I grew up surrounded by books. My mom, although in many ways the typical 1950's mom of three young kids (a fourth to join us in the 60's), was a critical thinker, avid reader, and secret poet. She had the heart of a wordsmith and the mind of a graduate student. She aspired to be a librarian. That magical term 'librarian' encompassing the tending of worlds, the doorways of these worlds wedged between the covers of books. Books looked like portals in those days; their thick pages beautifully bound with carved script and ornamental font. My mom filled our home with carefully-budgeted second-hand volumes and read to us until we fell in love with books and went on our own reading adventures ourselves.
I am most fortunate that we have, between us, managed to keep most of those beautiful books we had as children. Rather dilapidated with multiple tape marks, is my most cherished picture story book, The 'Round and 'Round Horse , by Jeremy Gury, illustrated by Reginald Marsh, and published by Henry Holt in 1943. The illustrations were done as black charcoal sketches with sparse splashes of color. I see the stark beauty of this art now, but back then, my child-mind saw this as a flaw which was easily remedied with crayons.
If you look closely at the cover photo, you will see a name, 'Fay L.' ... that's me (Fay was my family's shortcut of 'Faith'). I've had that book from since I can remember. It was quite likely the first book ever given to me. It was purchased ... like most of our books were ... from a thrift store or a library sale of damaged books. I loved it, and still do.
It's a simple story of deep imagination. It held all the pathos and longing I had to have a horse magically appear to me. It began with the simple phrase:
and the end-pages said much more. I pored over the end-pages picking out the horses, searching for the most wonderful one.
Sandy, the boy in the story, like me, 'loved horses more than anything.' The sparse phrasing here is carefully crafted and the illustration of the boy with his toy horse underscores Sandy's longing and loneliness:
Do you see what I mean by 'sparse splashes of color' on the sketches? This is one of the illustrations that I did not choose to add color to with my crayons. Perhaps my child-self picked up on the emotional undertones.
On the other hand, Sandy's dream of a horse demanded color! You can see that I insisted that Sandy have brown hair, like me.
As Sandy adjusts to life on his grandfather's horse-less farm, he finds an ally in a tree:
Yes! I could feel that galloping wind, the branches bucking ... I was Sandy riding across the sky! And then the unthinkable happens--lightning strikes, the wind howls and Sandy is thrown clear as the horse chestnut tree is struck down. The illustration captures Sandy's dethronement and mood of baffled horror: "How, what will I ever do without the horse chestnut tree?" he asks.
Sandy's grandfather replies: "If you want a thing badly enough, it sometimes comes true." I was right there with Sandy, wanting a horse with every fiber of my being! Then comes the miraculous moment.
My reaction would have been the same as Sandy's.
"Oh, my" he cried. "I must be dreaming with my eyes wide open! I think I see a horse on the lawn!" He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The horse was still outside his window, looking smooth and sleek in the sunshine.
Sandy's grandfather had carved a life-sized horse out of the old horse chestnut tree.
"His name is Hurricane," said Sandy. "And I believe he wants to be a real horse now."
And the adventure begins when one day, as Sandy says "Giddap!" ...
Hurricane picked up one foot and then another. Sandy trembled with excitement. Suddenly the wooden horse was walking. He walked toward the road. Then he began to trot. "Giddap, Hurricane!" cried Sandy. Hurricane began to gallop.
Sandy and Hurricane gallop all the way to New York City. Together they explore the sites of the city while looking for Coney Island 'where the merry-go-rounds were.' At Madison Square Gardens, a horse show is taking place and Sandy and Hurricane enter. And this is where the heartbreak occurs. I still feel the wrench of these words and that picture ...
Oh the heartbreak caught in this dark sketch. My crayons could not bear to give it color. It was sad, sad, sad. It gets worse. The other horses are terrified and their riders are being thrown.
"Get out of the arena," said the manager to Sandy. "And take that pile of junk with you." Sandy looked at the pile of wood that used to be Hurricane. "I can't leave," he sobbed. "I don't know where to go without Hurricane."
Another man, seeing Sandy's plight, comes running and offers to take and repair Hurricane for his Coney Island merry-go-round. Sandy's reply is, "That is where we wanted to go." Sandy helps the man load Hurricane onto a van and they are off to Coney Island.
Now Hurricane was more beautiful than ever. He got a new coat of paint and a fine saddle and bridle. He was the best horse on the merry-go-round. But he had forgotten how to come alive. "Never mind," said the man. "When the music starts he will go 'round and 'round with the merry-go-round. He is still a real horse if you are good at making believe."
The ending of the story is very different from picture books published currently. The resolution of the problem, or crux of the story, really is a 'rescue' by an adult. And he is rescued by a stranger, not the grandfather, or anyone introduced to us early on in the story. The grandfather, who creates Hurricane, takes a back seat in the story. All we here from him at the end of the adventure is:
Since Sandy owned the best horse on the merry-go-round, his grandfather said he could stay at Coney Island as long as he pleased.
This is how the story ends:
I must confess that although this was my very favorite picture book, I didn't love the ending. As a child, I lived in the dream of Hurricane and the magical transformation of a tree to a real horse. I loved that Hurricane was a simple wood-brown, like so many of the real horses I had seen. Although I had great fun riding merry-go-rounds, who wanted a painted pony when they could have the real thing? And, it didn't 'ring true' for me that any horse would be happy simply going 'round and 'round. No, I reveled in the living tree passing on that spark of spirit to the Hurricane lovingly honed by a grandfather as a gift to a lonely grandchild. That miracle was enough and everything for me; this was the heart of the story.
Even though I didn't like the ending, I accepted it way back then as a compromise of sorts. The world to a kid is a complicated mess of wants and gets and wishes and dreams and sunshine hopes and the cold rain running into your boots. Kids understand compromise. They get when a dream wants to be, but reality bends it to its knees.
What's changed for me as I read the story now, is that I see the under text and pathos of Sandy. Why is he sent to his grandfather's farm? Who sent him? There is no mention of parents or siblings. There is no sense that Sandy even knows his grandfather. Regardless of the familial connection, it is a loose association if the grandfather says he can stay at Coney Island with a stranger 'as long as he likes.' And the stranger--is he really helping Sandy or his Coney Island business?!
I began to think about whether this story would be published today. Likely not! Social and family dynamics aside, the story structure of this picture book doesn't fit into the current traditionally-published work. It doesn't hold a character-driven structure (Introduction, Problem, Solution attempts, Solution with transformation), nor does it, as mentioned earlier, follow the unwritten rule of the child, rather than adult, generating the solution. There really is no solution. Rather we are left with Sandy on a perpetual merry-go-round ride, going nowhere.
But I still love this book! In my child-heart, Hurricane lives! And through the impetus of Sandy's voiced command, 'Giddup,' Sandy, with agency, journeys forward. In my writer's mind, I envision Sandy and Hurricane returning home to rescue Grandfather's farm from the soulless farm equipment. I mean, is there anything a living wooden horse and a child's love cannot accomplish? I think not.
How would you end the story?
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