It ain't easy being green...

In keeping with the broad strokes (plenty of time for microscopic close reads later on) I wonder about the role of Winnie's pal the toad.  I imagine Kermit (of Henson fame) sympathizing with him as he endures the miseries of August, the two escaping to a Hensonian swamp where they clank beer steins  and croon about the woes of a loden lifestyle. Then of course my brain does a smash cut to a Muppet version of Tuck which, I may say is nothing short of spectacular and frankly, I'd go see it, but I'm a sucker for all things Henson - I digress.

As we're smack dab in the throes of the green revolution, I'm drawn to the text's environmental sympathies. It's fair to say it has a conservation discourse and Winnie's confidante, the old toad is the venerable poster child. When Winnie tells the toad she might like to have him as a pet in a "nice cage with lots of grass" the toad stirs, blinks, gives a heave of muscles and "plop(s) a few inches farther away from her." He's nobody's pet and he's certainly nobody's fool. He'd rather live outside thankyouverymuch. From the story's beginning, the reader is reminded of the life cycle, the naturalness of life and death and the outdoors is the privileged place to be. Winnie prefers to be outside, her only escape from the stifling influences in her home and family. She's drawn to the representational power of the wood. "There was something strange about (it)" and its "sleeping, otherworld appearance" that made one, "want to speak in whispers." "Let it keep its peace," the cows must have thought.

     Ownership of the wood is an important theme in Tuck.  Winnie's parents, the wood's owners, at least on paper, are helpless when confronted with the power of nature in the form of the spring and the havoc that it wreaks on their lives. Mr. and Mrs. Foster never know the secret of the spring anymore than they know to appreciate the joys of the world that exists just beyond their fence line. It never occurs to them to protect the wood because they own it. Babbitt writes:

     "The ownership of land is an odd thing when you come to think of it. How deep, after all, can it go? If a person owns a piece of land, does he own it all the way down, in ever narrowing dimensions...or does ownership consist only of a thin crust under which the friendly worms have never heard of such trespassing...Nothing ever seems interesting when it belongs to you - only when it doesn't." The question of ownership forces the reader to ask who is responsible for caring for the wood and by extension the spring. In Babbitt's text, this role is filled by animals, as if to say, nature takes care of itself:

     "It was the cows who were responsible for the wood's isolation, and the cows, through some wisdom they were not wise enough to know that they possessed, were very wise indeed." Even cows know more than people in Babbitt's world. Their seemingly mindless wanderings wore a path around the wood rather than through it, protecting the eternal spring from those who would disrespect its power. Though the Tucks make their home deep within the wood, they are accidental caretakers who guard its secrets to protect a big secret of their own.
   
The natural world is privileged in Babbitt's text. Winnie's choice to respect nature and refuse to drink from the spring is further evidence pointing to the text's sympathies with the sanctity of nature. I'd also argue that Babbitt reminds readers in plain terms, that they have a choice in how they interact with/disturb the natural world. 

     Despite all of this, one question troubles me about Tuck. If drinking from the spring damns the drinker, why does Winnie choose to douse the toad with eternal life?  If she herself sees it as a doomed existence why doom the toad? Why not throw the spring water on a flower, or simply toss it into the dirt? For better or for worse, the toad is baptized with eternal life.

     This question has many answers I suppose, but I'll offer my theory. If we agree that eco-criticism is an appropriate tool to evaluate this text, it seems to me that Winnie's gift to the toad is a blessing, not a curse and lines up with an ecological discourse I argue is in the novel. In Babbitt's world, Winnie's parents represent a humanity trapped by its own desires; people who are far too comfortable living otu of sync with the natural world. Still others, (the man in yellow) are too driven by selfish desires to be responsible for such an awesome power. By bestowing the spring's blessing on the poor toad, Babbit lifts up the lowliest of creatures and gives him a voice that time will never silence.

Cover Stories

Before the detailed research begins on how to craft and publish this annotation, thought I would spend some time looking at the broad strokes of Tuck. Cover art feels like a good place to start.

The purist in me loves the original cover art and detests that it has changed at all. It’s the same feeling I had the first time I heard Puff Daddy/P-Diddy/Sean Combs (whatever the artist calls himself these days) sample Every Breath You Take by the Police. I know, take a moment. That one still…erm…stings, but you have to admit, it’s catchy at least? And therein lies my dilemma with the contemporary cover for Tuck. I don’t want to like it, but I do. Firstly, let’s consider the original artwork:

The original art is striking for reasons directly related to Babbitt as the author and illustrator. Her artistic choices convey meaning that the new cover art does not. At first glance, this cover tells us a few critical clues, the most obvious is color. Saturated in gradations of yellow and orange, I can’t help but think of the Man in Yellow and Babbitt’s, summer sky, “streaked with too much color.” Is she emphasizing the carnivalesque aspects of her novel and creating a sense of foreboding? If so, one only realizes that fact after having read the book. Without that knowledge, for me, the cover simply feels pastoral and warm. But with the inclusion of the tiny red house nestled between tall trees, that warmth gives way to melancholy. Water figures prominently as well, a symbol of life’s inevitable ebb and flow. The tiny boat, presumably with Winne and Tuck aboard, is the smallest figure in the drawing. Everything about the illustration emphasizes the inevitable-ness of nature’s cycle. All of these things are critical aspects of Babbitt’s text, so I can’t help but wonder about the kinds of artistic choices made for the newest cover art.

Admittedly, publisher Farrar, Straus and Giroux, eager to sell books, updated the cover for contemporary audiences.  Fair enough, but I’m intrigued by which elements they privilege; childhood itself, for one. The little girl – faceless, as her head is cropped from view is decked out in 19th Century costume holding a toad. These two figures effectively capture the yin and yang of Babbitt’s book – a life just beginning and one that will last forever. Not bad, right? Yet the author’s own illustration reveals no child. Interesting. I’m guessing the publisher feels it necessary to make that fact more obvious. “This is a book for and about children” they seem to say, or more specifically, "a book about female children." Or is it? Big question, many answers. I’ll leave that to you, or a future post!

The painting looks more like a grand old portrait, hanging above a Victorian settee, depicting the family’s favorite member. I don’t know, something about this picture echoes that same melancholy and the carnival. I suppose it’s the toad and its historic association to all things enchanted that accomplish the task. The telltale yellow is there and while not as vivid as in Babbitt’s original artwork, that’s something worth noting at least. And a really close look shows the color scheme is quite similar, red and yellow, if not “streaked with too much color.” Also green is prominent, reminding me of the wood and its importance to the story. What can I say? It’s a perfectly lovely cover…I guess…if only…

As much as I love the romanticism of the mottled artwork and it’s enchanting mood, I think the tag line, “What if you could live forever?” short changes visual and literal readers. But maybe I’m naïve. I believe so completely in this favorite (‘nostalgia v. the academe once more with feeling!’) that I don’t think it needs a tag line, though it is catchy and accurate. “Pick it up, read it! You’ll be hooked from the first page!” I all but shout at would-be purchasers perusing the middle grade shelves of Porter Square Books. So no worries F S & G, any decent bookseller will handle the tag line for you, no muss, no fuss.

Regardless of artistic aesthetics, Tuck is there on the shelves and not collecting dust. It is however, still collecting readers and yes, I more than do my part there. It sells, regardless of the cover or my enthusiasm, its obvious tag line or its status in the Newbery hall of fame (don’t get me started). F S & G is doing what it can to make the book pop off the shelves for newer readers and they certainly can’t be faulted for that.

As a consumer, I prefer the second cover, but as a visual literate, I long for the potential of encoded meaning in Babbitt’s own picture. Change is healthy however and redesigned covers breathe new life into old books and the wheel keeps turning.

As good a reason as any

You know, countless is the number of blogs I've started and subsequently stalled. Then it occurred to me in one of those Whedonesque moments of cosmic inspiration - blog about what you love Aim, hell, blog about what you like and it seems to me the answer is as simple as it is shiny - books. Or more to the point, the one that's the topic of my Master's thesis - Tuck Everlasting. Natalie Babbitt's timeless (pun intended) tale gives credit where credit's due - mostly to the reader. Young or old, jaded or faithful, the book holds up because it's an excellent bit of storytelling and if the language doesn't move you to read it more than once, well, you have no soul.

As for my soul, I suspect it will be sufficiently excavated and tested over the next year as I wind my way through the process of proposing a scholarly annotation of the novel and eventually complete my Master's thesis, which, if all goes according to plan, will be the roughly 40-page introduction to the annotation itself.

For now I feel like Winnie, trapped at the edge of the yard bathed in the heat of the dog days of summer, with only a glimpse of the cool, green mysterious wood beyond. I suspect I'll be wishing for my own eternal fountain in the coming months. Here's hoping my choices are wiser than the ones of those very unlucky Tucks.