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What is a "classic" -Reply
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From: Shelby Wolf <wolfs>
Date: Fri, 25 Jul 1997 18:02:48 -0600 (MDT)
Ginny's comments about what it takes to bring a book to classic status is an important one. To my mind there's no book more deserving of "early" classic or "classic to be sure" status than The Watson's Go to Birmingham-63 by Christopher Paul Curtis. It is an absolutely delicious book and even though it keeps getting runner up to the big prizes, I haven't read a book in a long time that could touch it.
But why is this so? To me it's the writing. If the author has done her/his work with words than much is possible. Consider the following from a Washington Post article on the former Poet Laureate of the United States, Rita Dove. In working again and again on a poem entitled "Sic Itur Ad Astra: Thus is the way to the stars"--a poem that she began over 15 years ago--journalist Walt Harrington followed Dove as she searched for words:
"Rita is writing lines and stepping out onto them. She decides to break away from 'the tyranny of the typewritten page.' In the margins, at odd angles, she writes: 'purple crayon,' 'blow,' 'languid,' 'fluid,'
'landings,' 'whispering, happy landings.' She is searching for the feeling of flying. Suddenly, she's frustrated: 'Can I fly? If I could only remember!' She continues to scribble: 'I've lost my feet,' 'with its garden of smells,' 'aromas,' 'crushed smells,' 'Its petals whispering happy landings.' She picks up a book of poetry by Wallace Stevens, thumbs through the pages and jots down words that strike her: 'confusion,'
'hermit,' 'fetched.'
...[Rita writes yet another version of the poem and then evaluates her choices] 'Garden of dreams,' 'purple petals,' 'Happy landings.'
'Yech!' 'Awful!' 'Disgusting!' But Rita doesn't stop to change them. They are place holders for the poem's cadence. New words will come. On and on it goes-?ch line, each word examined (p. 17).
Thus, the way to the stars is literally and metaphorically through the words we choose. And these words must radiate light and meaning, for as William Blake reminds us, "He whose face gives no light will never become a star."
In the writing of a classic the words must be more than fresh, even clever tropes. The words must work, I think, to change the shape of the world, or at least the way we think about the world. That's why Curtis and his Watsons are so successful. Leaning on the historical facts of the bombing of Birmingham's Sixteenth Avenue Baptist Church on September 15, 1963, Curtis imbues his tale with the magic and mystery. In the fictional bombing of Curtis' novel, Kenny sees death in the shape of an ominous gray square-fingered figure as he struggles to rescue what he thinks is his sister from the smoke and broken glass of the church:
I could see a shiny, shiny black shoe lying halfway underneath some concrete, then it got covered with smoke, and then the lightbulb flickered out again.
I bent down to pull the shoe from under the concrete and tugged and pulled at it but it felt like something was pulling it back.
All the hair on my head jumped up to attention. The light flickered back on and the smoke cleared and I could see that hanging on to the other end of the shoe was a giant gray hand with cold, hard square fingers.
Oh-oh. I looked up and saw a familiar guy and before he got covered with smoke he looked at me and I saw he had big square shoulders and nothing where his face should have been. The Wool Pooh.
Oh, man. I gave the shoe one more hard tug and it popped loose from a frilly white sock. I got real scared. I walked as slowly and as quietly as I could out of the church. Maybe if I moved quietly he wouldn't come for me. Maybe if I walked and didn't look back he'd leave me alone.
(p. 185).
Although Kenny's sister is not the owner of the shoe and she is saved by mysterious occurences, Curtis's point is that four real children did not survive. The scene of the shiny black shoe was one that ended more tragically in reality. One of the mothers of the murdered children recalled shopping with her daughter for her Sunday shoes--shoes that were later returned to her though her daughter was not. Recalling the shock and pain of that moment, Carole Robertson's mother said, "[a person from the] Funeral Home came and brought me the shoes. There wasn't a scratch on them. Not one mark. I kept them for years and years."
The shiny, shiny black of a child's shoe, the frilly white sock, the dim light and smoke of a burning church, a "familiar guy [with] nothing where his face should have been"--these are images shaped by words--words chosen to reiterate Toni Morrison's emphasis on "awe and reverence." As Curtis works to explore a young child's encounter with racism and death, he uses words like "Oh-oh," and "Oh, man," and "I got real scared." His words are seemingly simple--unencumbered by heightened vocabulary and complex construction--and yet they deliver.
To me, that kind of deliverance is what a classic is all about.
Shelby
Shelby A. Wolf Home: University of Colorado at Boulder 5579 Mesa Top Court School of Education Boulder, CO 80301 124 Education Building Campus Box 249 (303) 581?46 Boulder, CO 8030949 (303) 581w88 (FAX)
(303) 492?60 wolfs at spot.Colorado.edu
Received on Fri 25 Jul 1997 07:02:48 PM CDT
Date: Fri, 25 Jul 1997 18:02:48 -0600 (MDT)
Ginny's comments about what it takes to bring a book to classic status is an important one. To my mind there's no book more deserving of "early" classic or "classic to be sure" status than The Watson's Go to Birmingham-63 by Christopher Paul Curtis. It is an absolutely delicious book and even though it keeps getting runner up to the big prizes, I haven't read a book in a long time that could touch it.
But why is this so? To me it's the writing. If the author has done her/his work with words than much is possible. Consider the following from a Washington Post article on the former Poet Laureate of the United States, Rita Dove. In working again and again on a poem entitled "Sic Itur Ad Astra: Thus is the way to the stars"--a poem that she began over 15 years ago--journalist Walt Harrington followed Dove as she searched for words:
"Rita is writing lines and stepping out onto them. She decides to break away from 'the tyranny of the typewritten page.' In the margins, at odd angles, she writes: 'purple crayon,' 'blow,' 'languid,' 'fluid,'
'landings,' 'whispering, happy landings.' She is searching for the feeling of flying. Suddenly, she's frustrated: 'Can I fly? If I could only remember!' She continues to scribble: 'I've lost my feet,' 'with its garden of smells,' 'aromas,' 'crushed smells,' 'Its petals whispering happy landings.' She picks up a book of poetry by Wallace Stevens, thumbs through the pages and jots down words that strike her: 'confusion,'
'hermit,' 'fetched.'
...[Rita writes yet another version of the poem and then evaluates her choices] 'Garden of dreams,' 'purple petals,' 'Happy landings.'
'Yech!' 'Awful!' 'Disgusting!' But Rita doesn't stop to change them. They are place holders for the poem's cadence. New words will come. On and on it goes-?ch line, each word examined (p. 17).
Thus, the way to the stars is literally and metaphorically through the words we choose. And these words must radiate light and meaning, for as William Blake reminds us, "He whose face gives no light will never become a star."
In the writing of a classic the words must be more than fresh, even clever tropes. The words must work, I think, to change the shape of the world, or at least the way we think about the world. That's why Curtis and his Watsons are so successful. Leaning on the historical facts of the bombing of Birmingham's Sixteenth Avenue Baptist Church on September 15, 1963, Curtis imbues his tale with the magic and mystery. In the fictional bombing of Curtis' novel, Kenny sees death in the shape of an ominous gray square-fingered figure as he struggles to rescue what he thinks is his sister from the smoke and broken glass of the church:
I could see a shiny, shiny black shoe lying halfway underneath some concrete, then it got covered with smoke, and then the lightbulb flickered out again.
I bent down to pull the shoe from under the concrete and tugged and pulled at it but it felt like something was pulling it back.
All the hair on my head jumped up to attention. The light flickered back on and the smoke cleared and I could see that hanging on to the other end of the shoe was a giant gray hand with cold, hard square fingers.
Oh-oh. I looked up and saw a familiar guy and before he got covered with smoke he looked at me and I saw he had big square shoulders and nothing where his face should have been. The Wool Pooh.
Oh, man. I gave the shoe one more hard tug and it popped loose from a frilly white sock. I got real scared. I walked as slowly and as quietly as I could out of the church. Maybe if I moved quietly he wouldn't come for me. Maybe if I walked and didn't look back he'd leave me alone.
(p. 185).
Although Kenny's sister is not the owner of the shoe and she is saved by mysterious occurences, Curtis's point is that four real children did not survive. The scene of the shiny black shoe was one that ended more tragically in reality. One of the mothers of the murdered children recalled shopping with her daughter for her Sunday shoes--shoes that were later returned to her though her daughter was not. Recalling the shock and pain of that moment, Carole Robertson's mother said, "[a person from the] Funeral Home came and brought me the shoes. There wasn't a scratch on them. Not one mark. I kept them for years and years."
The shiny, shiny black of a child's shoe, the frilly white sock, the dim light and smoke of a burning church, a "familiar guy [with] nothing where his face should have been"--these are images shaped by words--words chosen to reiterate Toni Morrison's emphasis on "awe and reverence." As Curtis works to explore a young child's encounter with racism and death, he uses words like "Oh-oh," and "Oh, man," and "I got real scared." His words are seemingly simple--unencumbered by heightened vocabulary and complex construction--and yet they deliver.
To me, that kind of deliverance is what a classic is all about.
Shelby
Shelby A. Wolf Home: University of Colorado at Boulder 5579 Mesa Top Court School of Education Boulder, CO 80301 124 Education Building Campus Box 249 (303) 581?46 Boulder, CO 8030949 (303) 581w88 (FAX)
(303) 492?60 wolfs at spot.Colorado.edu
Received on Fri 25 Jul 1997 07:02:48 PM CDT
