or washing with soap and water.) I can think of: weeding, straightening books in bookcases, folding towels…?
5. I use time-outs for various offenses. 
6. For failing to do chores: a portion of their allowance is withheld.

Those are my best ones. What works for you? I find it easier to think of punishments than real consequences that will communicate and teach a value: what do you lose when you don’t share? What problems are you creating for yourself when you don’t take care of your stuff? I’m looking for practical ways to help my children ask these kinds of questions as a result of decisions they make, rather than simply assert my control over them. So if you have some ideas, please leave me a comment!

I thought I wouldn’t do the Garden Stroll at A Wrung Sponge this week, but I can’t help myself. I’m like a proud parent whipping out my wallet and showing people pictures of my children (yawn).

Speaking of children and gardens… I remember when I discovered I was pregnant with my oldest daughter. She was already 8 weeks old. I had that eerie realization that my body had been taken over by processes beyond my control, and it knew what to do. (I didn’t.)

Same with the garden. It knows what to do. Throw a few seeds in the ground, and the cukes go from this:

to this:

in a week!

Ignore the weeds for a few days in the quite noble cause of being more laid back, and the cucumbers take over, and start strangling them:

(You can click on it to enlarge it.)

Look the other way, and first fruits and flowers appear:

I’m a very small player in the success or failure of this enterprise. Sun, soil, and seeds have minds of their own — a good thing, when you know as little about it all as I do.

Sadly, I was also struck this week by the fact that vegetables are a very small part of my diet. (Has anyone tried growing cocoa beans in the northern U.S.? Or sugar? Or coffee?) I’m going to have to learn how to enjoy them more, and fast. (I kind of thought it would kick in at the sight of homegrown veggies, but… no.)

Meantime, there are lovely things around that one doesn’t have to eat:

Head over to a wrung sponge for a look at some more gardens, or to share some photos of your own!

The review is up over at Semicolon. Head on over to read book reviews by other bloggers, or share your own. 

Almost forgot what day it was: Poetry Friday, hosted at Biblio File. Having just finished a reading meme, I’m thinking back to one of the formative influences of my early reading life: The Electric Company. Okay, it screams ’70’s! But where else has such an amazing cast ever been assembled in the cause of literacy?

Want to share my nostalgia-fest? Here’s a short clip (1:15) of the kind of word play that was so integral to the show’s success all those years ago. I guess you’d call it a “found poem,” one that helped convince me as a child that the world was filled with word-treasures, and reading would be the instrument for discovering a sense in nonsense:

(My daughters just watched it with me and enjoyed it… though they agreed that Uncle Sam looks “grumphy.”)

Barbara H. of Stray Thoughts has tagged me for a meme devised for bookish types. She developed it herself, and anyone who’s interested is invited to join in. It’s kind of like being interviewed, but with more time to think! If you decide to join in, let me know; I’d love to read your answers! Here goes:

1. Do you remember how you developed a love for reading? I learned to read in kindergarten, before it was taught in school. I don’t remember figuring it out, but it probably had to do with being read to regularly as a child, and watching The Electric Company on television. Here’s a sample (Consider the video quality as the technological equivalent of an antique finish on furniture!):

As far as how my parents discovered I could read, here’s how the story goes: I was at the store with my mother, asking for a box of Barnum’s animal crackers as always. When she handed it to me, I looked at it and asked skeptically, “Why do they call these crackers when it says they’re cookies right on the box?”

2. What are some books you read as a child? I guess it depends on how you define “child.” I’ll just go with some of the earliest ones here: Go Away Dog is the book I read to my kindergarten teacher to prove that I could read. Rabbit and Skunk and the Scary Rock was a favorite that my dad read to me — he did a fantastic job making the weird noises the rock makes. The Clifford stories, Mother Goose rhymes, Brer Rabbit stories, Dr. Suess and Black Beauty (a picture book version) are also early reading adventures I remember. (Now that I’m remembering, the list is getting longer and longer… so I’ll just stop there!) 

3. What is your favorite genre? Novels. 

4. Do you have a favorite novel? Several that I can think of off the top of my head: The Memory of Old Jack, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Bleak House, The Lord of the Rings, Narnia stories, space trilogy (hmm, that reminds me — it’s about time to reread That Hideous Strength and see if I totally grasp it yet)…

5. Where do you usually read? Wherever I can prop myself up and stay awake: on the couch, on the bed, in a waiting room, on the swing outside. I’m not so good in the car — I get carsick. And my phase of life doesn’t allow me to escape into the bathroom long enough to exploit its lovely privacy. :-) 

6. When do you usually read? Afternoons and evenings. 

7. Do you usually have more than one book you are reading at a time? I’m a one-book-at-a-time kind of a gal. If I get more than one going at once, I don’t finish them.

8. Do you read nonfiction in a different way or place than you read fiction? I should — but no, not substantially different. I may annotate and underline nonfiction a little more. I should take notes and make an outline of the argument as I go, but I’m afraid it will cause me to run aground, so I just plow ahead and hope I absorb the basic outline as I go. I do think Bible-reading is unique… I tend to put it in a different category than other reading, though it’s one of the constants of my life.

9. Do you buy most of the books you read, or borrow them, or check them out of the library? I’ve spent the majority of my life as a snob who only reads what I buy, but in the last year or two I’ve rediscovered the library, and now I try to get everything I need through the shelves there, or interlibrary loan. It’s jump-started my reading. And it’s been well worth having to pay the $30 membership per year… I’ve probably read about a thousand’s worth, between myself and my children, already.

10. Do you keep most of the books you buy? If not, what do you do with them? I do keep them. A lot of them I haven’t finished with, and some I’m just attached to. (Bibliolatry, I guess.) When I was in graduate school, my dissertation director liked to frequent used bookstores, and he absolutely deluged me with books. He had realized I didn’t have much of a book-buying margin as a grad student on a teaching assistantship, and he was a generous person. I haven’t read them all yet! Most of them are books on autobiography, or nature writing. I’ll read them all before I’m done, if for no other reason than gratitude.  

11. If you have children, what are some of the favorite books you have shared with them? Were they some of the same ones you read as a child? The Narnia books, the Little House books, and various horse stories, for my older daughter (7). The Clifford stories for my younger daughter (4). Bible stories for both of them.

12. What are you reading now? Never Let Me Go,  by Kazuo Ishiguro.

13. Do you keep a TBR (to be read) list? Only unofficially… If someone makes a recommendation on my blog or in an email, I consider that my written record. And I made nominal commitments in a few reading challenges this year. I don’t want to hem in my reading choices much at this stage of life; in all those years of school, I feel like I paid my dues!

14. What’s next? Ender’s Shadow, by Orson Scott Card, checked out of the library and waiting for me on my shelf upstairs.

15. What books would you like to reread? Gosh, no way I can answer this one. The favorites I listed above get reread regularly, along with a few others that escape me at the moment. I think rereading is important… Books are as much a way of documenting our own lives as photo albums, and revisiting them shows us who we are, and who we’re becoming.

16. Who are your favorite authors? C.S. Lewis, Wendell Berry, Elisabeth Elliott, Dickens, the Brontes, various nature writers, J.R.R. Tolkien… Who else am I not thinking of? Probably the wisest answer would be, I have different “favorites” at different seasons of life (as determined by how much of them I read), but these are ones that stand the test of time.

As a matter of curiosity, I requested this book through interlibrary loan back in the fall. It was one of two (the other was this one) that I’d read and reread as an eighth grader after the school librarian recommended it to me. Somewhere in the dim recesses of my mind, I remembered bits and pieces from the book, and I wanted to go back and reread it to get reacquainted with my younger self.

By the time it arrived this week, I’d lost interest. But since they’d apparently had some trouble getting ahold of the book (why else would it take 6 months to secure?), and since I had to pay $.25 for the service, I dutifully reread it over the last few days.

It’s a page-turner. I felt a certain tenderness for my 12-year-old self, eager to learn about life and romance, and soaking up what knowledge I could from a book I now have a literary label for: Gothic romance. I remember reading Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey much later as a student of literature, and enjoying its satire on this genre, without remembering that I had once sat on the edge of my seat, lapping up this book’s key ingredients:

• A beautiful heroine who speaks in the first person of her intelligence and strength, while her husband repeatedly calls her a child and her actions are bewilderingly gullible (”No, don’t get in the carriage and go to the dangerous part of town on a mission of mercy in the dark of night!” or “No, don’t believe that ninny of a cousin YET AGAIN as she sets you up to be kidnapped!” etc. etc… )
• A Gothic castle on the Hudson, full of dark labyrinths, ghost stories, mysterious tales of the past, an ancient curse, and an insane relative inhabiting upstairs apartments
• A tall, dark, handsome hero, just one of the novel’s population of beautiful people — all “tall and broad-shouldered” or ”tall and slender,” with “blond ringlets” or “golden-brown curls,” glittering with jewels and dressed by their maids
• Love at first sight that leads our fair young heroine with her mysterious past into a brilliant marriage 

As an adult, I also noticed that this author seeks to legitimize the book with lots of literary allusions, and that it contains enough American history, and enough reference to real places, to make it interesting.

Sometimes it’s fun to reread. My curiosity seems directed by different forces now than it was in eighth grade, but I also come away from this story reminded of a different kind of reading pleasure. This tale is sheer entertainment, and it brought back the original, carefree context of my first reading of it. I suppose that means I’m like the Red Castle, full of passages into the past, even though I don’t travel them much anymore.