Doggone Good: Marilyn Nelson Talks About Her New Book, ‘Snook Alone'
RSS| Photograph by Derek Dudek |
When a severe storm separates a monk named Abba Jacob from his loyal terrier, Snook, the dog is stranded on a remote island. The writing is gorgeous and so are the illustrations.
Thank you. I just can’t get over the beauty of the illustrations. I knew Timothy Basil Ering’s work, but I had never seen anything quite as realistic as what he’s done in this book. The first time I saw it, one of the pictures made me cry.
Which one?
The big close-up of Snook. He’s looking really sad, and his eyes are really big—and oh!—it’s just a heartbreaker.
You often tackle tough topics, like in A Wreath for Emmett Till, about the lynching of a 14-year-old African American who whistled at a white woman. Does this sweet story about Snook reflect a change in your life?
I don’t think so. I’m dedicated to writing some of the true stories of American history. And as an African American, the stories that I’m finding tend to be African-American stories. But at the center of all of them, there is the same message.
I started writing about [George Washington] Carver because I wanted to write a saint’s life. So Carver is about his spiritual life. I think it’s important for young people to know that there are people who spend their lives trying to be good. And then there’s Fortune’s Bones, another true story. For me, the central point of the story is not so much the horror of his bones being hung in a room, but the resolution at the end when he says, “I’m not my body. We are not our bodies. We are something more than our bodies. We are spiritual beings.” Every one of those books is about how to live a good life in spite of the circumstances one is handed.
Abba Jacob is based on a friend of yours who practices contemplative prayer and has a dog named Snook. I bet when young kids hear the story, they’ll think it’s just about a devoted dog and his master. But does the story have a deeper significance?
For me, this book is about silence and what we can learn from it. Snook has lived his whole life according to the rhythm of the life of Abba Jacob, and Abba Jacob’s life is work and prayer. So Snook falls into his own rhythm of work and prayer. It’s not prayer in his mind—you know, he’s a dog. But it’s work and silence; it’s work and longing—and longing is another word for prayer.
The turning point is when Snook finds in himself compassion—not self-pity, not just longing for his master—but compassion for other living creatures. And that’s what happens in the incident with the sea turtle. Snook achieves a kind of spiritual mastery. And then when he’s reunited with Abba Jacob, he’s a dog with a difference. He’s a dog who has learned something about what silence can teach all of us.
What can we learn from it?
Well, you know, the same questions that we are encouraged to ask by meditation teachers: Who are we? What are we? Are we here just to get as much as we can of everything? Or are we here for some other reason? You look at yourself in silence and think, I could’ve been born in Somalia or Afghanistan or Indonesia. I could have been one of those people whose lives were destroyed by a tsunami—but I’m not. Who am I to be so lucky to be born in 20th-century America? How did I deserve this incredible luck? In my experience, that leads me to a sense of responsibility. Not only to be thankful for the grace of being given undeserved blessings, but also to a sense of being responsible for the rest of the world.
Rick Margolis is SLJ's executive editor. To read a starred review of Snook Alone (Candlewick), visit our "Preschool to Grade 4" section.
Reader Comments (1)
I just saw this book. What a wonderful marriage of story and artwork. Marilyn Nelson's interview was the icing on the cake. I'm off to find Timothy Ering's Tale of Despereaux, to check out his illustrations.
Posted by mary on February 14, 2011 01:13:44PM
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