Evolution.
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Such a small word for such a tall order—“the gradual development of something into a more complex or better form.” How much of a person’s evolution is concentrated between the years of ten and twenty? How does that new complexity influence the rest of our lives?
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Evolution.
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Such a small word for such a pervasive hypothesis— “the theoretical process by which all species develop from earlier forms of life.”
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Jacqueline Kelly has woven both aspects into her debut novel, The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. It’s a growing year for our twelve-year-old heroine, a year in which she wakes to the world of The Great Man himself: Charles Darwin.
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I liked this book too much to go off on an enormous tangent, but I also respect young readers too much to forgo mentioning the novel’s problems. The problems are not really Miss Kelly’s fault. She’s just another student of the widespread belief that Darwinian Evolution has been proven beyond doubt.
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But the last time I checked, it was still the "theory of evolution."
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Each chapter opens with a fitting quote from Darwin’s Origin of the Species, fairly chewy paragraphs for middle-grade readers. I’m not opposed to children reading The Origin of the Species—science is investigation. Origin should be read. However, I think that by quoting bits and pieces, and referring to Darwin as The Great Man, Kelly only reinforces what kids hear in school every day: out of the mouth of Darwin = wisdom.
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Here are questions for a truly open mind: what about the gap between nothing and matter? What about the gap between matter and life? What about the gap between man and lower creation? As Calpurnia learns, science means "making your Hypothesis and devising your Experiment, and testing by Observation, and coming to a Conclusion. And then testing the strength of your Conclusion, over and over."
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Now, reading is like life: you can’t pick out the pieces you like and leave the rest. There are flies in The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, and I can’t ignore them. But there is also delight in this story, and I can’t ignore it, either. Prepare yourself. (Skip down to the bottom for final thoughts, if you're despicable enough to tire of the quotes.)
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“…the next time there’s a funeral in town, will you take me?” “Callie Vee.” “There’s nothing creepy about it. It’s scientific interest. Backy Medlin looks kind of decrepit to me. How old is he, do you reckon?” “Why don’t you go down the street and inspect his teeth?” “That’s a good one, Harry, but I doubt he has any left. He’ll go soon, don’t you think?”
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On the long drive back to Fentress, my grandfather and I had energy to spare. We burned up some of it singing sea chanteys and pirate songs with naughty words, being careful to switch to hymns when other riders came into view.
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… the long scarf I was knitting bulged in the middle like a python after dining on a rabbit.
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And if I had a budgie, would I be allowed to let it fly loose in the house? Probably not. It would drop white dollops like antimacassars on the good furniture, and that would be the end of that. And you couldn’t forget Idabelle the Inside Cat in her basket by the stove. Maybe I could let it fly in my bedroom. It could perch on my headboard and chirrup in my ear, a pleasant sound—“Calpurnia!” I jumped. “Yes mother?” “You’re not listening to me!” I stared at her. How could she tell?
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Doomed to the distaff life
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“I know you’re up there,” said Mother, “and I know you can hear me. Come down here.” I sighed, slipped an old hair ribbon into [A Tale of Two Cities] to mark my place, and trudged downstairs. I was the condemned young aristocrat holding my head high in the tumbrel. It was a far, far better thing—“There’s no need to look like that,” said Mother as I walked into the kitchen….
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“Boys, I have an announcement to make. You sister made the apple pies tonight. I’m sure we will all enjoy them very much. “Can I learn how, ma-am?” said Jim Bowie. “No, J.B. Boys don’t bake pies,” Mother said. “Why not?” he said. “They have wives who make pies for them.” “But I don’t have a wife.” “Darling, I’m sure will have a very one someday when you’re older, and she’ll make you many pies….” Was there any way I could have a wife, too?
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Helen Keller could have seen what was coming, so why couldn't my parents?
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The [smashed] mosquito was a clear success in terms of getting plenty of food, but a failure in terms of living to a good old age and expiring peacefully in her sleep, surrounded by her many keening grandchildren. So was she fit or unfit?
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I loved the Tate family. I loved watching the interplay between seven siblings--you don't get that very often. I loved the generation-spanning relationship between Callie and her grandfather. These things breathed.
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Though the chapters are slightly episodic, Kelly always brought a thread of the previous episode into the following chapter, just enough to affirm and tie things together, keeping a golden stitch running continuously through the book.
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Final verdict? The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate made my Favorite Books of 2009 (so far) list, despite my reservations regarding The Great Man. The writing is just that good. Read it for yourself--but remember, as you keep your mind wide open, don't let your brains fly out.
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