Day One Hundred and Forty

Maybe this is cheating a little, but I'm counting today for Item #6 (read 10 new books by authors who are new to me), because it was so much fun I can't stand not to write about it.

My son's grade school hosts a monthly event where parents are encouraged to come to the school library with their child at 7:30 a.m., 45 minutes before school starts. Muffins and mini-donuts are served at the door, age-appropriate books are laid out on the low tables, and after that you're on your own. This month a rescheduled rehearsal allowed me to come, and it was completely delightful.

We sampled the muffins and had tiny cups of apple juice, and came into the little library, which was already busy with little wiggly bodies and the murmur of voices. Some families sat at the tables reading, others spread out on the floor. Many of the parents read to their children, but I saw one dad sharing a low bench with his two daughters, the girls leaning on him as they read, all three of them engrossed in separate books.

My son (whom I'll refer to as Buddy, since that's what we call him half the time anyway) and I opted for shared books on the floor. We made a selection from the books laid out on the table, and dutifully made our way through a brightly illustrated book that taught us all about animal camouflage in the wild. Cute enough, but definitely educational, even with Mama reading it with her best teacherly zest.

We plucked our next book from the shelf we were leaning on, and it was much more entertaining - a bee buzzes into a farmyard and passes along a bad head cold, and in the process all the animals switch voices. Now, I am a sucker for any book that lets me "do voices." I read my kids Arnold Lobel's "Frog and Toad" books for years after they'd outgrown them, simply because I like Frog's cheerful, optimistic tones and Toad's perpetual grumbling. In all of those books, the scary snake gets only one line, and my rendition of his gleeful "Helloooooo, lunch!" is now a family byword. This book wasn't quite as fun as making Frog and Toad shriek their way down the hill (being brave, of course, at the top of their lungs), but it did let me bark, meow, moo, quack, oink, and finally, at the very end,

ROAR.

Our favorite, though, was the "one more, please, Mama" that Buddy begged for in the last few minutes of the reading session. I didn't have time to look very hard, so I picked the first one that caught my eye, "The Remarkable Farkle McBride". It wasn't the art or the title that got my attention on this one - it was the author, actor John Lithgow. The book's hero, four-year-old Farkle McBride, is a musical prodigy who learns various instruments and discards them when he gets bored, a process he repeats until he works his way through the orchestra and eventually finds fulfillment on the conductor's podium at age eight. I cringed at the sight of the bashed-in violin and the bent trombone slide sticking out of the garbage can, and couldn't resist some horrified editorializing about how we do not do that to our instruments in real life. Buddy, though, was entranced by the rhythm of the language, C. F. Payne's vivid illustrations, and the admittedly funny idea of two wide-mouthed fish gazing in astonishment at a flute in the bottom of their pond.

As we read on, I found myself smiling too, but for different reasons. Having played the flute very badly for eight long years, I share Farkle's eventual displeasure with the instrument (which, amazingly, he is holding correctly in the picture), and I admit that I identify with his urge to pitch it in the lake. I had to stop the story for a minute when Farkle masters the trombone, since I was laughing too hard to keep reading. At first glance, there is nothing remarkable about the illustration of the shirt-sleeved men in orchestra rehearsal, trumpets and trombones in hand. To anyone who has spent time in a full symphony orchestra, though, the instruments propped on knees and slightly glazed expressions of the musicians are immediately identifiable as the brass players' all-too-common two hundred measures of rests. And when Farkle finally finds peace with himself and the orchestra, baton in hand, something about his relaxed stance reminds me of every really good conductor I've ever played for.

On second thought, I don't think it's cheating at all to count this book for my project. When you read mediocre books, you find a story and perhaps a character or two. When you read good books, you find characters that come alive and a story that pulls you into its reality. But the best books are the ones (not the same ones for everyone, which makes it even more fun) where you turn the pages, and against all expectation you find yourself. If I can help my little Buddy find a few of these to take with him into adulthood, I will be well pleased indeed.