Diane Plumley

Assassination Vacation

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I thought the weird road-trips my husband and I went on were the end all be all of strange vacations. But Sarah Vowell unquestionably wins the dubious nonexistent prize as–Best Ghoulish, Yet Fascinating, Entertaining, and Educational Vacation. I finally finished reading her part political, part historical, part macabre, part travelogue, part opinion, part essay, part … Read more

Easy Readers

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Originally, I had intended to write an article recounting my interest in American primers and first readers, along with Kathy McMillan’s influence and knowledge.  I asked her  a few questions, and she came back with an  illustrated supremely interesting full article that I did not want to disturb with my newly acquired insights. It was … Read more

What The Hell is The Matter With Some Publishers?

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deathtookpubI am the first to admit, I don’t understand the publishing industry. I don’t get the way they will publish a title, it does quite well, so they publish the next, and then stop. And not only do they stop, they refuse to publish either of the first two in paperback, which means the audience is minute. Hardcover books are expensive for most people to buy, they depend on a new title being available in 12 months in paperback. That’s why so many are behind one book in a series–they’ve paperback pocketbooks.

So, one particular publisher has a habit of doing this, from my personal experience, and it inflames my soap box soul. For anonymity sake, let’s call it, um, St. Paul’s Publishing House. They buy mediocre, to superb mystery novels, pay the authors a pittance, publish the least amount of copies possible and still make a profit, and in many cases, drop the author as fast as they signed him or her.

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An Embarrassment of Corpses–Best 100 Mysteries of All Time.

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embarrassmentMy greatest book selling acknowledgement came when Mr. Alan Beechey, author of one of my most favorite books ever, bestowed a town the name Plumley in his second book starring Oliver Swithin. After selling my page flicking fingers to the bone and making his first book An Embarrassment of Corpses named ‘most collectible’ by a now defunct hypermodern book collecting newsletter, and sending the book into a second printing (yes, I believe I single handedly am responsible, ha ha), Mr. Beechey and I became good friends. I named a ferret after his hero, another ferret provided a photo-shoot at a signing, and  I’ve enjoyed Mr. Beechey’s sterling wit ever since.

Rather than write my usual tedious and torturous (for me, I can barely remember what day it is, let alone plots) review of the title, I am reprinting my interview with the fresh faced Beechey, from a decade plus ago. It will provide the plot and hopefully a soupcon of humor.

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Primarily Basic Readers

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Vera Stone (later Norman), one of the most prolific reader illustrators of all. From "Bob and Judy Reader", 1936. Illustrated by Vera Stone Norman.
Vera Stone (later Norman), one of the most prolific reader illustrators of all.
From “Bob and Judy Reader”, 1936. Illustrated by Vera Stone Norman.

By Kathie McMillan

I did not set out to collect primers. It began quite by accident when I found Friends from the Children’s Own Readers series, which was illustrated by Marguerite Davis,an illustrator I had never heard of. I was rummaging around in an unlikely flea market here in my own small rural town with the vague notion of finding material suitable to post on flickr.com. I had stumbled upon a community of people who posted vintage images from the early twentieth century, a period that I had always been interested in. I was very smitten by several contributors. When I had collected a few images for use in crafting, I decided that the least I could do was give back by posting a few images of my own. After all, I had spent hours back in those very early days of the World Wide Web searching for fairy images from the early twentieth century; and here they were all grouped together, like a giant picture book on my coffee table! It did not seem right to take and not to give back.

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Forgotten Children’s Classics

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Having explored all the children’s classics I haven’t read, I thought I’d delve into those old kids books long ago buried, most for very good reason. The ‘classics’ of my post title, is tongue in cheek, although there must be some books I have hanging around because of  illustrations that are familiar to readers. Raise your hands if you’ve ever heard of : The Cuckoo Clock, The Enchanted Castle, The Cruise of the Little Dipper and other Fairy Tales, Granny’s Wonderful Chair, Princess Goldenhair and the Wonderful Flower, The Sleepy Song Book, Rag Doll Jane, Jackanapes, or  the book I give the prize for the most bizarre illustrations

Gnomes from Milo Winter's hand for Princess Goldenhair
Gnomes from Milo Winter’s hand for Princess Goldenhair

and odd story, Come Unto These Yellow Sands. A few of the titles I began with high hopes, the stories looked intriguing, the illustrations thrilling, the chapters short. I fell asleep reading most–although The Sleepy Song Book can’t really count, obviously. What makes these books so classless? They ramble. Around. A lot. Granny’s Wonderful Chair essentially retells typical fairy tales and Mother Goose, but in a dull, only line drawings, way. I endured Princess Goldenhair through many chapters–something about having to travel great distances for something blah blah and gnomes are involved–so is a witch that hangs weird stuff on her wall. There’s a King Otto (I knew him!), a selfish prince trying to kill a little fawn, and the princess of the golden type hair. Milo Winter illustrated the book so my thoughts were it had to be half decent–why else would he do it?

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Unread Children’s Classics

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gullivervictorianFor reasons that escape me, I’ve at least 3 editions of Gulliver’s Travels. I haven’t read it, have no plans to read it. Just like I have no plans to read Treasure Island, Little Women, or Men, Winnie the Pooh, Peter Pan, Kidnapped, anything by Kipling, or Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Is the last even a children’s title? These are considered classics. My question–who determines such things? Who  designates one book over another as a classic? How did The Swiss Family Robinson turn into a venerable read? Or Heidi? Sales? I doubt it. It had to be some dry critic of eons past who bestowed upon Heidi the crown of  ‘classic.’  I’ve tried numerous times to read the book, but Shirley Temple keeps intruding her voice echoing, “Grandfather, Grandfather” over and over. That reminds me of two others I can’t seem to get past the first few chapters–The Little Princess, and The Secret Garden. Shirley’s half sobbing shouts, “Father, Father, don’t you know me? You MUST know me, I’m Sara, I’m your Sara!” as Queen Victoria wheels by makes drab the narrative of the original Princess. Naturally all ends well within the movies. I heard a rumor, however, that in the book, the father is really dead and never returns to poor Sara. No way will I crack open that book to be dashed in the end.

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At The Heart of the Matter

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vintageheartSo in some TV show, a man grips his left arm, makes some kind of inarticulate grunt, and falls down, dead. No question for the viewer what just happened. The man had a massive heart attack. We all know searing chest and arm pain are the symptoms for attacks that kill or nearly do. Guess what–not always for women. Women usually don’t have the classic heart attack symptoms which is why so many of us die unattended. I have been told over the years that nausea and lightheadedness are signs of a heart attack. Given my age, and my mother’s own angina, which is another way of saying blocked arteries, I am at risk for a heart attack. Oh, hell, everyone who is alive is at risk for an attack, especially those who are not exactly exercise nuts and vegetarians. Anyway, once a few years back i felt so awful I called my doctor, a thing I rarely do. She didn’t like the symptoms and I went to the emergency room. That is, I arrived after my mother had changed into appropriate wear, the dogs were fed, lights left on for them, and keys, and purse were located. In that time frame, a whole football stadium could have died of heart attacks. That’s another factoid I learned–do not wait. Do not hesitate to call an ambulance if you believe you are under siege. (turns out I had some kind of virus never specified) Well, some responders didn’t get the memo on women’s heart health. Last Sunday, I had symptoms that corresponded with those I was told could kill you. Yet, I hesitated. Naturally. Because a woman doesn’t want to look silly, a hypochondriac, an hysteric just because she can’t stand without dizziness, nausea, with pressure below the sternum and aching all over. Thing is–that could be any number of problems. Or, it could be death. What do you do? If pain shot down my arm, I damn well would have yelled attack at the top of my tonsils and the husband would have dialed as fast as an iphone can be dialed, or touched. Not having such a definitive symptom, I quietly tried to keep myself upright while googling female heart attack symptoms, hoping that there would be a really crucial one I didn’t possess, to end my fear and speculation so I could go lie down. Instead I read a doctor’s account of her own disregard for symptoms, and her warning–most women go to bed at night feeling ill, and never get up again.

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