I just finished The Crown of Columbus. I had read it quite a few years ago (I'm sure more than 15 years ago!), and I couldn't remember more than that I had liked it a lot. I am reading it this time as part of my ongoing quest to read all of Louise Erdrich's books. I first started this project here, when I read Grandmother's Pigeon and then The Range Eternal. Since then, I've been reading some of her adult novels in chronological order. This time, I found The Crown of Columbus completely absorbing again. I couldn't stop reading it and carrying it around. The juxtaposition of voices in it was mesmerizing. I liked Vivian's voice better than Roger's, but I suspect that was his personality at first too. This is historical fiction, romance, and mystery all wrapped up in one, and it is an amazing story. The ending is what I expected, and yet not. I found myself caught up in the rhythms of the poetry and prose. A great, great story, and so different from some of Erdrich's other work.
The Crown of Columbus. Michael Dorris, Louise Erdrich. Harper Perennial, 1991.
Showing posts with label Louise Erdrich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Louise Erdrich. Show all posts
Saturday, June 7, 2014
48 Hour Book Challenge Update
So here I am on day two. So far, I read and reviewed four hours last night. I am just (at 11am!) sitting down to more reading, which is interspersed with dropping Frances off at a birthday party and Gloria's soccer game. Hoping to get another chunk of time in the afternoon. My current read is The Crown of Columbus by Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris. It's my second time through the book, and I am loving it just as much as I did the first time. Hope everyone else participating is having as much fun as I am!!
Friday, May 24, 2013
The Range Eternal
I am looking forward to the long weekend - how about you? We have had lots of rain, so it's time to get into the garden and start digging. But I also just finished that big project I mentioned (the one with LOTS of writing) and it's time to celebrate this weekend! Of course, I am going to celebrate by catching up on some blog posts. I am going to start by offering you a post about one of Louise Erdrich's picture books, The Range Eternal. This post was my first one in my goal to read all of Erdrich's books, both for children and adults. I am also reading Love Medicine right now, although I'm reading so many things that it is taking a back seat. And this goal is a long-term goal, not one I want to race through in this year. So when I returned Grandmother's Pigeon to the OPI library, I wasn't planning on writing another post about Erdrich so soon. Two days later, I was browsing the shelves at our local public library, and found The Range Eternal in the picture book section. Both The Range Eternal and Grandmother's Pigeon are family stories - memories of a time and place. But while Grandmother in Grandmother's Pigeon is quirky and magical, this family story is heartfelt and poetic.
It opens with a young girl, who is stirring soup with her mother. They are creating soup from what is at hand, not using a recipe. "No two soups were ever the same." The one constant in all of these soups is The Range Eternal. That's the name of their blue enameled wood stove, the heart of their family and their home. The stove isn't just used for cooking - it also keeps them warm throughout the frigid North Dakota winters. The little girl sleeps as close to the stove's heat as she can at night. She does this not only to stay warm but also to stay safe from her fears. She believes that Windigo, the ice monster, lurks just outside her house. But she knows The Range Eternal will keep the family safe and protected.
The Range Eternal also creates pictures within its flames. Those flames invite the young girl into the past of the plains, when animals ran free on a different type of eternal range. Her family relies on this stove for everything for many years. It is a part of their family, for better or worse - with all the chores that go into getting the stove going each morning, and all winter long. Then, inevitably, electricity comes to their home. When electricity comes, then the Range Eternal is no longer needed, and is replaced. The young girl, now telling the story from her point of view as an adult and mother, yearns still for the Range Eternal, that "center of true warmth", until she find a stove of her own. She finds that it doesn't just warm her body, it warms her soul.
Erdrich's writing is incredibly poetic and evocative without sounding too sentimental. On the first page, when the girl and her Mama are making soup, the girl cuts onions. She marvels "As I cut the onions, I held a kitchen match between my teeth. I still don't know why, but the match stopped my tears." Of course, there is science behind the match trick, but that isn't the point. There is magic in that moment, and in that stove.
It is the same with The Range Eternal and the Windigo. The girl huddles in the dark, worrying about the ice monster at the door. But there is a protective heat that emanates from The Range Eternal, one that reassures the scared girl. She knows that "Those wind claws and ice teeth would melt away before I could be hurt." The stove looms over the little girl in the illustration, strong, tough, durable and fiery hot.
The stove unites her whole family with its work - her brothers split wood to feed The Range Eternal. In the freezing early dawn, her father gets up and starts to feed strips of birchbark into the stove to get the warmth going before the rest of the family rouses. The girl watches as the logs catch fire: "The roar of the heat was loud as wind, but warm. The night's fears seemed small." As the wood stove is carted away, the girl notes that it is "still gleaming from Mama's polishing cloth" - the loving care that Mama took to make sure the stove continued to support all of them. While the stove requires a lot of the family - chopping, feeding it, keeping the fire going at the right temperature for both heat and cooking - it gives back to the family too. When the stove is carted away, some of the work disappears too, which saves time and effort. But the routine of cleaning and maintaining The Range Eternal was part of their family structure.
This is a story about the girl's whole family and their relationships with each other and the stove, but the most beautiful passages are about the girl's mother. She cooks on that stove for every meal. She bakes potatoes for the children to keep in their pockets on their trek to school. In the mornings, the girl recalls that "by the time we got out of bed, Mama was standing at the stove. With one hand, she stirred the oatmeal smooth. The other sure hand reached for salt, sugar, sometimes raisins." Her mother is always at the stove, moving around it, working with it. The stove and her mother are the "center of true warmth" in their home and family.
The illustrations are dreamy, with large expanses of farmland and the North Dakota prairie. In the paintings, color swirls around the page - there are wisps of steam above the soup, and on the stormy Windigo-filled nights, the wind whips almost audibly around the family's house. The paintings are realistic, which is appropriate to the memoir style of the book. But there is a hint of nostalgia and a bit of magic in these paintings too. The stove is majestic and eternal, bright blue and shining silver.
The Range Eternal is a warm, gorgeous ode to a time that is not so long ago, and a reminder of the fact that we all sometimes need the warmth of our family and a bright blue stove.
The Range Eternal. Louise Erdrich; paintings by Steve Johnson and Lou Fancher. Hyperion Books for Children, 2002.
borrowed from Lewis & Clark Library
The Range Eternal also creates pictures within its flames. Those flames invite the young girl into the past of the plains, when animals ran free on a different type of eternal range. Her family relies on this stove for everything for many years. It is a part of their family, for better or worse - with all the chores that go into getting the stove going each morning, and all winter long. Then, inevitably, electricity comes to their home. When electricity comes, then the Range Eternal is no longer needed, and is replaced. The young girl, now telling the story from her point of view as an adult and mother, yearns still for the Range Eternal, that "center of true warmth", until she find a stove of her own. She finds that it doesn't just warm her body, it warms her soul.
Erdrich's writing is incredibly poetic and evocative without sounding too sentimental. On the first page, when the girl and her Mama are making soup, the girl cuts onions. She marvels "As I cut the onions, I held a kitchen match between my teeth. I still don't know why, but the match stopped my tears." Of course, there is science behind the match trick, but that isn't the point. There is magic in that moment, and in that stove.
It is the same with The Range Eternal and the Windigo. The girl huddles in the dark, worrying about the ice monster at the door. But there is a protective heat that emanates from The Range Eternal, one that reassures the scared girl. She knows that "Those wind claws and ice teeth would melt away before I could be hurt." The stove looms over the little girl in the illustration, strong, tough, durable and fiery hot.
The stove unites her whole family with its work - her brothers split wood to feed The Range Eternal. In the freezing early dawn, her father gets up and starts to feed strips of birchbark into the stove to get the warmth going before the rest of the family rouses. The girl watches as the logs catch fire: "The roar of the heat was loud as wind, but warm. The night's fears seemed small." As the wood stove is carted away, the girl notes that it is "still gleaming from Mama's polishing cloth" - the loving care that Mama took to make sure the stove continued to support all of them. While the stove requires a lot of the family - chopping, feeding it, keeping the fire going at the right temperature for both heat and cooking - it gives back to the family too. When the stove is carted away, some of the work disappears too, which saves time and effort. But the routine of cleaning and maintaining The Range Eternal was part of their family structure.
This is a story about the girl's whole family and their relationships with each other and the stove, but the most beautiful passages are about the girl's mother. She cooks on that stove for every meal. She bakes potatoes for the children to keep in their pockets on their trek to school. In the mornings, the girl recalls that "by the time we got out of bed, Mama was standing at the stove. With one hand, she stirred the oatmeal smooth. The other sure hand reached for salt, sugar, sometimes raisins." Her mother is always at the stove, moving around it, working with it. The stove and her mother are the "center of true warmth" in their home and family.
The illustrations are dreamy, with large expanses of farmland and the North Dakota prairie. In the paintings, color swirls around the page - there are wisps of steam above the soup, and on the stormy Windigo-filled nights, the wind whips almost audibly around the family's house. The paintings are realistic, which is appropriate to the memoir style of the book. But there is a hint of nostalgia and a bit of magic in these paintings too. The stove is majestic and eternal, bright blue and shining silver.
The Range Eternal is a warm, gorgeous ode to a time that is not so long ago, and a reminder of the fact that we all sometimes need the warmth of our family and a bright blue stove.
The Range Eternal. Louise Erdrich; paintings by Steve Johnson and Lou Fancher. Hyperion Books for Children, 2002.
borrowed from Lewis & Clark Library
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Grandmother's Pigeon
I have loved Louise Erdrich's books and writing voice ever since I started reading her work - probably in college. I found her adult novels then, probably reading in chronological order, since that is often how I read books, and her work with then-husband Michael Dorris. And then, for a long time, I tried to keep up with her writing. I read the book I'm writing about today, Grandmother's Pigeon, and loved it so much that I sought out my own copy. But Erdrich's publishing went far faster than I could read, and I moved on to other authors for awhile. Almost two years ago, I went to work at the Office of Public Instruction, right down the hall from our Indian Education division. I started talking books with the Indian Education staff, and was reminded how much I liked her writing. So more than a year ago, I set myself the goal of reading and re-reading Louise Erdrich's novels, both for children and adults. And I knew I wanted to start with Grandmother's Pigeon.
This narrative begins with Grandmother. The narrator, an unnamed young girl, begins with the words "As it turned out, Grandmother was a far more mysterious woman than any of us knew." She describes her grandmother and her ways, ways that are slightly magical and definitely a little mysterious. Then the granddaughter launches into the heart of the story - on a beach vacation with the family, Grandmother hops onto the back of a dolphin, and sets off for Greenland. A year later, the family is forced to acknowledge that their Grandmother will not be returning. The family (which includes an older brother) opens their Grandmother's bedroom door and begins to sort through her belongings. Their astonishment grows when the mother picks up a nest and the eggs within it begin to hatch. They are pigeons, eerily similar to the stuffed, taxidermied pigeon on Grandmother's windowsill. As the pigeons grow, the mother begins to suspect something. She calls in an ornithologist, who confirms her suspicions. Somehow, the eggs that have hatched are passenger pigeons, which have been extinct for almost 100 years. The media is called, and the three young pigeons become the focus of much attention. But when it is determined that the pigeons are all male, cannot continue the species, and will more than likely spend their lives in a zoo, the children take matters into their own hands. And in freeing the pigeons, the children make contact with their Grandmother, who they believed lost forever.
There are so many interesting things about this book that I'm not sure exactly where to start. But maybe I'll begin with Grandmother herself. As you may have realized from the summary, Grandmother is only in the first two pages. And she only has a few lines of dialogue, just as she is leaving the family. She is primarily seen through the eyes of her granddaughter, who seems to be about five years old. But Erdrich's descriptions are rich, unusual and full of evocative detail. The granddaughter describes how the Grandmother's tea could get them out of bed on days when they had exams at school, "when we felt slightly ill", before she even entered the room. When the family enters their Grandmother's room a year after her disappearance, that description makes you want to enter the room yourself. There is a wooden Sun-Tzu effigy of a horse on the windowsill, a petrified buffalo tooth, a Paul Klee painting. All of these small details give you a strong sense of this woman you won't even meet again in the pages of this book. She is quirky - someone of this world and yet not. Grandmother is mysterious, as the granddaughter says in the very first line of this book. As a reader, I was sorry I would never get to meet her.
Another interesting thing about this way this book is composed is the issue of names. There are no personal names in Grandmother's Pigeon. Everyone in the book (except for the ornithologist) is family, and as such, is only described by their family relationship. And this relationship is also very formal - not Grandma or Nana, but Grandmother. The granddaughter only says "my mother" or "my father", not Mom or Dad. Even the brother is not referred to by name. This gives the book a formal feel, which is juxtaposed against the more casual, spontaneous, chaotic feel of the Grandmother's personality. The granddaughter's narrative, with the longest descriptions of family relationships in each paragraph, is much more buttoned up in comparison.
The mysterious hatching of the three passenger pigeons raises questions for the ornithologist, who literally cannot believe her eyes. In a neat twist, they restore her with some of Grandmother's own magic tea - while the children can be roused on "sick days" simply by the smell, the ornithologist takes two cups. Erdrich is able to introduce the unique history of the passenger pigeons at this point as the ornithologist explains it to the children. Erdrich's explanation of the pigeons' history is impressive at this point - it is accessible to young readers, but also sounds enough like a lecture to sound reasonable coming out of the ornithologist's mouth. The ornithologist never seems to notice Grandmother's pigeon sitting proudly on the windowsill, or make any sort of connection between it and the hatched eggs. The children are one step ahead of her.
The ornithologist says while describing the passenger pigeons, "nature is both tough and fragile." This, to me, is the core of the book. The passenger pigeon is extinct and yet alive. The family misses their Grandmother dearly, grieving for her, and yet continues on in the strength she has given them. For them, as for all of us, the correlation can be drawn to life - it can be tough and fragile too. One moment their Grandmother is there with them, full of magic and spark, the next she has left a void (granted, by sailing off on a porpoise). As the newly hatched pigeons begin to droop under all of the media attention, the family comes to the realization that they must be set free. While this will be the only generation of passenger pigeons, they will survive and soar in their freedom - tough, yet fragile.
When you first look at the cover, you instinctively believe that the cover illustration is of the Grandmother. After all, the title blazoned across the front is Grandmother's Pigeon, and the cover shows a woman, along with the two grandchildren, gaping in astonishment at the pigeons in a cage. It is only as the book progresses that you realize it is not, in fact, the Grandmother, but the ornithologist. Grandmother is absent from the cover of her own story, which is, I suspect, how she would like it. This is yet another example of the mystery surrounding her.
Jim LaMarche's illustrations are full of wonder and perfectly echo Erdrich's tone and text. Again, the Grandmother is only pictured in the first two pages of the book, and there is only one close-up. On that page, where the text describes the children's attempts at a sick day and Grandmother's magic tea, she has strength, wisdom and even magic in her twinkly eyes and knowing smile. Her dress is eclectic, with her wide-brimmed black hat and soft kerchief, but she is no-nonsense too. And yet when she is astride the porpoise, off on an adventure, she is cheery and light.
The glow of the light in these illustrations are remarkable. LaMarche has identifiable light sources in each and every page, from the light pouring into Grandmother's dusty room through the window to the hot sun on the family's beach vacation. That is true of every illustration except three. The children decide to release the pigeons in the dead of night, on a foggy, moonlit night. Mist pools around the tree trunks, giving a hazy look to the dark, shadowy landscape. But even then stars glisten and moonlight highlights the pigeons' wings as they take off into the wilderness. In their escape there is still mystery and magic.
There are so many more things I could say about this book. While this book is a picture book, the text is long and detailed and requires comprehension beyond that of a young child. But many of the details of the book may also help stretch a child's curiosity to explore whether you actually could ride a dolphin to Greenland, to learn more about passenger pigeons, or Paul Klee's paintings. Grandmother's knowledge can help create more connections for readers.
In the end, not even Grandmother's own family, who knows many of the details of her life, really knows her. We exit the book with just as many questions about her as when her granddaughter began: "As it turned out, Grandmother was a far more mysterious woman than any of us knew."
Grandmother's Pigeon. Louise Erdrich; illustrated by Jim LaMarche. Hyperion Paperbacks for Children, 1999.
borrowed from Montana Office of Public Instruction Resource Center
There are so many interesting things about this book that I'm not sure exactly where to start. But maybe I'll begin with Grandmother herself. As you may have realized from the summary, Grandmother is only in the first two pages. And she only has a few lines of dialogue, just as she is leaving the family. She is primarily seen through the eyes of her granddaughter, who seems to be about five years old. But Erdrich's descriptions are rich, unusual and full of evocative detail. The granddaughter describes how the Grandmother's tea could get them out of bed on days when they had exams at school, "when we felt slightly ill", before she even entered the room. When the family enters their Grandmother's room a year after her disappearance, that description makes you want to enter the room yourself. There is a wooden Sun-Tzu effigy of a horse on the windowsill, a petrified buffalo tooth, a Paul Klee painting. All of these small details give you a strong sense of this woman you won't even meet again in the pages of this book. She is quirky - someone of this world and yet not. Grandmother is mysterious, as the granddaughter says in the very first line of this book. As a reader, I was sorry I would never get to meet her.
Another interesting thing about this way this book is composed is the issue of names. There are no personal names in Grandmother's Pigeon. Everyone in the book (except for the ornithologist) is family, and as such, is only described by their family relationship. And this relationship is also very formal - not Grandma or Nana, but Grandmother. The granddaughter only says "my mother" or "my father", not Mom or Dad. Even the brother is not referred to by name. This gives the book a formal feel, which is juxtaposed against the more casual, spontaneous, chaotic feel of the Grandmother's personality. The granddaughter's narrative, with the longest descriptions of family relationships in each paragraph, is much more buttoned up in comparison.
The mysterious hatching of the three passenger pigeons raises questions for the ornithologist, who literally cannot believe her eyes. In a neat twist, they restore her with some of Grandmother's own magic tea - while the children can be roused on "sick days" simply by the smell, the ornithologist takes two cups. Erdrich is able to introduce the unique history of the passenger pigeons at this point as the ornithologist explains it to the children. Erdrich's explanation of the pigeons' history is impressive at this point - it is accessible to young readers, but also sounds enough like a lecture to sound reasonable coming out of the ornithologist's mouth. The ornithologist never seems to notice Grandmother's pigeon sitting proudly on the windowsill, or make any sort of connection between it and the hatched eggs. The children are one step ahead of her.
The ornithologist says while describing the passenger pigeons, "nature is both tough and fragile." This, to me, is the core of the book. The passenger pigeon is extinct and yet alive. The family misses their Grandmother dearly, grieving for her, and yet continues on in the strength she has given them. For them, as for all of us, the correlation can be drawn to life - it can be tough and fragile too. One moment their Grandmother is there with them, full of magic and spark, the next she has left a void (granted, by sailing off on a porpoise). As the newly hatched pigeons begin to droop under all of the media attention, the family comes to the realization that they must be set free. While this will be the only generation of passenger pigeons, they will survive and soar in their freedom - tough, yet fragile.
When you first look at the cover, you instinctively believe that the cover illustration is of the Grandmother. After all, the title blazoned across the front is Grandmother's Pigeon, and the cover shows a woman, along with the two grandchildren, gaping in astonishment at the pigeons in a cage. It is only as the book progresses that you realize it is not, in fact, the Grandmother, but the ornithologist. Grandmother is absent from the cover of her own story, which is, I suspect, how she would like it. This is yet another example of the mystery surrounding her.
Jim LaMarche's illustrations are full of wonder and perfectly echo Erdrich's tone and text. Again, the Grandmother is only pictured in the first two pages of the book, and there is only one close-up. On that page, where the text describes the children's attempts at a sick day and Grandmother's magic tea, she has strength, wisdom and even magic in her twinkly eyes and knowing smile. Her dress is eclectic, with her wide-brimmed black hat and soft kerchief, but she is no-nonsense too. And yet when she is astride the porpoise, off on an adventure, she is cheery and light.
The glow of the light in these illustrations are remarkable. LaMarche has identifiable light sources in each and every page, from the light pouring into Grandmother's dusty room through the window to the hot sun on the family's beach vacation. That is true of every illustration except three. The children decide to release the pigeons in the dead of night, on a foggy, moonlit night. Mist pools around the tree trunks, giving a hazy look to the dark, shadowy landscape. But even then stars glisten and moonlight highlights the pigeons' wings as they take off into the wilderness. In their escape there is still mystery and magic.
There are so many more things I could say about this book. While this book is a picture book, the text is long and detailed and requires comprehension beyond that of a young child. But many of the details of the book may also help stretch a child's curiosity to explore whether you actually could ride a dolphin to Greenland, to learn more about passenger pigeons, or Paul Klee's paintings. Grandmother's knowledge can help create more connections for readers.
In the end, not even Grandmother's own family, who knows many of the details of her life, really knows her. We exit the book with just as many questions about her as when her granddaughter began: "As it turned out, Grandmother was a far more mysterious woman than any of us knew."
Grandmother's Pigeon. Louise Erdrich; illustrated by Jim LaMarche. Hyperion Paperbacks for Children, 1999.
borrowed from Montana Office of Public Instruction Resource Center
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