The Underneath

By Kathi Appelt
Illustrated by David Small
Atheneum Books
May 2008 Ages 9-12


So many things have been said about this book already, I could simply employ the use of ditto marks here and be done with it. But that would be no fun, so here it is.

Few books bring me to the point where I simply must sit still after reading and continue to float on the graceful language still swirling in my brain. To call Kathi Appelt's The Underneath graceful isn't enough, though. One must also use the words musical, mythic, aural, haunting, thoughtful, true.

There are two stories, one of an unlikely family of cats and a hound dog living underneath a bad man's porch. Much of this narrative involves the journey of a kitten who made the mistake of venturing from The Underneath despite so many warnings. There is a death in the beginning of the story which creates unpredictability and an uneasiness throughout.

The other story is of enigmatic Grandmother Moccasin, a snake living in a jar tangled in the roots deep underneath a loblolly pine (yes, loblolly. Don't get me started on Appelt's deftness with the setting of this thing). Grandmother is a shape shifter and has been in the jar for a thousand years. Appelt slowly reveals her backstory until it wraps around the other story of these cats and this dog. Loss, redemption, atonement. And don't forget the Alligator King. There is much folklore here.

David Small's illustrations are beautiful and only make the story even more rich. The image of the little girl on the beach is particularly moving. Though this book wants to be read aloud, it is not bedtime reading for your five year old. Not for a five year old at all really. We're talking sadder than Charlotte's Web.


I know, theoretically, no novel is absolutely perfect, but love is blind. And I love this book. I do.

String Bean Dean Goes Swimming

Over at Write Brainers I'm doing a series of questions to the group about childhood memories. Since I've not settled on a project to work on next, ruminating on those little gold nuggets of childhood are helpful. The things I remember are sometimes surprising and many times inspire new ideas. Anyway it's never time wasted, since my own childhood is one of my favorite places to cuddle up and spend some time. So here's a little nugget, in the spirit of the upcoming season. :o)

My parents were both teachers, so summer was a special time when I was growing up. Particularly the last day of school. We would go out to eat and my parents would be in great moods. I still love the last day of school, it makes me get the same happy feeling even now. Summer was mostly a blast. And then there were swimming lessons. . . .

My mother took me to classes at an outdoor community pool, taught by a stern woman we called Miss Jean. She was a drill Sargent and didn't hold with namby pamby students who complained about the cold. We were in northern Michigan and summer sees it's share of cold days. No matter. When Miss Jean said, put your face in the water, there was no question you would do it. I learned to swim out of the simple fear Miss Jean might drown me if I disobeyed. She shouted stroke counts above your head as you fought your way across the pool. There was no encouragement, unless you count things like, "You're SINKING!" and "Get your BUTT up!"

I was a miserable swimmer. There was no hope of impressing Miss Jean. I knew this. And, at eleven, I looked emaciated in my bathing suit besides. The boys in the class called me Lori Dean the String Bean. Though I had an appreciation for alliteration even then, this did not give me comfort under the circumstances. I felt like a stick bug trying to be a fish. I continued to sink, much to Miss Jean's disgust. Then, one day after a successful prone kick and fin she said dryly, "Well, now you've got it."

I never made it past the Red Cross "Advanced Beginner" level, but I do thank Miss Jean, who ultimately had a heart of gold, for bringing me that far. She was hard to impress which I found magnetic. She taught me that there was a time to be serious and do the work, and she made me work harder. She didn't reward you simply for showing up. And her compliments were few, which made them precious indeed.


What is your favorite summertime memory?

Writing Exercise No. 3

This writing exercise comes from my friend Ann's blog. She comes up with great stuff, and I certainly can't think of anything better. So check it on out! Maybe I'll even post what I come up with when I do it myself. :o)

A Fruitful Evening

My daughter turns eleven tomorrow, and another birthday means another school birthday treat. In her case this turns out to be quite the little tradition. My son always picked things like ice cream sandwiches and brownies, bless him. My daughter? It has been fruit kabobs since pre-school. Sometime around second grade I realized I was not going to escape the tedious, potentially dangerous assembly of these eye-popping desserts. In the lower grades it was a big deal to supervise the little wooden rods that could so quickly become swords or what have you. Our track record is a good one. Seven years without injury.

I have long looked forward to the sixth grade, when I would no longer be required to attack and repeatedly stab a wayward watermelon as it slides across my counter. No more skewered hands, or grape juice in the eye. No more backache from standing at my counter for two hours assembling enough treats to feed various teachers, aids and administrators, and my daughter’s classmates. The kabobs have a reputation, you see. People look forward to them, and over the years their audience has grown. This is not because of any particular succulence or peak ripe selection process. In fact, some years, the produce has been downright disappointing in May.

It is because no other mother was dumb enough to start up such a thing. They are the anti-treat. No frosting, no ice cream, no candy or chocolate. Fruit kabobs stand out in the parade of cupcakes like hula dancers at a wake.

So we've kept up the kabobs, year after year. Tonight Mary and I assembled forty-some skewers of fruitalicious birthday love. And next year she will be in middle school where birthday treats are suddenly obsolete and “so elementary school.”

Okay fine. I’m going to miss them. *sob*

Poetry Friday

Afternoon on a Hill

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!



--Edna St. Vincent Millay

Writing Exercise No. 2

"Don't tell me the light is shining; Show me the glint of light on broken glass.

--Anton Chekov

We're all very familiar with the common refrain from those who plead for "Showing" not "Telling." Indeed, the more showing you can do (when it counts) the better. I always find some little lazy moments when I revise and find I've "told" rather than "shown." Here is a fun exercise to flex your writing noodle and put on the show.

Turn the following "Telling" into "Showing." You may use more than one sentence to do it, but brevity is a virtue. :o)

1. Telling: He lacked fashion sense. Showing: As if wearing plaid and stripes in public weren't bad enough, he walked down the street with his eyes wide in round, innocent "O's" of Oblivian.

2. Telling: His locker stunk.

3. Telling: She was stubborn.

4. Telling: It was a cloudy day.

5. Telling: The Lake was calm.

6. Telling: He wasn't good at sports.

7. Telling: He felt impatient.

8. Telling: She felt tired.

9. Telling: Her room was very neat.

10. Telling: He was a better student than his friends.

I'm Feeling Quite Singular

HowManyOfMe.com

There is 1 person with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

That's it! There is only one Lori Van Hoesen in the United States. Go ahead and check your own name by clicking the link in the box.

The Blues

Woke up this mornin’ with no deadline in my head (Deh deh deh deh)
No Work In Progress pullin’ my body out of bed (deh deh deh deh)
Afraid to start somethin’ but need butter for my bread. . .
Gotta stop stallin’ get these old fingers crawlin’ the keyboard instead

I got the bluuuuues

The in-between, feelin’ so green, can only write random scenes, if I can’t write I get so mean bluuuues. . . .

And that's all I have to say about that.

Writing Exercise No.1

Photo courtesy of Getty Images

My critique group does "Write Night" every month, during which we gather to do a writing exercise. We have great fun with this and so I've decided to feature a weekly writing exercise on my blog. Let's call this Writing Exercise No. 1 shall we? Here it is:

Look at the picture. Create a character who is getting ready to cross this bridge. What happens on the other side? Describe what your character sees, hears, smells, feels etc. There can be dialogue, but the most important thing is to create some kind of tension, whether internal or exteral. Limit the scene to three hundred words and leave it in the comments if you'd like.

Castles in the Air

I dream of a little office like Sarah Miller's new writing home, slightly away from home. Here, look at the inside. There's just one problem with me getting one of these (well, a few, actually, but this is the big one). My neighborhood doesn't allow outbuildings of any kind in these suburban yards. Rats.

I wrote the novel I just finished on a folding TV table in my living room. There are no extra rooms in which to fashion an office in my house, though I tried one in the basement that just did not work for many reasons. I like to think I'm earning my office by paying my dues with the TV table, recently upgraded to a rolling laptop stand so I can follow the sun throughout the day, like a dog.

I know an office doesn't a writer make, and having TIME to write is infinitely more important than having the perfect writing space. Many great novels in history were written by authors who lived in squalor. It's my little castle in the air, I suppose. Until then, the dog and I will creep past windows, following the sunbeam. It's not so bad, really.

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Over at Writebrainers (My distinguished Critique Group's Blog) the question of the week is "What is your ideal work environment?" Also, check out the bios people have posted so far. Happy May Day!