It’s E.B. White’s birthday. Given the name of my blog, of course I had to note it in some way. I pulled this from an old post.
The context is a book called The Story of Charlotte’s Web.
My mother was a children’s librarian for a short while and had a theory about Charlotte’s Web. She hypothesized that one of the reasons for the book’s appeal was that White had taken three creatures that were generally reviled by humans – a spider, a rat, and a pig – and rendered them appealing and…well…human.
I read the book again and again as a child – along with Stuart Little and Harriet the Spy – my most re-read books.
When I think of Charlotte’s Web, I can’t disengage it from Garth Williams’ illustrations. It evokes…softness..in my mind’s eye. Not a frilly, girly softness, but the softness of natural things, of wrinkles, of a well-worn life.
The Story of Charlotte’s Web is a biography of sorts, and an interesting one. It’s also an invaluable peak into the creative process.
Sometimes we think that art springs from nowhere – but it never does. We think that an E.B. White must have just received the story of a threatened little runt and the spider who saves him from nowhere and just written down in a spell. But that’s not the case at all, of course. I loved this book because the author traced the origins of Charlotte’s Web back to White’s childhood then back up through his adulthood and really – it all made such sense . There’s gift, there’s astonishing newness, but what brought Charlotte and Wilbur to life was not a bolt out of the blue, but one man taking his own past and present, his observations and his drive, and fashioning them into a story. He said outright that the process was one of “translating” his own life and spirit into the unexpected form of a children’s book.
(And the title of this blog? The very last line of the novel? An interesting provenance – as they say. The roots of it were in a spirited defense White’s wife gave of him. He essentially adapted it from her own words. )
I also learned a bit about Stuart Little. I’m ashamed to say that I had always thought that Stuart Little had been written after Charlotte – but of course that’s not the case. As a child I actually always preferred Stuart. Partly, I think,because I was always fascinated by stories of the very small (The Borrowers and so on). But I do think I was also taken with the ambiguity and strangeness of those last few chapters. Of the fact that Stuart just books it and leaves his family. Of the oddness of his search for Margo. Of his temper tantrum at the lake. Of his search.
And reading this book – Stuart Little makes a lot more sense now.
(Except for the author’s contention that White himself said that Stuart was not a mouse – but a child who looked like a mouse. I could not pin this down, and I don’t agree. I believe it’s one of the charming aspects of the book that evokes the innocence of childhood and the power of the artist who could convince you to accept his premise – and so effortlessly. I remember reading this as a child and wondering – but very briefly – how this could be. But also not being distracted by it in the least.)