One Word: Don't!

FUN FRIDAY?

I was ten years old when it happened—an event that would change my literary career. A week earlier, I had received Little Women in the mail—four volumes of archaic charm, each two inches thick in Braille. My joy at receiving such a beautifully-crafted tale was beyond mere words.

That week, one prominent fifth-grade teacher touted Fun Friday as a way for students to soar to literary heights. How proud I was to bring Little Women to class, open its magnificent pages, and…

“Where’s your Accelerated Reader book?” Mrs. Jansen’s words smote me on the hand that, hitherto, had been eagerly scanning the Braille page.

“May I please read this first?” I asked. “The other book is really boring.” It was true. At ten, I had no choice save to view Emily C. Neville’s highly-acclaimed IT’S LIKE THIS, CAT as cardboard. Boy finds cat. Boy names cat—Cat! (What an imagination!) Boy meets girl. Girl and boy talk, but they don’t go to movies because they don’t date. Boy makes friends with convicted robber, who proves to be a confused young man with little real malice. Boy has fight with father. The end. However had it received a Newberry Medal?

“No, read your Accelerated Reader book!” That sentence, spoken to a true—though somewhat immature—bibliophile, shattered all open-mindedness concerning Neville’s work. As I unearthed it again for review purposes, literary lambastes became a torrent, rushing through me at an alarming speed:

Pros: Better than a romance novel written three hours before the deadline—

Cons: By about 0.01%

MINOR ENLIGHTENMENT

As I reread the book, however, my perception became slightly less critical. (Note the word “slightly”.) Dave is a fourteen-year-old New Yorker who would like adults to believe that he is sixteen. After a rather vociferous debate with his father, he visits an elderly neighbor and, from her, adopts a stray cat. He names the cat Cat for some rather philosophical reasons—they both know that he is a cat, and this is what defines his entire essence.

At one point, Cat gets lost. While hunting for him in an apartment basement, Dave makes the acquaintance of Tom, an older boy who later became incarcerated for theft. Upon Tom’s release from jail, the two work together to return Tom to a state of normal life: employment, friendships, etc. I won’t spoil anything for those who, despite all advice to the contrary, still desire to read this book.

Dave also befriends a girl named Mary, for the latter’s fondness for Cat. The two of them explore true friendship—not the movie-going, clinging relationships that seem so appealing to Dave’s shallower friends. Mary’s dysfunctional mother is a source of shock and momentary fascination to Dave.

Along the way, Dave must decide whether to neuter Cat—an innovative idea for a book bearing a copyright date of 1963. He must also face questions of wealth versus happiness, accept that some people simply do not like other people, and encounter the notions of death. I do not wish to reveal anything, but this book can become quite deep and very emotional—particularly where a scene involving Dave’s neighbor is concerned. Dave is not a typical teenager, floating through existence on the clouds of popular music.

THE APOSTROPHE CATASTROPHE

Dontcha know, thar' ain’t no way I coulda read this here book if I didn’t hafta read it for some ole’ English class.

Was that difficult to read? Imagine that level of confusion multiplied tenfold. Although the dialect remains quite true to that of New York during the 1960’s, it is exceedingly convoluted. I was so overwhelmed by apostrophes where none were necessary, smatterings of half-sentences, and general violence upon our lovely language, that I was entirely unable to focus on the plot after about twenty-five pages.

IT’S LIKE THIS, READER:

As an adult, I am able to acknowledge that this book does address some valuable philosophical topics. Death, happiness, and self-knowledge are not airy matters. This is likely why the novel in question has received so many accolades over the years.

That said, this is a children’s book; therefore, its target audience should be youngsters. As a youth-oriented novel, I feel that Neville’s book fails miserably. The plot may appeal to New Yorkers, to teenage boys, to cat lovers, or to those with argumentative lawyer-parents. Rather a selective target audience, wouldn’t you say?

The book’s lack of universality and extraordinarily loose plot render it difficult to read. In fact, the overall work is so unremarkable that I continually found myself forgetting the protagonist’s name.

Despite some worthwhile lessons, I do not feel that I can truthfully recommend this book. I am an English major, yet I refuse to give this book the acclaim that so many others have seen fit to award it. If this destroys my status as a literary critic, so be it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reading to do—a nice classic entitled Little Women.