Prince Caspian (The Chronicles of Narnia, book two), by C.S. Lewis, 1951, Book Review

MMGM is a weekly meme hosted by middle grade author, Shannon Messenger.

In this second Narnian installment, the four Pevensie children return to the magical land they once ruled, called back by Queen Susan’s horn. They land at the ruins of Cair Paravel just in time to free the Old Narnians from the evil, usurping King Miraz and put the rightful heir on the throne. For though Prince Caspian is the descendent of the conquering Telmarines, he wishes to make the land safe once more for Narnia’s magical talking natives. It is the beasts remember that “Narnia was never right except when a Son of Adam was king.”

Prince Caspian has a whole new plotline and a whole new set of wonderful characters (like the vastly endearing Reepicheep), but my favorite thing about it is the nostalgia and wonder Prince Caspian exemplifies when he hears the stories of Old Narnia. It’s the same feeling I get when I return with the Pevensies centuries after their rule. For I, as a reader, remember how good Narnia once was, so I can understand even more than Caspian how tragic the Telmarine takeover was. The heroes and heroines have a reader’s complete support as they, with the help of the good and awe-inspiring Aslan, strive to return Narnia to its rightful state.

Like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, this one also has many Christian parallels. For example, there are those who believe in the old stories and those who have lost their faith. There are those hostile to the old stories who would persecute those who believe and rewrite history to match their own way of thinking. And conversations with Aslan always have a particular depth of meaning. Consider when Lucy first meets Aslan again:

“Aslan,” Lucy said, “you’re bigger.”

“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.

“Not because you are?”

“I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

I enjoy rooting out those elements and understanding the author’s hidden meanings. Oddly enough, Lewis also includes “non-Christian” elements in his stories—like Bacchus, other creatures from pagan mythology, and a favorable view of astrology as studied by the centaurs—which I believe give it a greater depth. I, for one, am glad he didn’t feel bound to the limits others may have imposed. This is, after all, magical fiction, not a Bible story.

Unfortunately, the plotline has been thoroughly massacred by the recent movie. In an effort to make it more complex, a good many events are added to the story, Caspian and Peter bicker like little kids, and the kids have to go searching for Aslan, who is taken out until the very end, giving it a bleak, hopeless feel as the children strive to win a war without him. It raises the stakes, I guess, but I much prefer the book. The movie does, however, have some brilliant special effects. I particularly like when the river god rips out the bridge at the Ford of Beruna. The producers also do a very good job giving the Telmarines a distinctively foreign look, sound, and culture. The costuming is also very well done. But I’d recommend the book over the movie any day. It’s a particularly strong second episode in a whole series of good children’s fiction. Highly, highly recommended for ages 9+.

My other reviews:

• The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
• The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
• The Silver Chair
• The Horse and his Boy
• The Magician’s Nephew
• The Last Battle

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (The Chronicles of Narnia, book one), by C.S. Lewis, 1950

This spring I’m making my, golly, eighth or ninth journey through Narnia, but this time I’m taking along my son. We’re going to end the homeschool year by reading the entire series. He’s watched the movie before, but he’d never experienced the written version. It was a hit. We finished The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in five big gulps because neither of us wanted to stick to the allotted time frame. I have to say, there is a depth and a beauty in the prose that the movie just can’t capture.

This classic is so well known I hardly feel a plot summary is necessary, but I’ll write one anyway. The four Pevensie siblings, Lucy, Edmund, Susan, and Peter, have been sent to the countryside to avoid the bombing of London during WWII and land in a huge old home owned by a peculiar old professor. There they find within a wardrobe a magical world that is being held captive by an evil witch. The whole land awaits the coming of two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve, as spoken in prophecy, and the great lion, Aslan, who will free them from the witch’s rule. But Edward betrays the others, and the Deep Magic written into Narnia at the beginning of time requires a traitor’s blood. Aslan must make the ultimate sacrifice to save him and save Narnia.

As a child, I loved the fairy tale elements of this story: the talking animals, the children who rule as kings and queens, the medieval quality, the mythical creatures, the great lovable lion. But as I grew, I discovered layer upon layer of richness within its pages. Humans are set up as good rulers over animals and nature; evil choices demand a high cost; forgiveness is granted even at great personal expense; good and evil are constantly at war; and my favorite, we are given a beautiful picture of a fierce, just, loving, involved, good, and untame deity—Aslan, son of the Emperor over the Sea. It doesn’t take a genius to see all that these elements have Christian parallels. Lewis’ story really isn’t all that original after all; he tells the same one set forth in the Bible. He was, after all, one of the greatest theologians of modern times. I’m not typically a fan of allegory, but this story is so strong, so beautiful, so engaging that I love it anyway. In this case, perhaps I even love it more because of it.

It seems I find something new every time I read it. This time I noticed that when the Professor argues logic to determine if Lucy is telling the truth, he uses almost word for word the arguments Lewis uses about Christ: “There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn’t tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth.”

But whether you’re a Christian or not, this tale is magical and timeless, as are all the stories of Narnia. It is one of my favorite places to visit. I’m so excited to be making the trip yet again—and taking one of my favorite people with me. Watch for my reviews.

• Prince Caspian
• The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
• The Silver Chair
• The Horse and his Boy
• The Magician’s Nephew
• The Last Battle

The Princess and Curdie, George MacDonald, 1883, Book Review

MMGM is a weekly meme hosted by middle grade author, Shannon Messenger. (Finally! A meme that fits perfectly with my content!)

If you have never read The Princess and the Goblin, I’d recommend starting with my review of that book. This is the sequel, and nearly as good as the first.

George MacDonald wrote in the Victorian era, when books created specifically for children were a new phenomenon. Most sought to dictate morality to children. Lewis Carroll, however, author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and a friend and contemporary of MacDonald, is credited with writing for pure entertainment. MacDonald beautifully combines fun and morality, rather like C.S. Lewis does in Narnia. (In fact, Lewis cites MacDonald as a powerful influence.) The result is rich storytelling complete with moral fiber, a combination I love.

After his adventures rescuing Princess Irene from the goblins and gaining the trust of the king in book one, Curdie returns to being a silver miner with his father. But after a year or two, his parents notice he is less and less the son they hoped for. “As he grew…he was getting rather stupid…he believed less and less in things he had never seen.” Not long after, he has his own encounter with Irene’s Great-Great-Grandmother, a magical, fairy godmother-type figure representative of God. She assigns him the task of overthrowing the evil plot to dethrone the good king. To do so, he is given the magical ability to discern a man’s true nature. Curdie comes away from the encounter a changed man and displays great strength of character as he carries out his duties.

This book draws very clear distinctions between good and evil, selfishness and selflessness, right and wrong, truth and lies. It celebrates honor, friendship, loyalty, and the fortitude to do what’s right despite what others may say. It also explores trust, judgment, rewards, and true beauty. It never becomes preachy, as so many Victorian stories are, but there are elements of faith beneath the surface of the plot, much like in Narnia.

I did like The Princess and the Goblin a bit better. That story better disguises the moral points MacDonald is trying to impart. The first half of this book deals primarily with Curdie and his development. It doesn’t drag, really, but I was eager to see the princess again. She doesn’t enter the story until the second half, when Curdie’s quest gets rolling. But I really liked the new character of Lina. And I always enjoy MacDonald’s ability to paint settings and personalities so clearly. It has the same fairy tale feel of book one that young children can relate to so well. Though it is somewhat antiquated, the language is still easy enough for them to understand. I would recommend it as a read-aloud, however. A free Kindle version is available on Amazon.

From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E. L. Konigsburg, 1967

Can you believe I’ve never read this book before? This Newbery winner is a heavy hitter, well-known and well-loved by the generation that grew up with it. Except me. But now I see why it has such a reputation.

Claudia Kincade is a sixth grader who is so unhappy with the routine of her life that she decides to shake things up. She recruits her third grade—and rich—brother and runs away to the Metropolitan Museum in New York. (My only critique is that brother Jamie seems much older than nine.) At first it’s all about the adventure: stashing their bags in a sarcophagus, hiding in the public bathroom after visiting hours, sleeping in a display bed from the 1600’s, rationing their money, and bathing in the fountain. But Claudia doesn’t really like to be uncomfortable, and she misses the clean smell of freshly washed laundry. The constant hunger gets tiresome as well.

Then the children discover Angel, a small marble statue that may or may not have been sculpted by Renaissance great Michaelangelo. It’s under investigation by the museum experts. Claudia becomes fascinated with the statue. She has to find out the truth about it. As she searches, she also learns that her running away, her seeking, wasn’t really about the adventure at all. It was about finding out what makes her Claudia.

From the Mixed-up Files is beautifully written, thought provoking, and fun. I loved the adventure. I would have been all about hiding out in a museum for a week when I was a kid. (It’s still a little tempting now.) But as an adult, I really got on board with the conflict raging within Claudia. In a large family, she wants to feel special. She wants to know she’s an important individual. She does find out what makes her unique, but her search becomes as important as the answers. I just wouldn’t recommend her methods. Ages 9+

The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett, 1911, Book Review

This is an oldie but goodie. Within, young Mary Lennox has been raised in India, but her socialite parents had little to do with her. When they die in a cholera epidemic, she’s sent to live with her uncle in England. Unfortunately, Mary has become a sickly, ugly, and a nasty little tyrant. And misfortune upon misfortune, her uncle—a man with his own heart-wrenching troubles—also wants nothing to do with her.

So she comes to live in Misselthwaite Manor, “a home with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked…a house at the edge of a moor.” It’s an intriguing setting. At first it seems dark and forbidding, with always rain and gloom. But as spring returns to the moor and Mary ventures outdoors, she discovers unexpected beauty. She also meets some wonderfully kindhearted Yorkshire people—the maid, Martha, and her younger brother, Dickon—who influence her for the better. Slowly, she becomes less horrible.

The two discoveries, however, that most influence her change of heart are a secret garden that hasn’t been opened since the mistress of the manor died ten years before and the baby whose birth killed her, now ten years old, unwell, and even more tyrannical than Mary. Colin Craven has been told he was crooked and ill from earliest childhood and grown to believe it. He’s been ignored by his father who couldn’t bear the pain of looking at him, and he’s been obeyed unquestioningly by the servants. But in Mary, he meets his match. Their childish tantrum are quite hilarious, even though you’d like to smack them both.

But it is the secret garden, the mysterious, locked garden, that becomes the most influential character in the book. The wonders of blue sky, crisp air, and shoots of green hold magic for a child always sickly and languid in the tropics and another who never before left his stone-walled room. The transformations it causes, both physically and emotionally, are remarkable and complete.

It is the setting and characters which drive this book. The classic old, dark British manor house is mysterious and stereotypical, but it’s also full of wonder. And even though Mary is a beastly little thing, I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for her. “Other children seemed to belong to their father and mother, but she had never seemed to really be anyone’s little girl.” I felt equal pity for Colin. And it helps that both children have the fortitude and willingness to change. Dickon, the Yorkshire country boy, is quite unrealistic. He’s always smiling, agreeable, gentle, and surrounded by wild things that trust him, but the book rather needed a cheery chap to counteract the two tyrants.

The plot is just a bit dull by today’s standards. Not much happens outside the discovery of the garden, the working of the garden, and the transformation of the children, which also strikes the modern reader as a bit unrealistic. Back in that day, when there were no malls, no internet, no video games or movies, watching and helping a garden bloom might have held more wonder and entertainment. Today it seems a bit unexciting. However, gardening does still hold an allure for some kids. My son, since he was three, has been helping me plant and harvest in my own backyard patch. Two of my kids love to grow pumpkins to sell every year. And each spring, lessons about seeds, flowers, plants, etc. blossom in schools across the country. This book is still relevant. The adventure is simply gentler, and the writing older, sweeter, and more quaint. But it is extremely readable, and the interaction between characters is entertaining.

I’d recommend The Secret Garden for seven- to eleven-year-olds—particularly in the spring—but kids beneath a fourth or fifth grade reading level might need some assistance. It would make a very nice read aloud.  It’s also free in the Kindle store.

Peter and Wendy, by J. M. Barrie, 1911, Book Review

Who hasn’t grown up loving Peter Pan? I still enjoy the Disney movie, and just last year I took my kids to a high school production. Peter has prompted several excellent spinoff stories, such as the 1991 live action movie, Hook, and the Starcatchers children’s literature series. I haven’t seen the 2003 movie version, but I want to. Peter is still alive and well in the world’s hearts and minds, and still a little boy. After all, he never had any intention of growing up.

Since I recently reread the Starcatchers books, I thought I’d go back and read the original novel. It is an amazing story, one full of originality, humor, and adventure. It would have to be pretty great to still be so loved one hundred years later. I do have to admit, however, that I like the modern adaptations I’ve grown up with better. I’m a little ashamed of myself for it, but there it is.

The story is the one we know; our later versions have not been modified much from the original. But the novel has an antiquated feel to it. It tends to wander at times, with lots of interjections from the author that I found a bit distracting. And of course it uses quite a few words we—kid especially—don’t use anymore, like “bacchanalian,” “quixotic,” and “miscreants” (therefore, I’d give it a fifth grade reading level). Peter’s a brat, too, as irritating as often as he is endearing. But it’s the same whimsical story with a dog for a nurse, a thimble for a kiss, and flying children. I still love it.

I was quite surprised by just how much wit the story contains, a good deal directed at adults. The whole thing is written with a wink. Consider the following:

“It must have been not less than ten o’clock by the crocodile…”  (It swallowed the clock, if you recall.)

“For reply Peter rose and kicked John out of bed, blankets and all; one kick. This seemed to Wendy rather forward for a first meeting…”

“In fanciful stories people can talk to the birds freely, and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this was such a story, and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Never bird; but truth is best, and I want to tell only what really happened.”

“She loved to give them medicine, and undoubtedly gave them too much. Of course it was only water, but it was out of a calabash, and she always shook the calabash and counted out the drops, which gave it a certain medicinal quality.”

And at the end, Starky is captured by redskins and forced to become a nurse to all the papooses, “a melancholy come-down for a pirate.”

Those quotes serve as excellent examples of the novel’s quaint style, which I love, but the book is old-fashioned in some other ways, as well. I’m usually the last person to complain over racial stereotypes, but the treatment of the “redskins” in this one even made me cringe a time or two. At one point the entire Piccaninny tribe “groveled” at Peter’s feet calling him “Great White Father.” The book also takes a rather callous approach to the many pirates who are skewered by our hero, unlike the gentler later adaptations. This callousness stretches to the children as well. They’re quick to leave their parents, quick to forget their parents, quick to leave and forget Peter, the loyal lost boys abandon Peter, Peter is absolutely despising of mothers, and Peter, by the end of the book has even forgotten Tink. The adults are not exempt, either, when they argue whether or not to keep their newborn children. The novel has a totally different emotional basis than the modern adaptations. It’s almost tragic in its callousness.

On the whole, however, this is a much loved and endearing story for good reason, and I’m glad I read it. Otherwise I’d never know that Captain Hood played the harpsichord. And did you realize the Jolly Roger doesn’t actually fly? I believe we can trace that rumor to Walt. Anyway, I recommend Peter and Wendy as a classic worth reading aloud together. And it’s free for Kindle.

Peter and the Shadow Thieves (Starcatchers Series, book 2), by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, 2006

The pre-adventures of Peter Pan continue, and they’re just as fun and fantastic in Peter and the Shadow Thieves as they are in book one. Peter chose to stay in Never Land with the lost boys rather than live with Molly and her family in London. But when he learns the Others (evil ones who seek to rule the world with the power of stardust) have tracked the huge shipment of stardust to the Asters, he doesn’t hesitate to travel to their rescue. But he and Tink have to stow away on the very boat that carries the Others. The old villain Slank is among their number, along with a new nemesis, Captain Nerezza, and a cold, raspy creature called Lord Ombra who controls people by stealing their shadows. Peter must help the Asters return the stardust to the heavens before the Others get ahold of it, but Ombra proves a much cannier adversary than any he’s yet faced.

I’m really enjoying this series (again). Like book one, the sequel continues to tie well-known details from the classic story into new adventures. The new story explains the old one. In this case, Mr. Pearson and Mr. Barry take the shadow theme and give it a huge new significance. They also continue to exercise their superb talent for funny dialogue and keep their characters on the brink of disaster. I lose track of time in these books. Before I know it, I’m another hundred pages in.

This one isn’t quite as violent as the first book, which featured pirates. Ombra is an entirely different kind of evil. A scarier, more serious kind of evil. Appearing in the form of a cloaked man, he glides around, oozing in and out of tight spaces. He is what nightmares are made of. The threat in this one is slower, less slap-stick, and less violent, but more menacing. Still, it’s entirely appropriate for kids 10+. In fact, I don’t recall any profanities in this one at all.

This time around, I realized that the authors gave James Barrie, the author of Peter and Wendy, a cameo appearance in this book. I didn’t catch it last time I read it, maybe because I’m accustomed to seeing his name written as J. M. Barrie. But he’s in here for a brief “ah-ha” kind of scene, along with a St. Bernard (remember Nana?). Very cute.

I also want to mention the illustrations before I close out. They’re extremely well done–detailed black and white drawings (charcoal?) drawn on gray paper. Illustrator Greg Call does a wonderful job capturing the soul of each character in his expressions. They add greatly to the story.

I’m off now to read book three…

Read my reviews of the other books in this series:

• Book one: Peter and the Starcatchers
• Book three:  Peter and the Secret of Rundoon
• Book four:  Peter and the Sword of Mercy

The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster, 1961, Book Review

This book gets the highest rating I’ve ever given a book I didn’t finish. What I mean is the writing was phenomenal, but the story was boring. Did you get that? Let me explain:

Mr. Juster is a master of language. Every sentence is a work of art. He has a quirky roundabout style that tucks the tail into the head, making each thought a complete circle. This makes you think, then it makes you smile. I think I’ll have to show you what I mean.

“For, while it was not quite square, it was definitely not round, and for its size it was larger than almost any other big package of smaller dimension that he’d ever seen.”

“I’m the Whether Man, not the Weather Man, for after all it’s more important to know whether there will be weather than what the weather will be.”

“But we never choose which ones (words) to use…for as long as they mean what they mean to mean we don’t care if they make sense or nonsense.”

The book is absolutely crammed full of such well-packaged nonsense. The plays on words remind me greatly of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. So does the plot–not too much actually happens. Oh, Milo gets a magic tollbooth that carries him to an imaginary land, but the story is more of an allegory like Pilgrim’s Progress (which I never have been able to finish either) than an actual adventure. It even has the same type of instructional tone, though it is not religious. First Milo is on his way to Dictionopolis but gets sidetracked in the Doldrums, where it is illegal to do anything but waste time. There he meets Tick the Watchdog (he actually has a clock for a body with an alarm that goes off at inopportune moments). The job of a Watchdog is to guard against the wastage of time:

“You see…once there was no time at all, and people found it very inconvenient. They never knew whether they were eating lunch or dinner, and they were always missing trains…When they began to count all the time that was available..it seemed as if there was much more than could ever be used. ‘If there’s so much of it, it couldn’t be very valuable,’ was the general opinion…People wasted it…Then we were given the job of seeing that no one wasted time again.” (See what I mean about the not-too-subtle instruction?)

In Dictionopolis, life is all about words. Milo has to eat his words, he’s given a gift of words, and people waste words. Words also land him in prison. “You can get him in a lot of trouble mixing up words.” Then he’s sent to Digitopolis, where numbers are of vast importance, but Milo gets sidetracked on the scenic route by Point of View. There he meets a boy who floats above the ground. You see, he was born with his head at the height it would be when he’s grown and his legs grown down. His point of view never changes. When Milo explains his own growth, the boy comments, “Then your head keeps changing its height and you always see things in a different way? Why, when you’re fifteen things won’t look at all the way they did when you were ten, and at twenty everything will change again.”

See? It’s cleverly written. But about the time Milo visited the invisible city of Reality (it’s much more difficult to see than the city of Illusions, which isn’t really there), I started getting quite bored with the book. Oh, yeah, I’m not crazy about the 60′s cover and interior art, either.  So I put it down and commenced writing this most glowing review I’ve ever done for a book I did not finish.  I’d put The Phantom Tollbooth at a fourth or fifth grade level, but I fear quite a few kids wouldn’t be able to stick this one out, either.

The Princess and the Goblin, by George MacDonald, 1872, Book Review

First published in 1872, The Princess and the Goblin is still a wonderful children’s story. I read an unabridged version that was a little wordier—more old-fashioned—than the abridged version I read in college, but I was amazed at all the layers of meaning I picked up on this time around that I missed back then. I can’t say if this was due to the abridgment, or if I’ve simply become a more astute reader.

In the story, Princess Irene and a young miner named Curdie are thrown into an adventure together despite their difference in station. In fact, they find they’re easy friends. Together, they stand against the race of goblins that lives under the mountain and seeks to destroy the human kingdom. They are both very good children—nearly perfect—and learn lessons of truthfulness, humbleness, friendship, faith and honor. It is a fairy tale and contains some moralistic tones that were common in the era during which it was written. This gives the book a quaint feeling, but the story is very engaging. I remember how surprised I was in college by how much I liked it despite its being assigned reading.

George MacDonald was a contemporary of Lewis Carroll (The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland), and he was an author both JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis cited as having a strong influence on their work. He was also a Scottish minister, and veiled elements of faith are threaded throughout the story much as Lewis’ does in his Chronicles of Narnia.

Princess Irene has a great-great grandmother that only she can see. She reminds me of a fairy godmother except she’s even greater, more God-like.  She gives Irene a thread to follow when she is in trouble that will guide her to safety. There is much commentary about faith and trust and belief in what cannot be seen. I liked Irene’s comment to Curdie, who doubts she has a grandmother at all, “If you don’t know what I mean, what right have you to call it nonsense?”

These elements are a little harder to pick out than those in Narnia. I missed them completely in college. (I can’t believe how much I missed!) It was the story that I enjoyed: the underground caverns, the danger, the odd world of the goblins, the fairy tale life of the princess, the likeableness of Curdie, the way he warded off evil with rhyme. I have a deeper appreciation for the whole of the work now, but I think kids will primarily be drawn into the adventure, as I was. There are several abridged versions available in paperback and digital versions, but the unabridged version is free for Kindle (Awesome!), and it’s very readable. I’d recommended it for kids 6+, with an independent reading level of perhaps fourth or fifth grade. The vocabulary isn’t difficult, but sentence structures are a bit more complex than today’s style. There is a sequel entitled The Princess and Curdie, which I also plan to read.

Sweet adventure factor:  This is the hard hat spelunking kind, but it is very fanciful and old-fashioned.  So grab up some trail mix (or maybe some tea and scones)  and settle in for a great read!

The Black Stallion, by Walter Farley, 1941, Book Review

I relived some of the best moments from my childhood over the last two weeks as I shared the all-time greatest book ever with my boys. As a young girl, I spent a good deal of time dreaming of horses. And much of the blame for that can be laid at the feet of Mr. Walter Farley, author of The Black Stallion.

I remember the day my mom came home from the library and put that book in my hands. It honestly was a life-changing moment. I was in fourth grade at the time, and not yet an avid reader. But by the shipwreck in chapter two, Mr. Farley had me, hook, line and sinker. I was dragged through the sea to the deserted island along with Alec and the Black. I scavenged for food. I tamed the stallion. I rode for hours at the edge of the sea. I was there pleading along with Alec when his rescuers were going to refuse passage for the Black. I was on pins and needles during the long months Alec and his trainer Henry waited for word of the Black’s lineage so they could provide the papers necessary to race him. And I cheered myself hoarse when the Black finally tore up the track.

Over the next year, I read every single Black Stallion book our library carried—not every one that was written, but nearly. I even saved up my allowance to buy some of the ones I couldn’t borrow. I entertained the notion of being a jockey long past the age of reason. Even in junior high and high school, after my family moved to the country and purchased a horse, I would pretend I was in silks and Rusty was a long-legged Thoroughbred. I was thrilled that he was, in fact, part Arabian, just like the Black. And to this day, I still watch the Big Three horse races every summer.

This week with my boys, I was back in fourth grade recapturing that magic. The writing wasn’t quite as perfect as I remember, but in my opinion, it’s still the greatest book in the world, because not a single one since has ever captured me as completely as the Black.

We finished reading a few days ahead of schedule because my boys never wanted to quit reading after only two chapters, and several times they were able to persuade me to put off math and read another. Tonight we watched the movie, and as I put my youngest in bed, he was still celebrating the closing moments. I hope tonight in his dreams my little guy, too, gets to ride a very special big, black horse.

Fourth or fifth grade reading level, read-aloud 6+.