Sub-Evil Boy and I have just started Not the end of the world by Geraldine McCaughrean. The opening’s pretty dark (more below) so we may quit this and try something else (which is perhaps a shame, because it seems to have some real potential).
One good thing to come out of it, though, is Sub-Evil’s excellent observation that only taking two of each creature wasn’t the brightest plan because “What if those two didn’t want to mate later?”. Obviously his exposure to his aunt’s interest in and work on animal behavior, conservation, captive breeding, and reintroduction, has left it’s (good) mark.
As to the book, McCaughrean explores the tricky problems of the reality of standing by while the rest of the human population drowns around you, begging for aid and mercy, and then starting the human race over again. A striking example from early on:
Hands were clinging to the hull, the hands of swimmers who had somehow managed to find a grip on the rough timber … Fearless, placable as ever, Shem swung out from the ship’s rail by one hand, wielding his stave, dislodging people from the hull in the same way you might swat horseflies…
Not surprisingly, Sub-Evil found this and similar passages pretty tough, especially as bed-time reading. It’s not the bulk of the book, though. The death of the rest of the human race is complete within the first 30 pages of a 180 page book, but still it’s tough going, with even Timna herself pointing out
It should have been over in a flash. If it had to happen, it should have been quickly over… If it had to happen, then all life ought to have been extinguished in an instant, like a candle flame pinched out. But people are so resilient. They put up such a struggle.
The writing’s quite good and reads aloud almost like poetry, although not always as carefully crafted and edited as poetry would be. The ideas are quite striking, with all manner of rich parallels to our world and lives and strong (if perhaps overly modern) commentary. Timna (mentioned above), for example is an introduced character, the daughter of Noah who knows even in her life that the men get all the glory and*
They are the only ones who will be mentioned a hundred years from now when people tell our story. I know I won’t figure.
I’ll end with this question from Timna to her mother, which has wonderful parallels to the common worries today of how we balance human jobs and lives against the loss of creatures and species:
‘No, I meant … If it weren’t for the animals, we could have picked up so many. So many people, I mean. Why did they have to … ?’
It’s an interesting start, and I suspect I may finish it on my own even if Sub-Evil doesn’t want to press on.
*And who’s actually on board according to the King James version?
And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights.
In the selfsame day entered Noah, and Shem, and Ham, and Japheth, the sons of Noah, and Noah’s wife, and the three wives of his sons with them, into the ark;
They, and every beast after his kind, and all the cattle after their kind, and every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind, and every fowl after his kind, every bird of every sort.
Four women, all as nameless as “every beast”. Sigh.
It sounds like it is a good thing you are reading and analyzing with the youngster. As you said, it sound pretty dark.
Reminds me of the saying that many people shouldnt be allowed to listen to country music alone. No wonder those cowboys (and girls) drink so much. No doubt, being from Texas youve never been exposed to these things :-)
Agreed. In the end it just wasn’t something he wanted to work through, so we’ve moved on to another book (The dream merchant). I went ahead and finished up Not the end of the world, though, because I found it quite gripping. I finished it two days ago and I’ll try to write up some more on it if time allows.
I loved the comment about listening to country music alone :-). I actually had nothing but distain for country music growing up and only came to appreciate the good bits upon returning to Texas for grad school. My dad grew up in Chicago, and my mom in SoCal, so we were an auslander family and a bit odd (e.g., our house was full of books).
When I was a kid I thought all country music was the Nashville dross that dominates the radio, and I didn’t have any time for it. Moving to Austin in 1986 was a real eye-opener (although it took a while because my prejudices were pretty deep) and I came to really love the great, deep tradition of country music running from people like Jimmie Rodgers and the Carter Family up through people like Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Michelle Shocked. (And part of my First Year Seminar course on American Roots Music is about helping students find at least part of this history for themselves.)
I’m afraid I do listen to it on my own, but I often sing along loudly if that helps. The week John Peel died I found myself singing Hank Williams’ great “I’m so lonesome I could cry” over and over and over, and it did help.
Sub-Evil Boy quite likes certain kinds of country in a way that’s really wonderful and based (I think) a lot on his love for the stories. He liked Johnny Cash from a very early age, and announced out of the blue the other day how he really liked Jimmie Rodgers’ “Waitin’ for a train” when it wandered by on the iPod. Cool.
Your description captures my relationship with country music quite well. On our school bus during my Jr. High years we played country in the morning and pop/rock in the afternoon (a 1 hour ride). The cultural divide over music was nearly as deep as the racial divide in some places.
Now, listening to Willie Nelson sing some country blues is one of my favorite experiences. I agree with Sub-evil about the stories. I find well spun ballads hard to resist.
Divides over music can be very deep, and interest me quite a lot. It’s clear that our notion of genres didn’t really exist in the same way in the 1920’s when the commercial recording of folk musics (country, blues, cajun, etc.) began. I would argue (but don’t have space here for the proof) that these are much more the product of marketing gnomes than the music or the musicians, and that the world would be a much better place if we could just make those little boxes go away.
There’s a wonderful quote (that I’ve never been able to document) about Charlie Parker listening to country music on juke boxes in NYC, much to the horror of his hangers-on. When asked why he kept choosing country, he said it was for the stories. Great stuff.