I really appreciated the 'dialogue' in this piece by Booth Tarkington. The way the boys speak is really believable and I could imagine the young boys in my neighborhood 'engineering' stunts and adventures the same way that Penrod and Sam connived about making money of old Whitey!
I even stoped to read aloud, finding that the dialogue parts sounded even more 'real' that way, or at least, the story 'speech' sounded to me the same as when I listen to real children talk amongst themselves, cutting out 'proper' elements of speech when there are no adults around.
I thought it was funny the way that Penrod was 'the leader' all the time and 'Sam' followed - because I have observed this behavior in my own family when children gather to play. Someone always seems to initiate activities and others follow the lead - at least for a while.
This is one of the most enjoyable short story bits that I've read since I've been posting. It was refreshing to read about a childs' perspective and to read 'easy-going' language.
Feel free to make comments.
Showing posts with label coffee house reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffee house reading. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Lord Dunsany (Fifty One Tales) "The Death of Pan"
THE DEATH OF PAN
When travellers from London entered Arcady they lamented one to another
the death of Pan.
And anon they saw him lying stiff and still.
Horned Pan was still and the dew was on his fur; he had not the lookof a live
animal. And then they said, "It is true that Pan is dead."
And, standing melancholy by that huge prone body, they looked for long
time at memorable Pan.
And evening came and a small star appeared.
And presently from a hamlet of some Arcadian valley, with a sound of idle
song, Arcadian maidens came.
And, when they saw there, suddenly in the twilight, that old recumbent god,
they stopped in their running and whispered among themselves.
"How silly he looks," they said, and thereat they laughed a little.
And at the sound of their laughter Pan leaped up and the gravel flew from his hooves.
And, for as long as the travellers stood and listened, the crags and the hill-tops
of Arcady rang with the sounds of pursuit.
by Lord Dunsany
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When travellers from London entered Arcady they lamented one to another
the death of Pan.
And anon they saw him lying stiff and still.
Horned Pan was still and the dew was on his fur; he had not the lookof a live
animal. And then they said, "It is true that Pan is dead."
And, standing melancholy by that huge prone body, they looked for long
time at memorable Pan.
And evening came and a small star appeared.
And presently from a hamlet of some Arcadian valley, with a sound of idle
song, Arcadian maidens came.
And, when they saw there, suddenly in the twilight, that old recumbent god,
they stopped in their running and whispered among themselves.
"How silly he looks," they said, and thereat they laughed a little.
And at the sound of their laughter Pan leaped up and the gravel flew from his hooves.
And, for as long as the travellers stood and listened, the crags and the hill-tops
of Arcady rang with the sounds of pursuit.
by Lord Dunsany
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Lord Dunsany (Fifty One Tales) - "Charon"
CHARON
Charon leaned forward and rowed. All things were one with his weariness.
It was not with him a matter of years or of centuries, but of widefloods of time,
and an old heaviness and a pain in the arms that had become for him part of
the scheme that the gods had made and was of a piece with Eternity.
If the gods had even sent him a contrary wind it would have divided all time
in his memory into two equal slabs.
So grey were all things always where he was that if any radiance lingered
a moment among the dead, on the face of such a queen perhaps as Cleopatra,
his eyes could not have perceived it.
It was strange that the dead nowadays were coming in such numbers. They
were coming in thousands where they used to come in fifties. It was neither
Charon's duty nor his wont to ponder in his grey soul why these things might
be. Charon leaned forward and rowed.
Then no one came for a while. It was not usual for the gods to send no one
down from Earth for such a space. But the gods knew best.
Then one man came alone. And the little shade sat shivering on a lonely bench
and the great boat pushed off. Only one passenger: the gods knew best.
And great and weary Charon rowed on and on beside the little, silent,
shivering ghost.
And the sound of the river was like a mighty sigh that Grief in the beginning
had sighed among her sisters, and that could not die like the echoes of human
sorrow failing on earthly hills, but was as old as time and the pain in Charon's arms.
Then the boat from the slow, grey river loomed up to the coast of Dis and the
little, silent shade still shivering stepped ashore, and Charon turned the boat
to go wearily back to the world. Then the little shadow spoke, that had been a man.
"I am the last," he said.
No one had ever made Charon smile before, no one before had ever made him weep.
by Lord Dunsany
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Charon leaned forward and rowed. All things were one with his weariness.
It was not with him a matter of years or of centuries, but of widefloods of time,
and an old heaviness and a pain in the arms that had become for him part of
the scheme that the gods had made and was of a piece with Eternity.
If the gods had even sent him a contrary wind it would have divided all time
in his memory into two equal slabs.
So grey were all things always where he was that if any radiance lingered
a moment among the dead, on the face of such a queen perhaps as Cleopatra,
his eyes could not have perceived it.
It was strange that the dead nowadays were coming in such numbers. They
were coming in thousands where they used to come in fifties. It was neither
Charon's duty nor his wont to ponder in his grey soul why these things might
be. Charon leaned forward and rowed.
Then no one came for a while. It was not usual for the gods to send no one
down from Earth for such a space. But the gods knew best.
Then one man came alone. And the little shade sat shivering on a lonely bench
and the great boat pushed off. Only one passenger: the gods knew best.
And great and weary Charon rowed on and on beside the little, silent,
shivering ghost.
And the sound of the river was like a mighty sigh that Grief in the beginning
had sighed among her sisters, and that could not die like the echoes of human
sorrow failing on earthly hills, but was as old as time and the pain in Charon's arms.
Then the boat from the slow, grey river loomed up to the coast of Dis and the
little, silent shade still shivering stepped ashore, and Charon turned the boat
to go wearily back to the world. Then the little shadow spoke, that had been a man.
"I am the last," he said.
No one had ever made Charon smile before, no one before had ever made him weep.
by Lord Dunsany
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Lord Dunsany (Exerpt from "Fifty One Tales")
THE ASSIGNATION
Fame singing in the highways, and trifling as she sang, with sordid adventurers,
passed the poet by.
And still the poet made for her little chaplets of song, to deck her forehead in the
courts of Time: and still she wore instead the worthless garlands, that boisterous
citizens flung to her in the ways, made out of perishable things.
And after a while whenever these garlands died the poet came to her with his
chaplets of song; and still she laughed at him and wore the worthless wreaths,
though they always died at evening.
And one day in his bitterness the poet rebuked her, and said to her:
"Lovely Fame, even in the highways and the by ways you have not foreborne
to laugh and shout and jest with worthless men, and I have toiled for you and
dreamed of you and you mock me and pass me by."
And Fame turned her back on him and walked away, but in departing she looked
over her shoulder and smiled at him as she had not smiled before, and, almost
speaking in a whisper, said:
"I will meet you in the graveyard at the back of the Workhouse in a hundred years."
by Lord Dunsany
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Fame singing in the highways, and trifling as she sang, with sordid adventurers,
passed the poet by.
And still the poet made for her little chaplets of song, to deck her forehead in the
courts of Time: and still she wore instead the worthless garlands, that boisterous
citizens flung to her in the ways, made out of perishable things.
And after a while whenever these garlands died the poet came to her with his
chaplets of song; and still she laughed at him and wore the worthless wreaths,
though they always died at evening.
And one day in his bitterness the poet rebuked her, and said to her:
"Lovely Fame, even in the highways and the by ways you have not foreborne
to laugh and shout and jest with worthless men, and I have toiled for you and
dreamed of you and you mock me and pass me by."
And Fame turned her back on him and walked away, but in departing she looked
over her shoulder and smiled at him as she had not smiled before, and, almost
speaking in a whisper, said:
"I will meet you in the graveyard at the back of the Workhouse in a hundred years."
by Lord Dunsany
Get Reviewed At ReviewMe!
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