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Skellig
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From: WMMayes at aol.com <WMMayes>
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 2000 15:18:17 EDT
I have a friend, a teen of fifteen named Christopher, who has relied on me to provide him with good choices of things to read. He reads plenty on his own, but for the past five years has counted on me to pick books that are just right for him. He is a major Potter fan, loves Rosemary Sutcliff, went through a long Jacques phase, and cannot wait for the final His Dark Materials.
I know Christopher can read and enjoy 'harder' books, so I have slipped him some Cormier before he found one himself, and some Block and Crutcher as well. He is a thoughtful reader, but he tends to gobble the books and you have to let him tell you what he thinks at his pace--any attempt by an adult, either me or, heaven forfend, his parents, to nudge him into commentary will result in him going all monosyllabic.
Skellig caught him at the right place and time and he delivered, at all of 13 years of age, a succinct and beautiful analysis of what the book said to him:
"Everyone grieves differently. Skellig existed so that Michael would be able to celebrate the baby if she lived, and be able to help his family cope if she died."
The book, to him, was about the joy of life and the mystery of death. He thought Skellig wasn't "real," but that Michael had "created" him because he needed him. He didn't seem to be troubled by the fact that Mina corroborated Skellig's existence--the author's vagueness had given him license to give a fabulous tenuousness to his mind's eye image of the creature. To him, the book wasn't about Skellig at all, but about the baby and what Michael would do if she died.
I was impressed. I still am. I need to remind myself that we all grieve differently. SKELLIG is a book that I understand perfectly well why people are so divided over it, as it asks the reader to go deep into a set of feelings that are tough enough in life, but it doesn't offer a set of guideposts that make that journey easy or more understandable at the end than at the beginning. I can well appreciate that some people do not want that kind of experience from fiction, especially from something labeled as a children's book.
However, look at SKELLIG in comparison to MISSING MAY, BABY, and THE BARN. They are all books about the inner life of children during a time of grief, when the access they need to their adults is denied them, leaving them to cope on their own. Your own response to grief can color how you respond to these books, and Almond's mystical characterization will not satisfy those who need something more concrete at such a difficult time.
It is not a book for everyone, so the tree limb where the dissenters sit is strong and will be able to hold you all. But, should you ever need it, Skellig's wisdom will be there for you.
Walter Mayes
Received on Fri 14 Jul 2000 02:18:17 PM CDT
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 2000 15:18:17 EDT
I have a friend, a teen of fifteen named Christopher, who has relied on me to provide him with good choices of things to read. He reads plenty on his own, but for the past five years has counted on me to pick books that are just right for him. He is a major Potter fan, loves Rosemary Sutcliff, went through a long Jacques phase, and cannot wait for the final His Dark Materials.
I know Christopher can read and enjoy 'harder' books, so I have slipped him some Cormier before he found one himself, and some Block and Crutcher as well. He is a thoughtful reader, but he tends to gobble the books and you have to let him tell you what he thinks at his pace--any attempt by an adult, either me or, heaven forfend, his parents, to nudge him into commentary will result in him going all monosyllabic.
Skellig caught him at the right place and time and he delivered, at all of 13 years of age, a succinct and beautiful analysis of what the book said to him:
"Everyone grieves differently. Skellig existed so that Michael would be able to celebrate the baby if she lived, and be able to help his family cope if she died."
The book, to him, was about the joy of life and the mystery of death. He thought Skellig wasn't "real," but that Michael had "created" him because he needed him. He didn't seem to be troubled by the fact that Mina corroborated Skellig's existence--the author's vagueness had given him license to give a fabulous tenuousness to his mind's eye image of the creature. To him, the book wasn't about Skellig at all, but about the baby and what Michael would do if she died.
I was impressed. I still am. I need to remind myself that we all grieve differently. SKELLIG is a book that I understand perfectly well why people are so divided over it, as it asks the reader to go deep into a set of feelings that are tough enough in life, but it doesn't offer a set of guideposts that make that journey easy or more understandable at the end than at the beginning. I can well appreciate that some people do not want that kind of experience from fiction, especially from something labeled as a children's book.
However, look at SKELLIG in comparison to MISSING MAY, BABY, and THE BARN. They are all books about the inner life of children during a time of grief, when the access they need to their adults is denied them, leaving them to cope on their own. Your own response to grief can color how you respond to these books, and Almond's mystical characterization will not satisfy those who need something more concrete at such a difficult time.
It is not a book for everyone, so the tree limb where the dissenters sit is strong and will be able to hold you all. But, should you ever need it, Skellig's wisdom will be there for you.
Walter Mayes
Received on Fri 14 Jul 2000 02:18:17 PM CDT
