Two more for the history book
One old - Simon, by Rosemary Sutcliff, one newer, The Ballad of Lucy Whipple, by Karen Cushman. 
With a little blathering about Karen Cushman's others thrown in for whatever kind of measure.
Simon was a reread, deliberately chosen for the contrast with I, Coriander, about which I ranted a bit recently. Not exactly the same period, as I, Coriander opens in 1649, just after Charles I's execution, while Simon begins in about 1642 before the outbreak of the Civil War, with a 'couple of years on' final chapter set in about '49 or '50. But the difference in balance owes to a lot more than being set in slightly different times. The Simon of the title comes from a family of farmers supporting Parliament, while his best friend Amias is fiercely Royalist. I suppose it might have been interestingly mixed as well as balanced if Sutcliff had made the Royalist supporter be the more sober, humble character who always picked up the pieces after his brilliant, disdainful Puritan friend, but that far she didn't go. And I suppose it says more about me than anything else that I'm much fonder of the loyal Simon, who describes himself as 'rather a dull sort of fellow' than of the dashing and arrogant Amias.
Simon's father goes off to war, ordering Simon to wait to join up until he's sixteen, if the war is still on then - but also telling him 'Civil war is a hideous thing. Don't hope for it to last, Simon.' And, as so often, Rosemary Sutcliff does a wonderful job of showing a strong friendship between two (usually male) characters on opposing sides, or from different cultures. And showing the usual mix of honourable and much-less than honourable people on both sides. I'd have to say that it's not one of her faster-paced books, and some of this may be the necessity of giving regular 'updates' on the way the war is going across the country. But the somewhat dull passages are broken by truly moving ones, and this apparently was part of the country Sutcliff considered her own - scenes of bloodshed and lives destroyed are often set against poetic descriptions of the land Simon (and she) love so well.
If Amanda Craig wanted a historical picture of 'fanatics' - she'd have done better to read Simon, and find one both chilling and sympathetic. There's a scene in which a character is tried for desertion from the New Model Army, and is utterly unable to believe that he's not justified, as 'an instrument of Vengeance in the hand of the Lord, against one that is marked for the Burning Pit' - he's answered by the Major in charge of the trial 'I also can quote from the Good Book. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."' A Biblical quote Zeal-for-the-Lord has completely blocked out, despite the central message of forgiveness in the New Testament. And yet Simon - and so the reader - can feel for him while horrified at his blindness and (real) fanaticism.
I've got Karen Cushman's latest, The Loud Silence of Francine Green on order, and I was pleased to find a cheap copy of Lucy Whipple in a second-hand shop recently. Everyone in this family loves Catherine, Called Birdy, and O.D. and I liked The Midwife's Apprentice well enough, though it wasn't as engaging on a first read (it's on the reread list), but I wasn't all that keen on Lucy Whipple, generally not being all that entranced by the California Gold Rush. But I ended up liking it a lot - doubtless helped by my still lingering annoyance with I, Coriander. In fact, I started off in super-critical mode, and checked a couple of things immediately, before I calmed down a bit - reassured by the complete correctness of everything I did check. I also have a bit of recalcitrance concerning children forced to leave much-loved homes and later embracing the new ones as being truly home now, but that didn't really get in the way by the end either.
Interestingly, I noticed two similarities between it and Catherine, Called Birdy (aside from the humour and well-integrated historical detail), and those were the use of contemporary slang, and a love of both heroines for books, rare though those were in both settings. (And also, the rightness of the eventual - explained - acquisition of a book/books in each case.) It occurred to me that these similar treatments provided a way in to the characters' worlds, which also was a measure of differences between them and our world.
Catherine found the swear words she tried out for size from the one book available to her early on - her mother's book of saints (I might have confused that detail, as it's been a while), and her rather spirited use of the book - a somewhat unusual purpose for a devotional book! - is both appealing and a reminder of what it would be like not to turn to books for sheer entertainment, as we all do so addictedly. Lucy, of course, does have access to books for entertainment - at least back in Massachusetts, and leaving that is one of the many hardships for her, when her mother drags the family to California. She almost collects some of the miners' slang as Birdy does religious swear words, and that kind of interest is the kind of thing which offers her at least a small consolation in her new, much-hated setting. Eventually she does collect a few more books - though there's tragedy to come as well - some of it relating to the books, (and even incorporating the slang). And that's another thing which works very well to show the difference in times - when a 12-year-old Lucy misses the lending library back home (she's only been able to bring the copy of Ivanhoe she won as a prizel with her), and her school and grandparents and the good food they ate there, and it's very easy to relate to - it hits home harder that neither she nor her 10-year-old brother are going to have more schooling now. Lucy's essentially helping her mother run the 'boarding house' (it's a tent when they arrive) all day, and Butte helps out here and there, including the saloon, and eventually starts panning for gold too. And nobody (aside from Lucy, of course) gives it a second thought. Her impassioned moaning - to herself, occasionally to others around her, and in the letters she writes to her grandparents back in Massachusetts - is both comic and moving. I'd imagine a lot of children would find this a wonderfully absorbing picture of an unusual family in a very different time, with ample opportunity to 'feel oneself into' the place and time.
With a little blathering about Karen Cushman's others thrown in for whatever kind of measure.
Simon was a reread, deliberately chosen for the contrast with I, Coriander, about which I ranted a bit recently. Not exactly the same period, as I, Coriander opens in 1649, just after Charles I's execution, while Simon begins in about 1642 before the outbreak of the Civil War, with a 'couple of years on' final chapter set in about '49 or '50. But the difference in balance owes to a lot more than being set in slightly different times. The Simon of the title comes from a family of farmers supporting Parliament, while his best friend Amias is fiercely Royalist. I suppose it might have been interestingly mixed as well as balanced if Sutcliff had made the Royalist supporter be the more sober, humble character who always picked up the pieces after his brilliant, disdainful Puritan friend, but that far she didn't go. And I suppose it says more about me than anything else that I'm much fonder of the loyal Simon, who describes himself as 'rather a dull sort of fellow' than of the dashing and arrogant Amias.
Simon's father goes off to war, ordering Simon to wait to join up until he's sixteen, if the war is still on then - but also telling him 'Civil war is a hideous thing. Don't hope for it to last, Simon.' And, as so often, Rosemary Sutcliff does a wonderful job of showing a strong friendship between two (usually male) characters on opposing sides, or from different cultures. And showing the usual mix of honourable and much-less than honourable people on both sides. I'd have to say that it's not one of her faster-paced books, and some of this may be the necessity of giving regular 'updates' on the way the war is going across the country. But the somewhat dull passages are broken by truly moving ones, and this apparently was part of the country Sutcliff considered her own - scenes of bloodshed and lives destroyed are often set against poetic descriptions of the land Simon (and she) love so well.
If Amanda Craig wanted a historical picture of 'fanatics' - she'd have done better to read Simon, and find one both chilling and sympathetic. There's a scene in which a character is tried for desertion from the New Model Army, and is utterly unable to believe that he's not justified, as 'an instrument of Vengeance in the hand of the Lord, against one that is marked for the Burning Pit' - he's answered by the Major in charge of the trial 'I also can quote from the Good Book. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."' A Biblical quote Zeal-for-the-Lord has completely blocked out, despite the central message of forgiveness in the New Testament. And yet Simon - and so the reader - can feel for him while horrified at his blindness and (real) fanaticism.
I've got Karen Cushman's latest, The Loud Silence of Francine Green on order, and I was pleased to find a cheap copy of Lucy Whipple in a second-hand shop recently. Everyone in this family loves Catherine, Called Birdy, and O.D. and I liked The Midwife's Apprentice well enough, though it wasn't as engaging on a first read (it's on the reread list), but I wasn't all that keen on Lucy Whipple, generally not being all that entranced by the California Gold Rush. But I ended up liking it a lot - doubtless helped by my still lingering annoyance with I, Coriander. In fact, I started off in super-critical mode, and checked a couple of things immediately, before I calmed down a bit - reassured by the complete correctness of everything I did check. I also have a bit of recalcitrance concerning children forced to leave much-loved homes and later embracing the new ones as being truly home now, but that didn't really get in the way by the end either.
Interestingly, I noticed two similarities between it and Catherine, Called Birdy (aside from the humour and well-integrated historical detail), and those were the use of contemporary slang, and a love of both heroines for books, rare though those were in both settings. (And also, the rightness of the eventual - explained - acquisition of a book/books in each case.) It occurred to me that these similar treatments provided a way in to the characters' worlds, which also was a measure of differences between them and our world.
Catherine found the swear words she tried out for size from the one book available to her early on - her mother's book of saints (I might have confused that detail, as it's been a while), and her rather spirited use of the book - a somewhat unusual purpose for a devotional book! - is both appealing and a reminder of what it would be like not to turn to books for sheer entertainment, as we all do so addictedly. Lucy, of course, does have access to books for entertainment - at least back in Massachusetts, and leaving that is one of the many hardships for her, when her mother drags the family to California. She almost collects some of the miners' slang as Birdy does religious swear words, and that kind of interest is the kind of thing which offers her at least a small consolation in her new, much-hated setting. Eventually she does collect a few more books - though there's tragedy to come as well - some of it relating to the books, (and even incorporating the slang). And that's another thing which works very well to show the difference in times - when a 12-year-old Lucy misses the lending library back home (she's only been able to bring the copy of Ivanhoe she won as a prizel with her), and her school and grandparents and the good food they ate there, and it's very easy to relate to - it hits home harder that neither she nor her 10-year-old brother are going to have more schooling now. Lucy's essentially helping her mother run the 'boarding house' (it's a tent when they arrive) all day, and Butte helps out here and there, including the saloon, and eventually starts panning for gold too. And nobody (aside from Lucy, of course) gives it a second thought. Her impassioned moaning - to herself, occasionally to others around her, and in the letters she writes to her grandparents back in Massachusetts - is both comic and moving. I'd imagine a lot of children would find this a wonderfully absorbing picture of an unusual family in a very different time, with ample opportunity to 'feel oneself into' the place and time.