I was in my room reading and re-reading some boring history books for like, the hundredth time, when my mom, holding a stack of classic books, came in and said, “You need to read some classic literature.” I groaned. I knew that classic literature in my mom’s eyes was her having me read to my brother (besides, usually classic books are really hard to understand.) She gave me half the books and she said, “Here, these are for you, and these are for your brother.” So I took off the first book I saw and it was the first book of the Little House series. Soon I was deeply absorbed in how life was like about 100 years ago. It was amazing. For the next few weeks I could be seen with the book anytime anywhere. Once I was done, I was like, I want some more of these books, so I reread them, then reread them again. My favorite one of the books is The Long Winter. Set about 100 years ago, The Long Winter is about Laura Ingalls and her family, as they survive a series of blizzards that last for several months. They are cold, hungry and tired, tired of brown bread, tired of grinding the wheat. When the town runs low on food and fuel, Almonzo Wilder understands what must be done, even his life is at a risk. So he and Cap Garland go after some wheat that was rumored to be grown southeast of the town of De Smet. The Ingalls family continues to have hope, hope that somehow, sometime the blizzards will end. Will Laura Ingalls and her family survive the long winter? Will Almonzo and Cap Garland somehow survive the long drive and beat a blizzard? Even through all the challenges, Laura has hope, hope that someday that the blizzard will end. And Almonzo has courage, and with that little bit of courage and a touch of bravery, he goes after that wheat, with his companion, Cap Garland. This book teaches us all a lesson important to life, it is to never give up, always have hope, because there always is hope. It also makes me think how lucky we are to live in such an era. I also feel lucky that we have air conditioning, snowplows, and refrigerators. In conclusion, I think that we should learn from this book to always have courage, and to always have hope. This is what makes The Long Winter unique, the feeling that you have to read on, because you want to know what happens next, and the feeling that says, Wow, that is true courage. The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Harper Collins, 2019. Buy the book here and support Stone Soup in the process!
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
The Count of Monte Cristo, Reviewed by Grace, 13
Usually when I try to “get back” at someone for behaving rudely or badly toward me, my absolutely flimsy revenge plan falls to pieces, and my foe is left wondering why I look so embarrassed. Thus, The Count of Monte Cristo attracted me immensely because I was able to read about a fictional character’s revenge, and how it went. The whole book is packed from cover to cover with unexpected humor, perplexing plot twists, and dynamic dilemmas. The story opens with an innocent, capable, honest young sailor named Edmond Dantes who unexpectedly has happiness showered on him: his employer wants to make him the captain of the ship and his fiancée is to be married to him within the next week. However, his good fortune excites jealousy in the supercargo of the ship and another ardent lover of his fiancée, and through false accusation, they manage to have him arrested and out of their way. To make matters worse, once the deputy prosecutor investigates his case, he at first warms to Dantes and realizes that he has committed no crime, then changes his mind and, after speaking oily and soothing words to Dantes, he quickly destroys all evidence of Dantes’ being innocent and shuts him up in a dungeon. Forsaken and with no hope of justice, Dantes is filled with ennui and despair until he miraculously escapes many years later, acquires a vast fortune that he learned about while in jail, and takes on a new identity—namely, he calls himself the Count of Monte Cristo. Thus begins a wild, unpredictable, and complicated crossfire of Dantes’ revenge which not only affects the three people that he targets, but their relatives, friends, and even all of Paris. Throughout the whole story, the theme of revenge is always present. Not just Dantes, but also several minor characters are trying to work out their vengeance as well, and in every scene, hidden motives and mysterious figures are present. Even innocent actions such as refusing some delicious grapes have hidden meaning, and are part of someone’s revenge. However, it is almost heartbreaking for the readers to watch an innocent, unsuspecting, trustful young Dantes transform into a grim, hardened, but fantastically clever mastermind Count of Monte Cristo. As more and more people begin to suffer from his revenge campaign, sometimes the reader detests the Count’s scheme, and sometimes he feels glad that a certain person has fallen from his or her rank. Yet amidst all the chaos, there are also a few beautiful moments, such as when Dantes rewards his former employer, or when he watches over his former employer’s son with paternal affection. Additionally, all the suspense keeps the reader engaged. While the readers know that this “Count of Monte Cristo” is really Edmond Dantes, the three people that wronged him do not have this knowledge. Sometimes, the way that the Count’s hapless offenders condescend and scrape before him is almost comical—if they knew who he was, assuredly they would not behave so politely. Other times, such as when Dantes meets his former fiancée, Dumas masterfully keeps the exchange between them short and courteous in order not to reveal whether or not the fiancée suspects his identity. When will Dantes’ foes fall, and what in the world do his present actions have to do with his long-term goal? There is usually no rational explanation for some of the Count’s actions, but later in the story, everything makes sense, which is quite satisfying. The Count of Monte Cristo is a truly immersing and interesting book to read, and the widespread effects of Dantes’ vengeance are sometimes devastating and sometimes refreshing to read about. It highlights the effects of revenge, but oddly enough, themes of love, obedience, and repentance range throughout it. This book truly deserves to be read. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. Penguin Classics, 1844. Buy the book here and support Stone Soup in the process!
Writing Workshop #25: Nature Writing
An update from our twenty-fifth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday October 17, plus some of the output published below This week’s class focused on writing about nature, thinking about landscape, plants, animals, weather, and all the elements of lyrical writing that go into bringing the natural world alive on the page and in the minds of our readers. The Writing Challenge: Write a piece of nature writing, delving deep into an animal, a landscape or other piece of nature. The Participants: Anya, Peri, Maddie, Ava, Nami, Nova, Tegan, Ma’ayan, Lena, Georgia, Gia, Rithesh, Lena, Emma, Lucy, Madeline, Lucy, James, Olivia, Hera, Liam, Charlotte, Lina, Margaret, Janani, Enni, Samantha, Tilly, Simran, Angela, Madeline, Jonathan, Charlotte, Sophia, Elbert. Lena Aloise, 11Harvard, MA The Plum Tree Lena Aloise, 11 He was happiest early in the daytime, when the sky was painted over crimson and violet, when the crisp breeze flushed his cheeks a rosy red, when the birds sang their soft melody, whimsically conversing. Nowadays, there was nothing that brought him more pleasure than such a beautiful silence and he was content to be alone, for the most part. Human company depressed him. There was a plum tree up on the hill, surveying her lower domain with a watchful, protective eye. She sat on her throne of grasses, boughs reaching towards an infinite expanse of sky, bearing leaves of olive green and sagging under the weight of her indigo fruits. She bore the look of not a queen, but a mother, like the ones he had only read about in story books. He could not help feeling a twinge of jealousy, looking upon the spherical children that she loved so dearly. Why could not someone hold him with such tenderness? It brought him such anger that one day, he walked up to the tree with his hatchet, planning to end it’s happiness. The tree sat there, calmly, waiting for the worst. He threw his blade to the ground and sunk to the ground, leaning up against her trunk, tears spilling from his eyes. Her branches touched his hair and the wind murmured words of consolation. From that day forth, the tree acted like the mother he had lost. He told it everything and she listened, in a way that only a mother could. She did not speak words, but was alive and growing. She cared about him and was a constant presence throughout the rest of his childhood. And when her fruits were picked at the turn of the season and when the boy was a young man, she lovingly bid them farewell. Because that was what mothers did. Ava Angeles, 12Chicago, IL The Brook Ava Angeles, 12 Flourishing bushes enveloped a small brook that babbled to itself as it ran along. It weaved between the protruding clumps of leaves, which sometimes broke free and ran along with it, tumbling over small pebbles and stones that had been lying there for decades. The bushes gave an occasional rustle now and then, and this was a sign that a small animal or insect was making its way through the thick branches entwined beneath the cover of leaves. It looked peaceful from the outside, but underneath the leaves of the bushes was another hurried, bustling world: earthworms burrowed through the earth, poking their light pink bodies up here and there; a small colony of ants were crawling up and down their anthill, scurrying, vanishing into the small hole at the top; and a beetle, sporting a glossy black shell, scampered along on its six legs in a quest to find food. Full Moon Lena D., 12 The wind blew wildly A full moon arose Across the path I run across the breeze Rain pours down Giant oceans of puddles. Crossing over the river. I growl. The sound of my friend calls me. I howl. She doesn’t stop. I ran towards her. The breeze blows wildly. A sudden tornado goes into the distance. Tree leaves drop. Thunder rumbles. I head to my friend. “I was so worried about you,” she says. “I’m sorry,” I told her. She nodded. “It’s fine, but don’t go running off again.” I crawl under the corner of the cave. I close my eyes. “Wake up,” says my friend. I open my eyes. “What’s wrong?” I ask her. “Nothing. The storm went away,” she says. I look up. It was true. It was gone. I ran outside. “We must find a home,” I told her. She nodded. “Yes.” Soon we would find a home. Someday we would find peace. Someday. Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA Underneath the Tree Anya Geist, 14 The child glided through long waving grasses, grasses that flickered and danced like fire in the setting sun. A small breeze was pushing its way through the air, just a puff of breath that caused the small girl’s cheeks to grow the slightest bit rosy, and her soft blond curls to sway gently about her little face. On she walked, her sandaled feet making hardly any noise, her eyes casting their gaze out all around her at the large field which spread for miles, until it was abutted by a small house -her house- to the east, and the great, looming mountains to the west. There was no buzzing of bees, no chirping of birds, as she passed, for they had all fled this silent field, afraid of the power that the quiet bestowed upon the land. After a few minutes, the girl’s footsteps slowed, and then stopped. Stopped in the middle of the plain. She breathed in and out and looked at her surroundings. She had some upon a small oasis in the field -although perhaps oasis is not the right word, for the field was already a beautiful paradise. Here the grasses were clipped short; they were small and green and neat, like a carpet beneath the girl’s feet. In the middle of the oasis was a tree. It wasn’t terribly tall; and its branches
