What a lovely post. I feel for your three year old self, being so worried for the baby bird. I remember having The Ugly Duckling read to me as a child and being distraught that the other birds were so mean. I was not consoled when it turned into a swan. I love daisies and daisy-type flowers in the garden, your meadow sounds heavenly.
The Ugly Duckling — heavens, yes! I had your reaction too. Never wanted to hear or reread that one.
And thank you! The daisies are insane this year — I have never seen so many. They’ve taken over the flowerbed too, but one can’t imagine uprooting them.
I remember having a similarly emotive response as an adult to a book I read often to my children “Owl Babies”. Their mother left them, saying she’d be back. Of course, they spend the rest of the book worrying whether she will or not. And (SPOILERS) on the last double-page spread, floating magnificently and silently in from the night (presumably laden with dead rodents but this is a book for three year olds) SHE COMES BACK! Still gets me.
How much of the worry do you express in the reading? That is, do you go all in (now that the kids know that she comes back, of course)? It's so interesting!
I suspect (it was at least 12 years ago) there was a lot of voice acting. I think three year olds have a pretty sophisticated idea of foreshadowing in narrative.
Thank you so much! I'm glad. And thank you for restacking it also. The funny thing about the children's book is that it's funny too. I just wanted people to respond to the underlying Big Issue as I saw it and not just the surface lightness. So much frustration 😊. Am glad you love the Lucy poem also. I think of it so often at dusk, when the stars are just beginning to appear.
An octopus fossil on the doorstep! How wonderful. I often read Are You My Mother to my kid... it always makes me feel a little sad and worried, especially as an adoptive parent.
Yes, I can imagine that. But if you read it often, it must be loved! Do you include the sadness and worry in the telling (along with the humor and the exciting adventure and the wonderfully happy ending)?
It is loved, and I read it cheerfully, in a silly voice. He of course is a little on edge, waiting for the Mama bird to appear. But the worries are mine alone, at this point.
So interesting to think about it from the parent's perspective. That's how it was read to me too, and I really wanted the tough aspect to be acknowledged (as well as the cheerful aspects, of course). I'm longing now to hear what your little one thinks — whether he would say any of the lines more seriously, or if the lightness is just how he thinks of it too. It must be a very individual thing, what one wants from it. I'm glad it's a loved book and that it's read together. I always regretted a bit that it pulled me so much into reading on my own!
I was the same with that book, at the same age. Even though my mom read it to me all of the time, I could feel the anxiety and loneliness of the little bird. He knew he had a mother without ever seeing her, and he NEEDED HER. I wouldn't feel better until they were reunited in the end.
This is thought-provoking — I wonder how many of us were introduced to literature as capable of carrying strong emotion through this little book! Did your Mom read it to you lightly and cheerfully, or more seriously, and how did you feel about how she read it (that is, if you'd been the one reading, would you have read it the same way, or differently)?
I actually looked up a pdf version right after reading this, and I could almost hear Mom's voice. It seemed like she would start out light, and then become more animated in concern the more the baby bird starts to run. I specifically remember the way she would read "I have to get out of here!" as if that was the tipping point of panic. And then she would revert back to a perplexed but calm tone once the baby was dropped back in his nest, then triumphant with "And you are my mother!" I would probably read it the same way, I think it is so ingrained in my psyche. I'm not sure if the way my mom read it was what made me feel for the baby bird, if I would have felt differently had she read it like there was nothing to be worried about, or if those emotions stemmed from myself. Also, I tried to look up an analysis of the book to see if there is any deeper digging into the themes, and came up with nothing. Just summarized as a children's book about a "naive little bird" and the comedy of thinking a cow could be your mother - I don't ever remember thinking it was funny!
This is fascinating — makes me wish I hadn't waited so long to tell this story and have a conversation about it! It's lovely that your mom's voice rings in your ears as you read it yourself. It sounds as though you and she had the same sensibilities, so matched beautifully. (And probably matches how I read it to myself).
I can still hear my mom's voice too, reading it, which is wonderful, though it's tied in a little with frustratedly urging her to take it more seriously; and a bit of regret, too, because I removed myself so firmly from being read to after that, preferring to read myself.
In terms of the baby bird being laughably naive — heavens, no! What a terrible reading. He's brilliant and curious and adventurous. I remember thinking that it was funny that he called the snort a snort 😊 but one was never laughing AT him, I'm quite sure!
Funny how I laughed out loud right before you wrote that you wanted to give us readers a laugh. Enjoyed both the octopus metaphor and the three year old's pathos.
This is great, Maria, funny and touching. I felt exactly the same about many children's books that are meant to be funny. Even when I was older (!) I found films like Annie Hall terribly sad, because of the break-up at the end (spoiler alert). Nowadays I'd probably be urging Annie to leave a bit sooner.
Thank you! And yes, these things have an impact, don't they? I actually loved this little book (because of the happy ending), and was just frustrated that wasn't being taken seriously in the reading. But later on was completely devastated by a couple of films, and know exactly what you mean. Have actually have been planning an upcoming essay on devastating books/movies, once I figure out precisely what there is to say about them! And would think that same about Annie Hall now too, I suspect 😊
Beautiful work on multiple levels. And I had exactly the same feeling about Are You My Mother? So much so that my stomach tightened with dread at your retelling here! But how lovely to consider the books description of developing perception along with these inward and outward observations and love for the natural world.
Thank you, and I'm sorry to hear that raising book brought that reaction! Do you remember how it was read to you — if it was in a light tone all the way through, or not? And did you not want it to be read at all? As I just mentioned in another reply above, I actually loved the book, I just wanted it to be read in a way that took the potential tragedy seriously. It's been stunning, and fascinating, to learn that I'm not the only one with such strong reactions!
Honestly, I think that book is haunting. Period. Runaway Bunny too. But children’s books have a long history of being haunting. I was sort of fascinated by it as a child. Both of them. What a great approach you had to taking control of your world!
Isn't it?? Sometimes when I'm doing an essay like this, I think, well, at the very least, I've passed along some poetry. He did several other Lucy poems, but this one comes into my mind the most. Especially the line about the star, I think — always by definition faint, if it's the first one visible, but beautiful in precisely its own way. I'm glad this was an occasion to encounter the poem (again). Also, thanks so much for the recommendation! I'm honored.
What a lovely post. I feel for your three year old self, being so worried for the baby bird. I remember having The Ugly Duckling read to me as a child and being distraught that the other birds were so mean. I was not consoled when it turned into a swan. I love daisies and daisy-type flowers in the garden, your meadow sounds heavenly.
The Ugly Duckling — heavens, yes! I had your reaction too. Never wanted to hear or reread that one.
And thank you! The daisies are insane this year — I have never seen so many. They’ve taken over the flowerbed too, but one can’t imagine uprooting them.
I remember having a similarly emotive response as an adult to a book I read often to my children “Owl Babies”. Their mother left them, saying she’d be back. Of course, they spend the rest of the book worrying whether she will or not. And (SPOILERS) on the last double-page spread, floating magnificently and silently in from the night (presumably laden with dead rodents but this is a book for three year olds) SHE COMES BACK! Still gets me.
How much of the worry do you express in the reading? That is, do you go all in (now that the kids know that she comes back, of course)? It's so interesting!
I suspect (it was at least 12 years ago) there was a lot of voice acting. I think three year olds have a pretty sophisticated idea of foreshadowing in narrative.
Ah, I thought it was current! And yes, absolutely.
As always, that was a beautiful post. I enjoyed every bit of it.
Thank you so much!
You are not my mother! You are a snort!
: )
Exactly! It was a tough call between the dog and the snort 😊
I loved this piece- beautiful, elegiac and affecting. I didn't know of this story book, but am certain I would have found it equally unsettling.
"She dwelt among untrodden ways" is a much loved poem and thank you for reminding me of it.
Thank you so much! I'm glad. And thank you for restacking it also. The funny thing about the children's book is that it's funny too. I just wanted people to respond to the underlying Big Issue as I saw it and not just the surface lightness. So much frustration 😊. Am glad you love the Lucy poem also. I think of it so often at dusk, when the stars are just beginning to appear.
An octopus fossil on the doorstep! How wonderful. I often read Are You My Mother to my kid... it always makes me feel a little sad and worried, especially as an adoptive parent.
Yes, I can imagine that. But if you read it often, it must be loved! Do you include the sadness and worry in the telling (along with the humor and the exciting adventure and the wonderfully happy ending)?
It is loved, and I read it cheerfully, in a silly voice. He of course is a little on edge, waiting for the Mama bird to appear. But the worries are mine alone, at this point.
So interesting to think about it from the parent's perspective. That's how it was read to me too, and I really wanted the tough aspect to be acknowledged (as well as the cheerful aspects, of course). I'm longing now to hear what your little one thinks — whether he would say any of the lines more seriously, or if the lightness is just how he thinks of it too. It must be a very individual thing, what one wants from it. I'm glad it's a loved book and that it's read together. I always regretted a bit that it pulled me so much into reading on my own!
I was the same with that book, at the same age. Even though my mom read it to me all of the time, I could feel the anxiety and loneliness of the little bird. He knew he had a mother without ever seeing her, and he NEEDED HER. I wouldn't feel better until they were reunited in the end.
This is thought-provoking — I wonder how many of us were introduced to literature as capable of carrying strong emotion through this little book! Did your Mom read it to you lightly and cheerfully, or more seriously, and how did you feel about how she read it (that is, if you'd been the one reading, would you have read it the same way, or differently)?
I actually looked up a pdf version right after reading this, and I could almost hear Mom's voice. It seemed like she would start out light, and then become more animated in concern the more the baby bird starts to run. I specifically remember the way she would read "I have to get out of here!" as if that was the tipping point of panic. And then she would revert back to a perplexed but calm tone once the baby was dropped back in his nest, then triumphant with "And you are my mother!" I would probably read it the same way, I think it is so ingrained in my psyche. I'm not sure if the way my mom read it was what made me feel for the baby bird, if I would have felt differently had she read it like there was nothing to be worried about, or if those emotions stemmed from myself. Also, I tried to look up an analysis of the book to see if there is any deeper digging into the themes, and came up with nothing. Just summarized as a children's book about a "naive little bird" and the comedy of thinking a cow could be your mother - I don't ever remember thinking it was funny!
This is fascinating — makes me wish I hadn't waited so long to tell this story and have a conversation about it! It's lovely that your mom's voice rings in your ears as you read it yourself. It sounds as though you and she had the same sensibilities, so matched beautifully. (And probably matches how I read it to myself).
I can still hear my mom's voice too, reading it, which is wonderful, though it's tied in a little with frustratedly urging her to take it more seriously; and a bit of regret, too, because I removed myself so firmly from being read to after that, preferring to read myself.
In terms of the baby bird being laughably naive — heavens, no! What a terrible reading. He's brilliant and curious and adventurous. I remember thinking that it was funny that he called the snort a snort 😊 but one was never laughing AT him, I'm quite sure!
Funny how I laughed out loud right before you wrote that you wanted to give us readers a laugh. Enjoyed both the octopus metaphor and the three year old's pathos.
Excellent! That's just what one wants to hear. I wasn't sure if anyone HAD laughed 😊. Thanks, and so glad you enjoyed it!
I am enjoying the discussion in the comments as much as I enjoyed this wonderful piece. Thank you for brightening my day.
🐣💚
This is great, Maria, funny and touching. I felt exactly the same about many children's books that are meant to be funny. Even when I was older (!) I found films like Annie Hall terribly sad, because of the break-up at the end (spoiler alert). Nowadays I'd probably be urging Annie to leave a bit sooner.
Thank you! And yes, these things have an impact, don't they? I actually loved this little book (because of the happy ending), and was just frustrated that wasn't being taken seriously in the reading. But later on was completely devastated by a couple of films, and know exactly what you mean. Have actually have been planning an upcoming essay on devastating books/movies, once I figure out precisely what there is to say about them! And would think that same about Annie Hall now too, I suspect 😊
Beautiful work on multiple levels. And I had exactly the same feeling about Are You My Mother? So much so that my stomach tightened with dread at your retelling here! But how lovely to consider the books description of developing perception along with these inward and outward observations and love for the natural world.
Thank you, and I'm sorry to hear that raising book brought that reaction! Do you remember how it was read to you — if it was in a light tone all the way through, or not? And did you not want it to be read at all? As I just mentioned in another reply above, I actually loved the book, I just wanted it to be read in a way that took the potential tragedy seriously. It's been stunning, and fascinating, to learn that I'm not the only one with such strong reactions!
Honestly, I think that book is haunting. Period. Runaway Bunny too. But children’s books have a long history of being haunting. I was sort of fascinated by it as a child. Both of them. What a great approach you had to taking control of your world!
The poem She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways is beautiful - I either didn't know or had forgotten it.
Isn't it?? Sometimes when I'm doing an essay like this, I think, well, at the very least, I've passed along some poetry. He did several other Lucy poems, but this one comes into my mind the most. Especially the line about the star, I think — always by definition faint, if it's the first one visible, but beautiful in precisely its own way. I'm glad this was an occasion to encounter the poem (again). Also, thanks so much for the recommendation! I'm honored.
You’re most welcome!