ANIMALS IN TRANSLATION

Animals in Translation: Using the Mysteries of Autism to Decode Animal Behavior, by Temple Grandin: Grandin is autistic, has a Ph.D. in animal behavior, and works (among other things) designing more humane methods for 50% of the nations’ slaughterhouses. She believes, and argues very convincingly, that being autistic actually gives her more insight into animal behavior because her brain functions more like an animal’s (totally detail-oriented, visual rather than verbal, etc.). Not only are her ideas really fascinating, but they are also laid out very clearly and concretely, with copious examples. When I read science writing I often struggle to understand some of the more abstract concepts; my brain reads the words faster than it can process the ideas, and I end up going over the same passages again and again, trying to wrap my head around them while my eyes glaze over in boredom. But because of the way Grandin’s mind works, I think, she takes complex ideas step by step, one little bit at a time, using simple words and sentences but somehow conveying huge insights. I’m riveted and am learning a lot almost effortlessly. I’d almost forgotten how much I like reading about animals. When I was a kid I had simultaneous subscriptions to Ranger Rick, National Geographic World, and Zoobooks. Then somehow I grew up into a science-phobe.

FROM THE MIXED-UP FILES OF MRS. BASIL E. FRANKWEILER

Over the weekend I finally embarked upon my long-intended goal to reread a bunch of the beloved childhood books I still own (or have repurchased since foolishly getting rid of them at 15 when I thought I’d outgrown them). The first book was From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E. L. Konigsburg, which I remembered as that cool book where the kids run away from home and live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I liked the story then (and still do now) because as a kid my recurring fantasy was to be trapped in a bookstore, library, or toy store overnight so I could have all that great stuff to myself. I suppose this is a common expression of the wish for independence from one’s parents, crossed with good old-fashioned greed. Reading about kids sleeping in antique museum beds or bathing in fountains was the next best thing to living my fantasy, so that’s what I remembered about the book all these years. I’d totally forgotten that the main plot is the kids solving an art mystery, and I’d also forgotten who Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler was or what part she played in the story. On revisiting the book, my impressions were as follows:

1. It’s well-written, but I was surprised at how brief and often sketchy it was. I must have filled in a lot of details with my imagination when I read it as a youngster. In my memory, Claudia and Jamie spent at least a month living at the museum, but in reality it’s only a week. The book never dwells much on their motivation for leaving what seems to be (in the few hints given) a reasonably happy and wealthy home, yet as a kid it all seemed perfectly natural to me. As an adult, I couldn’t keep my mind from constantly questioning: “Well, would they really be able to do this or this?” To her credit, however, Konigsburg does keep things pretty believable; I found myself skeptical when the kids set about trying to solve the mystery (whether a certain statue was sculpted by Michelangelo or not) by simply reading books at the library or looking for clues on the statue, and I was like, “Yeah, right, like they’re going to catch something that international art scholars have missed?” but ultimately they “solve” the mystery by talking to Mrs. Frankweiler, and the point of the book isn’t whether the statue is authentic or not, but the kids’ need to believe and investigate and have adventures. So, thumbs up to that, especially to it being conveyed with a minimum of exposition, in just over 100 pages. If that same story had been written for adults, it could easily have stretched to over 300 (much like Donna Tartt’s overwritten The Little Friend, which annoyed me even though I wanted to like it).

2. I think it’s so funny that as a kid I read books indiscriminately, never bothering to notice when they were written, and a lot of the books I read (at least, the ones I read over and over again and remembered) were not that contemporary. I could tell when a book took place in “the olden days,” like the Little House or Betsy-Tacy series, but a lot of classic kids’ books were from the 1950s to 1970s, and I really did not notice this, even when the details didn’t match anything I’d encountered in my life. I really thought the Trixie Belden books were being written right when I read them, and the fact that Trixie’s mom takes her shopping for a girdle in one book totally slipped by me. I remember being befuddled by references to “egg creams” in Harriet the Spy, “halter tops” in a Lois Duncan book, and the infamous “sanitary napkin belt” in Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret (I hear the publisher has actually updated that since I read it, since so many kids consult that book for actual information about periods). Yet my confusion never got in the way of the story; in fact, I never gave it much thought. Now that I have a lot more knowledge about recent history, it’s so interesting to look back at these books and see all the clues to the context in which they were written. In From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (published in 1967), the kids are trying to budget their running-away money, so there are many amusingly dated references to how much things cost (full train fare from Connecticut to NYC, for instance, is $1.60). I was taken aback by a description of Claudia washing her petticoats (it’s so natural to envision a 12-year-old girl wearing jeans, especially when running away from home), and there’s a quaint part where the kids type a letter on a typewriter that’s set out on the street for public use.* You’d think these things might have given pause to a 9-year-old reader in 1986, but I glossed right over them. I wish I could get so caught up in a story now, turning off my analytical mind. Still, it’s the contrast between my early impressions of these books and my analytical mind’s current thoughts that makes re-reading them so much fun. It’s the closest I can get to re-experiencing my childhood with “if I knew then what I know now....”

*Also, as an editor, I’m still puzzling over the fact that Claudia keeps correcting her brother’s grammar, even though a contemporary reader (myself included) would accept his grammar as perfectly normal. Claudia is apparently adhering to an extremely formal school of grammar probably taught in schools then, but not followed now, even by word geeks like me. I don’t have the book with me, so I can’t provide any examples, but trust me, it’s kind of amazing, really.

There will be a longish break (of sorts) in the rereading project. I’m rereading another kids’ book now, but it’s one I first read just two years ago—the fifth Harry Potter book. I’m trying to brush up on my Potteriana in preparation for the new book later this month. Since they’re both thick tomes, this will keep me occupied for a while. But when I do return to the rereading project proper, I’m thinking my next pick will be either Island of the Blue Dolphins (love that survival stuff) or Many Waters, by Madeleine L’Engle (in which the kids get transported to Noah-and-the-Flood times, and I’m still on a biblical-literature kick after Lamb).

P.S. I do remember reading another E. L. Konigsburg book when I was little, about some kids who discover Tallulah Bankhead living somewhere secret, like in a basement or something...? Ah yes, Amazon tells me it’s called Up From Jericho Tel, and it’s quite well-reviewed. Konigsburg wrote—oh, wait, has written; I think she’s still at it—an amazing number of books...maybe there are other good ones I should take a detour and read?