Doctor Who Excitement!

I’m referring to my reaction to some news about the upcoming series 5 of Doctor Who. I realize that this is pretty old news (it was released back in May, and I didn’t even know it!), but I still want to blog about it.

As I’ve probably observed a thousand times: over the course of 46 years and 11 incarnations, the Doctor seems to have gradually become both younger and hotter. William Hartnell was 55 when he began his career as the First Doctor, and Matt Smith, who will portray the Eleventh Doctor in Series 5, is only 26 – the youngest Doctor to date. Needless to say, Doctor Who’s target audience has shifted, over the years, from kids and hardcore sci-fi geeks, to adults in general; especially young adults. (No, not just “young women”, because hey – the Doctor’s female assistants have always been more-or-less young and pretty.)

In general, I’m okay with all this – after all, neither an actor’s age, nor his level of attractiveness will affect how well he can portray everybody’s favorite Time Lord. If a guy can act and look good at the same time - I say, all the better! But I’m a little concerned about what this upcoming season will bring in regards to the Doctor – and relationships.

When the TV series first started out, the Doctor was portrayed as an almost asexual being: the writers generally avoided allowing the Doctor to become romantically involved with his female assistants, regardless of the fact that the two always lived together in the TARDIS. For this reason, I love the early incarnations of the Doctor – I think the “no romance” policy lent such an air of mystery and other-ness to his character.

This policy was (most significantly) discarded in season 2 of the new series – although they never kissed or spoke explicitly about the nature of their relationship, Doctor #10 and his assistant, Rose Tyler, obviously had a thing for each other. Now, there are things that I like about this arrangement, too. It raised an important question: though the Doctor isn’t human biologically, does he have a human heart and soul? Given his staggering age and amount of life experience – not to mention the sheer responsibility of being the protector of the universe – is he capable of loving a woman the way a human man can love? This is a question without answer – ardent Whovians will be able to conjecture for forever…and ever…

So, what kind of relationship do I want the Eleventh Doctor and his new companion, Amy Pond, to have? To be honest, I want it to be entirely platonic. I mean, in all truth, there is already plenty of chemistry in a close-knit boy-girl friendship. After all the sadness and turmoil of #10/Rose – not to mention poor Martha’s season-long unrequited love story – I’m ready for something a little lighter. I can’t wait to see what Russell T. Davies delivers!

All of this being said, I just have to add something about HOW MUCH I LOVE #11’s outfit. Bow tie + suspenders + tweed jacket = dorkalicious excellence.

Oy…2010 is wayyyyy too far away…

Book Review: The Magical Land of Noom by Johnny Gruelle

Any book with character names like “Jingles the Magician” and “Mr. Tiptoe” has just got to be good.

Here’s the first of – as I anticipate – many Obscure Literary Gem posts. American children’s author Johnny Gruelle is probably best known for his Raggedy Ann and Andy books, but this 1922 fantasy adventure certainly deserves some attention.

The Magical Land of Noom resembles, in many ways, L. Frank Baum’s acclaimed The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, but not to fear: the former easily holds its own. Set some two decades after Oz, Noom has that irresistible 1920’s charm about it, and also has (in my opinion) a warmer feel – after all, Oz is the story of an unusually independent little girl who doesn’t begin to miss her home until she’s traveled in a strange land for quite some time. Noom centers on a young brother and sister who help and protect each other while sojourning in the Unknown, and who are soon joined in that adventure by their “Gran’ma” and “Grand’pa”.

Johnny and Janey are innocently playing in the yard one day, when the idea strikes them to build a Flying Machine. It’s constructed, soon enough, out of old boards and nails, and they name it Polly Ann. They climb inside to try it out – but hold on, Johnny and Janey! This Flying Machine can actually Fly!! Before they know what’s happening, they’ve zoomed into the sky and landed on the side of the Moon that we never see – hence, the name Noom.

Getting worried about their beloved gran’kids, Gran’ma and Grand’pa quickly construct a boat that (like Polly Ann) has unusual, enigmatic flying powers. They join Johnny and Janey in Noom, and the real adventure begins.

Noom seems like a lot of fun: giant gingerbread mushrooms, lemonade streams, and cute little Faun Boys abound…but there is also a swarm of bloodthirsty boxing gloves, a violent ink rainstorm, and the evil Old Jingles the Magician (who’s actually a lot more menacing than he sounds). By various turns of events, both of our protagonists’ flying vehicles become unavailable to them – but even if they had been able to fly straight home after a little visit to the land-on-the-other-side-of-the-Moon, they probably would have had to stick around anyway and help all of their unfortunate new friends solve their problems: there’s a Beautiful Girl in an enchanted Green Jar, the Queer Horse (whose head has become invisible), and the royal Dancing Master, Mr. Tiptoe, who is searching for his long-lost pupil (and who may be a little lost, himself).

Anyway – everything comes together in the end, just as it should and just as it always does. The Magical Land of Noom is satisfying and nostalgic, if a tad predictable. It’s like the comfort food of children’s fantasy stories. Plus, the illustrations are absolutely DELIGHTFUL – they are Gruelle’s own work (and in that way, at least, he certainly one-ups Baum!).

So whatcha waiting for? Find yourself a copy and get Noomed.

Thanks for reading!


Cited in this post: The Magical Land of Noom. Johnny Gruelle. Books of Wonder (New York): 1998. 158 pages. $22.00.

The best edition of "Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs"...

...is definitely the one illustrated by Nancy Ekholm Burkert.

The artwork is simply enchanting, and the text is a beautiful translation of the original tale by the Brothers Grimm.

Beside the magnificent illustrations, there are so many little things I love about this translation by Randall Jarrell.

For one, there's the part where the bite of apple is stuck in Snow-White's throat, and her coffin is jolted while the dwarves carry it; the piece of apple flies out of her mouth...and she wakes up.

And then there's the amazing exchange between SW and the king's son that takes place once she's awake.

"'Oh, heavens, where am I?' cried she. The king's son, full of joy, said: 'You're with me,'..."

And, of course, there's the delightfully creepy conclusion: "...they...put iron slippers over a fire of coals, and they brought them in with tongs and set them before her [the wicked Queen]. Then she had to put on the red-hot slippers and dance till she dropped down dead." AND EVERYBODY ELSE LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!!! :-) There's even a great illustration to go with the slippers bit.

Anyway...go find a copy for yourself! It's a must-read.

Cited in this post: Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs. By Jacob and Wilhelm K. Grimm. Translated by Randall Jarrell. Sunburst Books: 1987.

Bringing the book to Greece: some thoughts on Till We Have Faces, for anyone who likes the book

(Warning: spoilers involved.)

Last Friday, a book club friend and I met to discuss our latest book, C. S. Lewis’ Till We Have Faces. During our conversation, I mentioned something about the book that had just occurred to me that day.

I first read Faces the year I was going into 8th grade. I immediately loved it, and was able to understand the basic themes of the story, but there were a few places, here and there, where I realized that I was not quite grasping all of what Lewis was saying. One of these places is at the very end of the novel.

As we know, Orual’s account of her reading her book before the judges, her “face-to-face” encounter with the God on the Grey Mountain, her ultimate conversion, etc., is interrupted mid-sentence by her death. Following in parentheses is a note by Arnom - the priest of Glome – part of which says: “If any stranger who intends the journey to Greece finds this book let him take it to Greece with him, for that is what she seems mostly to have desired. The Priest who comes after me has it in charge to give up the book to any stranger who will take an oath to bring it into Greece.” (pg. 309).

Lewis would never end a book with something less than highly significant. So for a long time, I wondered: why the emphasis on Greece? Why must the book go to Greece?

Of course, one of the most important contrasts throughout the entire book is between the land of Glome – ritualistic, near-barbaric, and sunken in ancient traditions; and Greece – the center of progress, enlightenment, and knowledge in general. The Priest of Ungit, and the temple of Ungit in general, probably best represent these characteristics of Glome. On the other hand, it is the Fox, Orual’s elderly, Greek tutor, who represents the land of Greece.

From early on in the story, it is clear that these two, conflicting forces – those of Glome and Greece – have the most influence over Orual’s childhood and growth into adulthood. The unattractive, foreboding, and often downright horrifying qualities of Glome’s native religion is the perfect setting for her hatred of the gods. The Fox, on the other hand, provides a fountain of knowledge - a window into a world of movement and life.

At the climax of the book – Orual’s epiphany and resulting conversion – she is not forced to pick between Glome and Greece; but rather realizes the Truth. She doesn’t find a happy medium, mind you. Rather, she transcends both: she rises above the superstition of her homeland for a real, profound mysticism. She abandons the skepticism of Greece (at least, that’s how Greece is presented in the book) for a healthy appreciation of human Reason. She realizes that Faith and Reason can – and should – coexist and complement one another.

At the end of the book, her writings and revelations have already touched the people of Glome. Unlike her father, Orual was well loved and deeply trusted by her people; even more, she felt, than she deserved. We can assume that, after reading Orual’s book, Glome will take a turn for the better. As the book ends, her words have still to touch the land of the Greeks; but I think we can also assume that this will happen – we have only to wait until “the next stranger who intends to journey to Greece” passes through.

And so, that is the note on which the book ends – and a highly significant note it is. Lewis is telling us that all the Truth and Beauty there is to discover can only come to life if we share it with others. It’s about evangelization. Yes, one queen; one individual has come to know what she needs to know. But there is another country - larger than her own - made of up of those who do not yet know the Truth. For a long while, I thought it was strange that Till We Have Faces ends with Orual’s death. It doesn’t seem like the sort of book that would end in death. Now I realize that it doesn’t – it ends looking up and forward - it ends in life. Actually, it doesn’t end at all; the ending is a great beginning. It’s hopeful, and exciting. Isn’t it beautiful?


Cited in this post: Till We Have Faces. C. S. Lewis. Harcourt, Inc. (1980). 313 pgs. $14.00.

Some thoughts on the Unicorn Tapestries

“Within a flowering glade at the edge of a forest, one of the greatest adventures ever portrayed in the history of art is about to begin.” So begins The Unicorn Tapestries, a slim, yet very comprehensive volume published decades ago by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The book’s talking about the Unicorn Tapestries: a series of seven wall hangings created in Flanders during the early Renaissance, each depicting a stage in the hunt of the unicorn.

A magnificent hunt, and a glorious story, it is. There is an air of mystery surrounding the tapestries: history has left us with no written explanation, or even narration, to accompany the evocative images. Historians have had to draw from knowledge of folklore and historical customs in order to interpret the subtle symbolism used in the tapestries.

The first tapestry, which my book calls “The Start of the Hunt”, shows a group of armed nobleman and their dogs setting off into the forest.

In “The Unicorn at the Fountain”, the huntsmen have discovered their prey. In a clearing in the woods, a little stream feeds a flowing fountain. Both the men, and the creatures of the forest have gathered around the fountain to watch the unicorn stoop and dip his horn into the stream. Medieval legend says that the unicorn’s horn contained magic that could remove snake venom from water – in this tapestry, the unicorn is making the water safe for the birds and beasts of the forest to drink.

In the remaining five tapestries -“The Unicorn Leaps the Stream”, “The Unicorn Defends Himself”, “The Unicorn is Capture by the Maiden”, “The Unicorn is Killed and Brought to the Castle”, and “The Unicorn in Captivity”, we witness the death and miraculous, unexplained resurrection of the unicorn (unmistakably an allusion to Christ’s death and resurrection). The story ends with the unicorn tethered to a tree in a small, fenced-in pen – perhaps representing how Christ lowers Himself to be “captivated” by us and our severely limited love for Him? C. S. Lewis’ concept of “The Weight of Glory” comes to my mind…

Become a part of the story! Here is a link to the Met’s fantastic, interactive site devoted to the Unicorn Tapestries:

http://www.metmuseum.org/explore/Unicorn/unicorn_splash.htm


Cited in this post: The Unicorn Tapestries. Based on a study of the Unicorn Tapestries by Margaret B. Freeman, Curator Emeritus of The Cloisters; adaptation by Linda Sipress. The Metropolitan Museum of Art: 1974.