The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle

First published in 1968

The Last Unicorn is one of my absolutely favourite books. I think Peter S. Beagle is one of the finest writers around – an absolute master of beautiful language, unique characters, imagination, warmth, humour and magical storytelling. He is one of those writers who can sum up grand emotion in a succinct, unique line. If you love fantasy and children’s books, then Beagle is an author who must be read. He has many fine stories – but my favourite is the very gorgeous The Last Unicorn.

I have a journal where I keep passages or lines from books that I think are particularly fine or moving – those lines that give you shivers – and The Last Unicorn features prominently in it. What he does best is write lines that illustrate loneliness and confusion; that really reach down into those emotions we keep embedded and tease them out of us. But these lines are never sappy or trying to be quote-worthy – they are often whimsical and silly and simple, but the resonance sweeps through all the pages. Beagle understands mortality, and people’s fears, and the many different guises with which they hide them. I love how he shows us the cracks in all his characters – he does it with such profound beauty and understanding.

The Last Unicorn may read like a fairytale – it has a princess and a prince; it has a quest and adventures through all the hidden parts of the world; it has a baddie and a beast, and it has secrets and a wicked adversary who is as evil as they come. Even just as this, it is a great story. But it is also very clever, and Beagle uses a tone that makes fun of it all but never snarkily, always with affection. There is a great sensitivity woven through all the pages and a sense of fun that subverts the genre even as it faithfully follows all the tropes.

One of the greatest things which keep The Last Unicorn rollicking along is that it is genuinely funny. The characters; the situations they find themselves in; the double-crosses; the human folly; the fabulous one-liners that flow so effortlessly. The pure, dazzling silliness of it all. My particular favourites are the talking skull and the magician Schmendrick when he is called upon to get himself out of a sticky situation or is making fun of everyone around him. His wit is legendary.

Which leads us to the characters in The Last Unicorn. They are all fabulous; nuanced; believable; entertaining; empathetic. I love the Unicorn and her motley crew – the lonely, sarcastic, jealous magician Schmendrick who cares too much; the bitter, no-nonsense Molly Grue with a heart of gold, and later, Prince Lir who believably and heart-breakingly emerges from a soft fool into a noble, hardened prince. The Unicorn herself, who is so brave and beautiful – but, for all her power, as full of doubts and weaknesses as her human companions.

But it doesn’t stop there. The baddies – most notably King Haggard and Mommy Fortuna – are glorious, complex characters who spit bitterness and hate but who, through a simple line from Beagle, reveal the fears and the insecurities that drive them to be so. And then all the other characters who float in and out of the pages – the talking cat, Captain Cully and Jack Jingly, the royal magician Mabruk, to name a few – are colourful, humorous creations, written with real warmth and imagination.

Imagination is where The Last Unicorn really wins for me. It is a wonderful concept in itself – being the last of your kind. The loneliness, the responsibility, the sadness in such an idea – I find this fascinating (which also tells me probably why I like Doctor Who so much – oh the adventures he has, but always and only ever, by himself). Everything that Beagle fills the pages with after this particular idea is just a bonus. The whole book just feels so graceful and enchanting – the kind of magic that you can’t shake off.

And really, it comes down to Beagle – his writing, his style. Read one of the first scenes between the Unicorn and a stray butterfly and you will understand something of his power. In this scene he uses words and ideas and emotions and weaves them together all so seamlessly, so powerfully, in the form of an erratic, dying butterfly. Brilliant. His writing is beautiful and effortless, and this, above all, is what makes The Last Unicorn such a triumphant children’s classic.

Previous entries, my fav Children's Books:

Number 20:  Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie

Number 19:  The Neverending Story by Michael Ende

Number 18:  Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

Number 17:  The Toymaker by Jeremy de Quidt

Number 16: The Thirteen Clocks by James Thurber

Number 15: The Scarecrows by Robert Westall

Number 14: Watership Down by Richard Adams

Watership Down by Richard Adams

First published in 1972

I love this book. When I first read Watership Down (once again, a result of the fantastic children’s library at my old uni), it rose immediately to the top of my favourite books list and it has never really shifted. When I read it again recently, for the purposes of this blog, I was as hooked as when I read it the first time. None of the charm, the magic, was lost. I skipped gym classes because I had to keep reading. I was as invested and caught up in the story of Hazel and his rabbits as if I had never met them before. In fact I’d say Watership Down is one of the defining books that made me want to write my own stories for kids.

The level of invention here is inspiring. I feel like this book matters. And not just because of the supposed parallels between the world of Watership Down and what it might be saying about contemporary political and social states, especially at the time of publication. For me, the allegorical nature of the book has never been a deciding factor. All that stuff about tyranny and freedom, utopia and dystopia, the individual and the corporate state – yes, I can see where it might come from. But I don’t think Watership Down has these at its heart.

For me, it was always about the epic nature of the quest. I love a good journey story. I love all those epic themes of exile and survival and heroism and the banding together of all the character’s individual qualities to create something much larger than just a story about a group of rabbits. Watership Down has all this in droves. Every new scene, every new set-up, every new complication, is as compelling as the last. Who will make it through this time? Which rabbit will shine? What will be won, and lost?  I think Watership Down is far closer to Homer and Virgil than any political statement. This, for me, is where the book draws its power – by tapping into old myths and making the story about the heroes – who, in this case, just happen to be rabbits.

And what a fantastic bunch of rabbits. Out of the main bunch, we certainly get to know some more than others, but Adams still gives each rabbit a distinct personality, a quality, that enriches the story and the colony as a whole. I’ve always loved Bigwig. Who doesn’t? He is, quite simply, awesome. He is tough and no-nonsense and fierce, but also loyal and clever. He beats General Woundwort, mentally and physically. He has great spirit – I love his line: “silflay hraka, u embleer rah”. I also have a soft spot for Blackberry and Dandelion, and love that they get a chance to really shine in the final plan to defeat Woundwort. And the gull character – Kehaar – he is pretty awesome aswell.

And what I also love is that Adams, while clearly making Woundwort the enemy, does not make him a clear-cut evil character. Adams writes of him with admiration and dignity. He gives him reasons for being the tyrant he is, he makes Woundwort brave and clever and strong. At the end he is defeated, but there is the sense that he hasn’t really lost. And what a great choice to turn him into a ‘bogeyman’ (bogeyrabbit?) character at the end, still capable of frightening and drawing-into-line when need be.

I also love me some antrhomorphised characters. I love when an author can take a distinctly non-human character, and make them so familiar and so compelling. Adam’s rabbits live in their natural environment and do very rabbity things, but Adams gives all these rabbity things a very human reasoning. I love that they have their own language, culture, and mythology. It is fascinating. The figure of El-ahrairah (a sort of folk hero), looms large, and the inclusion of his many feats and tricks (as told by Dandelion) serves the main story well.

I also love Watership Down because it is so seamlessly plotted. The seeds of many events are planted chapters and chapters before; a small detail can pack a lot of meaning and interest the first time it is given, but then later on it will come to factor in such a large way and the pay-off is so rewarding. And none of it is clunky. Just clever and brilliant. And the love Adams had for the English countryside is also apparent, too.

Personally, I just think Watership Down is near perfection. The narrative is compelling on its own – both emotionally and suspense-wise. But then you add in how consistent, comprehensible and enthralling Adam’s world is, and the scope of it all is of the finest quality. Watership Down has my heart. You will never meet a more awesome bunch of rabbits. An absolutely beautiful story.

Previous entries, my fav Children's Books:

Number 20:  Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie

Number 19:  The Neverending Story by Michael Ende

Number 18:  Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

Number 17:  The Toymaker by Jeremy de Quidt

Number 16: The Thirteen Clocks by James Thurber

Number 15: The Scarecrows by Robert Westall

The Scarecrows by Robert Westall

First published in 1981

The Scarecrows was first published in 1981 – it’s more of a recent children’s classic, but rightly so, because it’s one of the best contemporary children’s novels I’ve read. I say contemporary even though The Scarecrows does have elements of horror and the supernatural – but these things arise out of the main character’s psychological trauma. The way Westall does this is seamless and powerful. Some of the content is quite daring – a few of the passages would not make the final edit these days, I feel – but at the same time, it feels like they need to be there. These things make us understand the fear, isolation and confusion Simon feels as the realities of being ‘grown up’ push their way into his life.

Simon is thirteen years old and The Scarecrows deals with how he copes in the face of his mother’s remarriage. He feels betrayed by her, and he feels she has betrayed the memory of his dead father. At boarding school he is often taken aback by fits of rage, which he describes as the devils coming in. When his mother remarries and he goes to stay with them at Mill House, the devils chase him there too, and eventually get the better of him in the climax.

What I loved about this book is the perception in it. Simon’s thoughts and feelings ring so true. Often when I come across a passage in a book that ‘just gets it’ – where the emotion and insight is just so spot on, often where it cuts into your heart – I dog-ear the page (bad, I know) so I can come back to it later and savour the perfection. There were a lot of dog-ears in this book.

Westall was so clever when he created the Simon character – I think certainly he is unlikeable, but we always understand where his actions and thoughts come from. He is never whiny or sulky or bad-tempered – he is just hurting, and we can feel this. He is quite funny and endearing, in his own way. We know he cares. We know that he knows many of his actions are wrong. But we understand why he does it. Just brilliant characterisation. I particularly loved Chapter Four, the scene with his mum in the car. It plays out so perfectly – Simon knows he is making things worse, is digging himself deeper and deeper. But he can’t, won’t, give in: when you’re hurting so much the only way to stop it is to make yourself hurt more – this just leaps off the page.

The Scarecrows is genuinely, for a kid’s book, scary. And what makes it even more terrifying is that the horror comes from the ugliness of human emotions. This is a psychological thriller at its best. Three scarecrows in a field and a decrepit mill – in Westall’s hands, these things are truly frightening. When Simon first sees the scarecrows in the field and goes to investigate – I think my eyes were bugging out of my head. Great atmosphere. Simple, but effective writing.

I also found this book to have a great balance. There is some genuinely funny stuff, like when Simon climbs up the tree to spy on Joe painting. His stubbornness itself makes me smile. There is also great emotional truth. The periphery characters are fantastic – Jane is such a little creation, and Mr Mercyful commands the pages he’s in. And the historical back story never intrudes but only enhances the main setting and story.

The Scarecrows is fantastic and a must for school libraries. It is one of the only realistic/contemporary-based children’s classics in my Top 20 list. Past entries included below:

Number 20:  Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie

Number 19:  The Neverending Story by Michael Ende

Number 18:  Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

Number 17:  The Toymaker by Jeremy de Quidt

Number 16: The Thirteen Clocks by James Thurber

Coming soon: Watership Down, by Richard Adams

The 13 Clocks, by James Thurber

First published in 1950

When I first read James Thurber’s The 13 Clocks, my mind was blown. I was in my first year of Uni and the library had such an amazing collection of children’s books, especially old classics. Many of the books I read in this period have become some of my favourites, and are what really, really, made me have so much love for this genre.

One of these books was The 13 Clocks.

I had never come across anything like it before. I remember marvelling at the cleverness of it, and being delighted and then moved by the characters (especially that most wicked of Dukes), and just being so completely taken in by the ease with which Thurber used language in such creative and challenging ways.

The 13 Clocks is a fractured fairytale. It begins with Once Upon a Time and ends with Happily Ever After but everything that comes in between is about as original as you can get.  Thurber subverts the genre in much the same way as Shrek and The Princess Bride do, but overall I find the irony to have a bit more of a bite.

The Prince, with the help of the Golux, must bring back the evil Duke one thousand jewels within nine and ninety hours or he will be ‘slit from his guggle to his zatch’, fed to the Todal, and lose Princess Saralinda to the wicked ways of the Duke. Sounds straightforward, and indeed, the tale is a good one. But the fun, and the brilliance of the story, can really be found in the wonderfully weird and wacky way Thurber tells it.

I think a love and understanding of fairytales, language and writing helped me develop the huge amount of admiration I have for this book. If a plot device can be exploited, it will be; if a sly aside or knowing wink can be dropped, it will be; if stylistic language choices can be made fun of, or drawn attention to, they will be (A morning glory that had never opened, opened in the courtyard. A cock that never crowed, began to crow. The light of morning stained the windows, and in the walls the cold Duke moaned, “I hear the sound of time;” and if character names can be outrageously self-referential, they will be.

This is why I love The 13 Clocks – because it is, I think, above all about a love of language. Amongst all the sly cleverness there are some lovely thoughts, passages, and imagery – like clocks being murdered and spilling their cogs and springs onto the stairs. The story in itself is also a rollicking adventure, with a few twists and reveals and high stakes. But it is also so gloriously silly, with things happening just because they can. One of my favourites is:

“A purple ball with gold stars on it came slowly bouncing down the iron stairs and winked and twinkled, like a naked child saluting priests. “What insolence is this?” the Duke demanded. “What is that thing?”

“A ball,” said Hark.

“I know that!” screamed the Duke. “But why? What does its ghastly presence signify?”

All sorts of irrelevant objects and happenstances are placed into the story in such an affectionate self-referential way. The story has fun with itself. The language has such fun with itself – for example the story will switch in and out of rhyme, and even when it doesn’t rhyme, there is an obvious metre used, a rhythm to what words are used and when. And all of it just completely sweeps you up and takes you away.

And yet the characters, for all their silliness, and the relative shortness of the book, feel familiar almost straight away. I found myself becoming invested in them and getting sucked into their crazy existence. I think where The 13 Clocks really wowed me was that Thurber, even among all the silliness, can tweak emotions so very subtly. A lot is revealed about the characters through just one line, or thought.

The Duke is particularly well done. He is so very mean and cruel – “We all have flaws ... Mine is being wicked” – his dark humours are hilariously appalling, and he is gloriously tempestuous. But he is also sad. And lonely. Thurber shows this in his obsession with slaying time, his thoughtless repetition of commands, the way he slashes “his sword at silence and at nothing.” Princess Saralinda and the Prince give the books its fun, the Duke’s henchmen give it comic relief, and the Golux gives it all its mischief and silliness. But I have always found, perhaps strangely, the evil Duke to give the book its heart.

I couldn’t love The 13 Clocks more if I tried. It is hard to find these days, but there is a newish wonderful hardback, illustrated edition with an introduction by Neil Gaiman, published by the New York Review Children’s Collection. If you can find it, this book will be well worth your time.

My Top 20 Classic Children's Books

In the last couple of months of 2011 I had grand ambitions to read ten children’s classics by the end of the year. Well surprise, it didn’t happen. Kind of picked the busiest months. And also in those few months I was also working on something a little closer to home – more on that in the next few posts.

Nevertheless, it’s still something I want to do, and so have changed it slightly – now it’s going to be my Top 20 classic children's books, which I will read (well, re-read really) and blog about. I’m excited about this because these books will be my absolute favourite children’s books – the ones that moved me so indescribably, that inspired me, the ones that I consider the greatest books in children’s literature. These are the ones that I buy in gorgeous hard copy editions and pick them up and coo at them (maybe not really ... perhaps just a little) and I can’t wait to share my thoughts on them.

For the record, the three books I started to review last year were The Graveyard Book, Journey to the River Sea and The Neverending Story.

Some of my favourite children’s books I have already reviewed on Book Grotto, so I will begin the countdown with them. (The Countdown will not be in order of favourites, it will really just be as I read and post about the books). And of course I would love to hear everyone else's thoughts on their favourite children's books as well.

So without further ado:

Number 20:  Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie

Number 19:  The Neverending Story by Michael Ende

Number 18:  Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

Number 17:  The Toymaker by Jeremy de Quidt

And coming in the next few days:

Number 16: The Thirteen Clocks by James Thurber