To the ordinary angels watching over you

[sovay]

The miracle of interlibrary loan has found for me a children's book called The Valley of Song (1951) by Elizabeth Goudge, which I have not read since I was in elementary school and some bastard stole the only copy from the Cambridge Public Library. I remembered it only in fragments—the eponymous valley into which only children can enter, so that the protagonist at one point takes on the years of another's life to allow her inside, where the characters meet with elementals and living figures of the zodiac and the god Vulcan at his forge. (I had serious flashbacks to this book at certain points in The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988). I wonder if Terry Gilliam did, too.) Something about shipbuilding. Probably lots of Anglicanism, which I wouldn't have noticed at the time. And someone who kept a clipped and ribbon-dressed poodle named Mignon.

I am now two chapters in, and I can report that while there is indeed a fair amount of Anglicanism (and a poodle named Mignon), it has not eaten the story so far; and while I have not yet encountered the constellations, I have met up with a character I remember. Ten-year-old Tabitha Silver is contemplating the stranger who has caught her back from falling into a well after her own reflection, "a disreputable-looking tramp of an ordinary man" who promptly nicknames her Narcissus:

Quite recovered from her fright, and independent now that she was her normal self again, Tabitha slid off the ogre's knee and stood in front of him to have a look at him. His deplorable appearance, she discovered, was due to the fact that he had what she called a Saturday beard. Her father, who had never shaved in his life, had a great black beard that was a delight to behold, and Mr. Peregrine the Master-Builder, who shaved every day, had also a pleasing appearance, but there were other men on the Hard who only shaved on Sunday mornings, and on Saturday afternoons Tabitha did not think they looked their best. The ogre had not cut his wild dark hair for a long while, either, and his lined tanned face had dust in the creases. His clothes were dusty too, torn and stained, but they had been nice clothes once, and he talked as Mr. Peregrine and Parson Redfern talked, not like the gipsies and tinkers who sometimes came to the Hard. His dark eyes were amused, and yet desolate as a lost dog's, and deeply sunken in his head as though he had not had enough to eat lately, yet he had a gold ring on one finger and a torn silk handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket. Altogether Tabitha found him very puzzling.

"What are you?" she asked.

"A complete disaster," he said.

"Oh," said Tabitha. "I don't think I've met one before."

Hello, archetype.

Comments

[teenybuffalo.livejournal.com]

Nice. Reminds me of Mr. Lynn from _Fire and Hemlock_.
Elizabeth Goudge fans unite! I don't think I've met anyone except myself and my mother who's ever read anything by her. She wrote a wonderful book called _The Little White Horse_ which is about a lion and a unicorn and a village called Silverydew and a little girl called Maria, and a black cat who can write pictograms in the ashes. With all the details I've mentioned above, you might think that the book would be cutesy, but it's not. It's awe-inspiring and full of good storytelling.
She also wrote a book called _Linnets and Valerians_ which was so sappy I couldn't manage more than a few pages, so don't know if it improved later on.

[shewhomust.livejournal.com]

The Little White Horse is one of those books that I adored as a child, and haven't dared go back to - for all the sorts of reasons mentioned above.

I would have sworn it was the only book of hers I'd read, until you mentioned The Dean's Watch: can I have read that, too? I remember nothing about it...

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

Soppy as it is in spots, I'm fond of The Little White Horse. It was a comfort to me at eleven, when I should have been too old for it.

Nine

[clarionj.livejournal.com]

Once again, you introduce me to something I wish I'd read as a kid and would like to read now. What an incredible description she offers of the ogre, a nice whole-world comparison as he becomes more and more individual too. And what a great answer "a complete disaster." Makes you immediately fond.

Sonya, someday (oh, I'm sure it would be too long though) I'd love a reading list from you, a recommendation list I could just print up. I have notes everywhere of books you've quoted or recommended; I found one paper in the bottom of my purse, softened by the crush of CDs and wallet, pencil smeared, with a large Sonya recommends across it and a list of authors, and it waits, it waits. And I tell myself, I want all these things but I have so little time to read anything but work material lately. But a formal list, something to print up and tack up that anyone could read and ...

(sigh) dreaming ....

[xterminal.livejournal.com]

Jesus Murphy on a corned beef sandwich, someone else knows who Elizabeth Goudge is besides my mother and me. (And she only knows because I turned her on about ten years ago.)

I knew I liked you for a reason.

[mer-moon.livejournal.com]

Oh, oh! I've only ever read one book by Elizabeth Goudge, but it was on my "favourites" bookshelf, right next to my bedside, for years -- and in all my plans for escape-in-case-of-fire I swept it into the pillow case along with my other bedside books. I'm referring to "The Little White Horse", of course. Another "huzzah!" for other people who know who she is!

[diony.livejournal.com]

This sounds lovely, and my university has a copy, so I think I'll scoop it up for Thanksgiving break.