If it's around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky
orange and ash gray at twilight, it seems Halloween will never come in a fall of
broomsticks and a soft flap of bed sheets around corners. But one strange wild
dark long year, Halloween came early.
Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury (1962)
Mother Nature's massive trick has gone, blasting west in a hurry after a leisurely approach. A long, warm autumn closed suddenly in downpour and wind, uprooted trees and snapped fence posts. That was if you were lucky. The storm also killed dozens of people, crushed and burned and flooded homes, and simply minced the plans of millions, from the commuters struggling to reach Lower Manhattan to the workers left without a job in damaged businesses. Not to mention the uneasily watching candidates. A mix of powerful mythmaking and brutal destruction, the hurricane was a true Halloween story, which makes it all the more bittersweet that the affected areas have mostly postponed the traditional holiday until at least the weekend, citing the substantial cleanup of broken trees and downed wires. No trick-or-treaters came to the door tonight; there was no town-wide festival of children in costumes, no elaborate home decorations, no hovering parents trying to take photos in the twilight. Halloween night passed quietly, in the new cold temperatures, in darkness.**
I wrote a post in 2010 about the barrier islands of the East Coast. This week, Sandy pelted those vulnerable sandbars with wind and rain and waves, cut them off from the mainland, drowned their streets and smashed anything in reach of the tide. In New Jersey, where Sandy made landfall on Monday evening, oceans and back bays met in the center of Long Beach Island, long sections of the Atlantic City boardwalk were ripped off their moorings and flung blocks away, and Seaside Park lost a chunk of its amusement pier. The storm had lost its hurricane status by the time it hit the shore, but the waves its low pressure pushed onto land have swamped both the shore towns and the southern tip of Manhattan.
He opened the door, and the old man and the boy stepped out into a terrifying seventy-five-mile-an-hour gale. The sudden pressure half-knocked Paul's breath out. The rain blew into his eyes faster than he could blink it away. He felt Grandpa thrust a strong arm through his, and linked tight together they flung themselves against the wind, floundering ankle-deep in the choppy water. Paul's heart hammered in his chest and he cried inside, "Please, God, take the sea back where it belongs. Please take it back."
Stormy, Misty's Foal (1963)
Marguerite Henry's sequel to Misty of Chincoteague chronicled the Ash Wednesday Storm, a massive nor'easter* that stalled over the East Coast for three long days in March of 1962. Like Sandy,it came about through the actions of three colliding weather systems. Like Sandy, it was a freak storm for the Northeast.
Lone horsey note:
My 2010 post was about the feral equine herds that inhabit some of these islands. The early word is that the Chincoteague ponies have likely survived. There's no news, as far as I can find, on the Banker Ponies.
*A nor'easter is a low pressure system with a cold core that forms over the East Coast in the winter; a hurricane is a low pressure system with a warm core that forms over the Atlantic Ocean in the summer. I think.
** Realizing I should clarify, given the huge number of people without power. We were lucky - no power outage, no trees fell, no damage done.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Upcoming books
So after a weekend spent dutifully stocking up on bottled water, refilling prescriptions and battening down all the outdoor flotsam, we're just waiting. Hurricane Sandy, the largest part of what the thrilled-to-their-toes weather media has dubbed Frankenstorm, is churning steadily north and is still, the last I heard, on course to make a sharp left at New Jersey and head inland, drawn in by a low-pressure system, where it will move straight into a winter storm from the north. At which point, I believe, we all die horribly. I may be wrong about that, but it's the definite impression left by the news.
In the event we do not all die, there are some interesting new horse books coming out this winter.
Books
Darcy, the 10th installment of the Horse Diaries series will be released on January 8, 2013. This one stars a grey Connemara mare. In other words, the childhood fantasy horse of everyone who wasn't in love with the The Black. The last installment was Tennessee Rose.
A new edition of the Narnia ponybook installment, The Horse And His Boy, is due out December 4, with the Kindle edition released the same day.
A horsey installment of the Rainbow Street Shelter series, Stolen! A Pony Called Pebbles, is released November 13.
Another of the teen A Circuit series, Off Course, is out November 13.
A New Friend and A Special Wish, the first two books of an English series for a younger crowd, Magic Pony, are being released in the US on January 10, 2012.
Canterwood Crest 17th installment Jealousy is due out February 19. I've never read these books, but I kind of love the website .
New in paperback
The nonfiction Eclipse: The Horse That Changed Racing History Forever by Nicholas Clee, is out in paperback on December 24.
Re-issued
Many of Jean Slaughter Doty's books have just been re-issued in paperback. Titles include The Valley Of The Ponies, If Wishes Were Horses, Can I Get There By Candlelight, and the dog story Gabriel. It appears they stayed with the original covers. No news about what is arguably her best and best-loved book, The Monday Horses.
(And as a little extra, here's a scifi/fantasy blog that does a short (and spoiler) review of Can I Get There By Candlelight.
Another version of Anna Sewell's Black Beauty, this time by Oxford University Press
And (sigh) ebooks
I don't own an e-reader. They're cute, they're handy in certain circumstances, but I don't like them. I suspect that they will, as technology tends to, eradicate their predecessor. And since I love books, the physical reality as well as the content, that's going to annoy me. However, it may be nice for some to hear of new ebooks. So here are some of the more interesting ones I've come across recently.
C.W. Anderson's Billy and Blaze series went into e-editions over the summer.
Pam Munoz Ryan's 2007 Paint The Wind, is due as a Kindle edition on November 1.
Books from Bonnie Bryant's Saddle Club series are also making e-reader appearances on December 19. These include: Sea Horse, Team Play, Horse Games, Snow Ride, Ghost Rider, The Fox Hunt, Horsenapped, Racehorse Horse Trouble, Starlight Christmas, and Pack Trip.
Audio
R.A. Macavoy's 1987 fantasy novel The Grey Horse is being released as an audio book on October 21, 2012.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Old Tangle Eye (1954)
Ralph E. Johnston, il. William Moyers
1954, The Junior Literary Guild and Houghton Mifflin
John Merrill was an Illinois farmer bound for Colorado, where there was fair, fertile country lying at the eastern foot of the Rocky Mountains. The grass gew tall and thick and there his plow would turn up, for the first time, the heavy black soil to the warming sunshine.
John's 12-year-old nephew, Steven, is along for the ride. His father, George, had gone west a year earlier and written home that he now had a ranch and had even found gold. Steven's mother died years earlier, so he and his father had lived with John and his family - wife Cynthia and daughters Mary and Margaret - and now it's natural that everyone should follow George west.
But when the family arrives in Cheyenne, the end of their train ride from Illinois, George Merrill is nowhere to be found. They set out alone for Colorado only to be waylaid by Musgrove, who tries to strongarm them into selling the ranch for far more than it's worth. He's driven off by Dan Curtis, a young man who lives near Merrill's ranch. He helps them travel there, and re-establish themselves when they discover that the ranch buildings have been burned. His friendship consoles Steven somewhat for the mysterious absence of his father.
The title comes from the name locals have for one of the few remaining buffalo in the area, a man-killer whose shaggy forelock has grown so tangled it obscures his vision. Tangle Eye will leave a man alone if he's mounted on a horse, but will chase down and try to trample a man afoot. The pioneers tolerate him largely because his presence is good luck to the local Ute tribe.
At any rate, Steven is given a pony, the roan mare Strawberry.
No matter how many tasks he had, Steven found time each day for a long gallop upon Strawberry. The better he became acquainted with the gentle little mare, the more he loved her. He brushed her until her coat glistened, he combed her mane and tail until they hung in a glossy, rippling splendor. Strawberry returned his affection; she would come trotting up to him when he called to her from the corral fence.
In time, Musgrove is explained, as is the mystery of George Merrill's disappearance. Written capably and with good pace, this book also has a more even treatment of female characters than many Westerns, and maintains a more realistic view of the young hero. It's really a western with a few specific horse scenes rather than a full-out horsey book.
About the Author
I found almost nothing about Johnston. He appears to have written a few other Western/cowboy books, but that's it.
About the Artist
Moyers, like Steven, moved west to Colorado as a kid. He worked at Disney, illustrated hundreds of books and ended up specializing in cowboy art.
And a photo borrowed from the US Fish and Wildlife's National Digital Library, of bison grazing under a very big sky.
Credit: Ryan Haggerty/USFWS. From the US Fish and Wildlife National Digital Library at
http://digitalmedia.fws.gov/
Friday, September 21, 2012
Riding lessons
I began taking riding lessons a few years ago, having belatedly realized that now that I had a real, grownup job and my own money, I could finally get myself on a horse. As of this moment, I can now (mostly) tack up, retrieve a horse from a field despite said horse's uncanny ability to vanish behind a blade of grass, mount with the use of a mounting block (I did once achieve the top of the horse sans the block, but it was ugly and I believe it may have traumatized me, the horse and my instructor equally), stay aboard reasonably well and in something vaguely resembling equestrian form at a walk and a trot, and, with varying degrees of success, canter. I can even, when my blood is up and my instructor is armed with a longe whip, canter cross-rails.
This only took years, a pair of extremely long-suffering horses and a series of valiant instructors to accomplish. But somehow, this direct experience of the awkward fact that riding a horse is actual hard work doesn't detract from my enjoyment of horse books and their untutored but effective little riders whose light hands, natural seat and perfect sympathy with all things equine are forever being applauded by hard-bitten stablemen and wealthy old ladies who just happen to need someone to ride Corinthian in the upcoming show. I think the reason for my lack of resentment is that I secretly believe that had I had the opportunity when I was 10, I'd have ridden off across the moors on my magnificent wild stallion too, just like all the fictional heroines who never experience a moment's qualm but enjoy a Perfect Bond with their pony. The Perfect Bond issue must be why so few horse books even mention lessons. I've trolled through many books, searching out lesson scenes, and have not found much. The most vivid and realistic actually were in memoirs, and I'm going to have a different post about them. Below are some of the fictional lessons I've found, and a particularly appealing illustration from Panky In The Saddle. Panky's expression is just as confident and happy as my own felt, the first time I attempted to transfer myself from the top of a mounting block to the top of a horse.
As the colt trotted steadily around he would release the mane and raise his arms to shoulder level. Then, to the moorman's orders, he would swing them from side to side, up and down, together and alternately; touch his toes, one at a time and both together; lie back until his head touched the pony's rump; then he would pick up the reins, knotted over the colt's withers, and take a gentle contact, learning how to keep his wrists supple so that his hands could move with the colt's head and keep a "living" contact on the bit.
The White Colt by David Rook (1967)
Yes, this is exactly how my lessons are: private longe sessions where I do gymnastics. I find Jinny more appealing:
"I don't know enough," Jinny thought desperately. "I don't know the right things to do. My riding just isn't good enough. I've never had any proper lessons and sitting on Bramble isn't really riding. Not like riding Shantih. Books are no good. Reading them it all sounds so easy, but they're no use when I'm flying through the air."
A Devil To Ride by Patricia Leitch (1976)
But then again, Jinny and her Shantih are also a bit off-puttingly magical, albeit in a grungy, socially aware 1970's way.
Try as she might, Marcy could not find the posting rhythm again and slithered and slathered around in the saddle.
Everyday Friends by Lucy Diggs (1986)
Now that's more like it. Then there's the competitive kids and their trainers:
"You will please to remember you are not a passenger. You will please to remember that you are the boss. You will grip. You will be firm in the saddle. You will hold the reins and give your commands with authority."
The Colonel And Me by John W. Chambers (1985)
Ruth heard the hollow booming noise of falling poles behind her like the tolling of a funeral bell; she turned Toad in a large, wild circle, in no hurry to face Mrs. Meredith again, and certainly not Peter. The Team by K.M. Peyton (1975)
At first everything I did was wrong. "Sit down in the saddle. Sink into it. Let your weight sink down through your heels. Relax. Relax. How can you be with your horse unless you can feel its every breath through your seat?" I couldn't answer. I could only nod and go on trying.
Dream Of Fair Horses aka The Fields Of Praise by Patricia Leitch (1975)
Far more common than the official lesson are heroines who wing it, often with the help of what their horsey bibles have said.
The Rain-Cloud Pony by Anne Eliot Crompton (1977)
Or, even worse, just their instinct.
But she felt a piece of fear, realizing that her skill at riding was nothing and she had no saddle or bridle to give her superiority. All that held the mare to her was a slim leather line; if she broke loose, not yet knowing home and barn, the mare could canter for miles and be lost and gone.
Blueberry by Helga Sandburg (1963)
And always, of course, the horse is the ultimate teacher.
But she had never yet felt reins that had a trained mouth at the end of them, and as she cantered up the slope of the sunny field with the brow of the hill and the height of the sky in front of her, Sir Pericles taught her in three minutes what she had not known existed. Her scraggy, childish fingers obtained results at a pressure. The living canter bent to right or left at her touch. He handed her the glory of command.
National Velvet by Enid Bagnold (1935)
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
A "Blue" For Illi (1954)
A Blue For Illi (aka Blue Ribbon Winner)Nancy Hartwell, il. Don Sibley
1954, Henry Holt and Company
This was the spot where Illi liked to linger when the horses were out. She would stand, one foot on the rail, watching the sleek brown or gray or black bodies stretch and arch themselves in the most beautiful curves in the world. Was there anything more beautiful than a horse in action? Was there a better friend anywhere than a horse?
Ilona Horvath is standing in the lushness of Philadelphia's furthest suburbs, the gently rolling countryside of Chester County. Walking down a country lane past a sprawling gentleman's farm, on her way to the snug home of her second family, the Enrights, Illi's come a strange, hard distance from her birth in Budapest. The daughter of an artist and a lawyer, Illi had a happy childhood and even when she was evacuated from the city in 1943, she continued briefly to enjoy a snug middle-class existence at the government horse farm (the real Kisber Stud, which bred Thoroughbreds) her grandfather manages first for the Hungarians and then for the invading Germans. But by 1945, the 10-year-old's childhood is effectively over. Her parents, opposed to the invading Germans, have been arrested and killed, her grandfather dies protecting her from a guard, her older brother's run off to join the guerrillas, and even her beloved young stallion Vidam must be left behind. As Illi expresses it herself in an essay, that was the end of the "well-bred little girl;" she "became one of the lost children of Europe who lived from day to day in the best way they could." In her case, she fought her way to a Children's Camp for displaced people and managed to get herself sent to America, to be a companion for a middle-class couple's disabled daughter, Ardis. She's been there a while now, and is happy enough, but still unsure of her future.
Whew. To her credit, Hartwell presents all that information in a natural way and not in the action-packed paragraph format I just used.
Back to the horses. With the unerring instinct of many a less-challenged horsey heroine, Illi manages to attract admiration and help from the Major, one of those invaluable wealthy neighbors who own quality horses and has a soft spot for spunky girls. Illi and falls in love with his horse Hocus-Pocus (aka Pokey), who reminds her painfully of the lost Vidam.
She was standing in the road, trying to get up her courage, when she heard the soft clop of hoofs and looked up the lane to see Neal coming along on Rockabye and leading another horse, a stud colt not more than two years old and tacked up for riding. He was a perfect little chestnut with a white star on his forehead and dark, wide-set eyes, proudly arched neck, and four dainty white stockings.
Illi stood rooted to the spot. She must be dreaming, because it was exactly like the dream, the one that still came back to her, the one from which she always awoke with a feeling of keen disappointment. It was the dream where she saw Vidam coming down from the Kisber stables, headed straight for her.
There are misunderstandings, romances for both Illi and Ardis, and a pair of reunions that are both unlikely and deeply believable. The action culminates at the Devon Horse Show.
The author is capable and stylish, and the heroine's complicated life is inherently interesting, but the action - and the various eligible boys - become confusing and the horse material is handled gingerly. While the heroine's love for horses is well done, the actual riding scenes are few, far between and not exactly convincing.
Illustrations and Covers
Unfortunately, my copy is a battered old former library book without a dust jacket. The original Holt hardcover cover can, for the moment at least, be seen at Amazon. There was a Berkley Highland paperback edition in 1963, which can also be seen at Amazon.
The illustrator for the Holt originals was Don Sibley, who was a prolific illustrator of children's books, to the point where I knew I knew that name. His horses are more like statues than living animals, but the minimalistic drawings throughout the book - often only on half a page - are typical of the time period, and nostalgically appealing.
About the Author
Nancy Hartwell (1890-?) was a pseudonym for Claire Hartwell Callahan, who also wrote under the name Ann Kilborn Cole. She wrote several young adult novels, but none of the others had an equine aspect. She was born and raised in Philadelphia, attended Trinity College in Washington D.C., married in 1921and lived most of her adult life outside the city in the town of Pottstown.
Other books by Author
Fiction
Gabriella
Shoestring Theater (1947)Dusty Cloak (1955)Senorita Okay (1956)
The Hills Of Home (1958)
Wake Up, Roberta (1959)
The Place On Wishbone Alley (1960)
Who Was Sylvia? (1960)
Something For Laurie (1962)
Nonfiction
The Golden Guide to Antiques
Old Things For Young People
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