A college professor once told one of my classes that just holding a book could somehow impress on the holder the book's content. (Out of context this seems silly, but was very wise within context.) This time I must disagree with that dear professor. Holding "Hate That Cat" with its ugly red cover, then opening it and looking at the poetic forms inside made me snap it closed, put it back on the shelf, and huff: Why would I want to read a novel written in poetic form? Mercy me, sometimes I can be so silly.
"Hate That Cat" is one of the most touching, endearing, delightful, clever, entertaining, instructive books I've ever read. Written in poetic form based on the poems his teacher presents, the book outlines the thinking and writing processes of Jack, one young boy, not any boy, but a very bright, creative boy, one you would want as your student (if a teacher) or your child (if a parent). I was totally captivated by the character, the style of the book, the themes conveyed--not just one, but several, and left tear stains on the last 20 pages or so. This in a 148-page book.
Here's one example of what I mean. Miss Stretchberry introduced the poem by William Carlos Williams (one of my favorites, BTW) entitled "The Red Wheelbarrow."
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
So here's what he writes to Miss Stretchberry:
"The wheelbarrow poem again?
Did you forget we read it last year?
Okay, here's one:
so much depends upon
a creeping cat
crouched in the tree
beside the yellow bus stop."
Then he tells Miss Stretchberry that she will probably ask why (this is his journal) so much depends on that cat. He anticipates this question by writing:
"Remember:
the wheelbarrow guy
didn't say why
so much depended upon
the red wheelbarrow and
those white chicky chickens."
Dear Reader, I began laughing at this boy's cheekiness and his creativity, almost forgetting who the actual creator was--Sharon Creech. As clever manipulator of language, especially language based on poetry lessons and life lessons, Ms Creech is simply divine in reaching way down deep inside a person to pull out one's sensitivity, humanity, compassion, care, and concern.
You see, this boy's mother is deaf and must sign to communicate. This boy does also and imagines not only his own responses to the poetry his teacher presents, but how to relay these responses to his mother so she will "know" how words sound, especially when using assonance and consonance and alliteration and onomatopoeia and the like.
In the back are the words to all the poems used in the book: "Love That Boy" by Walter Dean Myers, "Bells" by Poe, "kitten" by Valerie Worth, "The Eagle" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Black Cat" by Christopher Myers, "The Naming of Cats" by T.S. Eliot, and three more WCW poems. With each one Jack writes his own version--sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but always creative and entertaining!
This novel is the sequel to
Love That Dog (don't tell me it's out of print!), but it is not necessary for appreciating this book. Basically, Jack had a yellow dog he loved, but it died (I don't know how). Now there is this stray black cat that Jack tried to save out of a tree by the bus stop. It claws and bites him, thus his hate for "that black cat." Later he gets a kitten for Christmas:
The Gift
(Inspired by Mr. William Carlos Williams)
by Jack
So much depends upon
a black kitten
in a straw basket
under the Christmas tree.
I'll let that image stay before you as I close this review. I laughed out loud, I cried, I sighed, and now I wish for everyone to read this book for the same amazing round of emotions so wrought in one book. Thank you, Sharon Creech, for this brilliant little book! I know you don't hate cats, nor does Jack!
