I was sorting through some books the other day when I found, to my great joy, another Paul Gallico book. This one is a departure from fiction in the form of a biography of St. Patrick. Rather fitting I should find it this month…

In The Steadfast Man, Gallico attempts to reveal the real man that St. Patrick was. This is quite a challenge given that only two documents written by this Primate of Ireland have survived the fifteen centuries since he set them on paper. Both are appended at the end of the book. Although Gallico refers to works about St. Patrick from time to time in his narrative, he indicates that, although there may be a grain of truth to some of the legends surrounding the saint, most of them are sensational beyond the believable. And, yes, that includes the story about him driving the snakes from Ireland.

There is a fair bit of repetition in the text, something I found mildly annoying. But I think I would read it again if I were travelling to Ireland, as it gives a lot of useful advice to the Patrician pilgrim. I enjoyed sampling a bit of Church history, too, for a change. Even if I don’t agree completely with their messages, I still find many of the great individuals in the history of Christianity inspiring for their faith, their tenacity and their courage.

Well, this is my last one on Paul Gallico, I think. This one did leave me sad – The Boy who Invented the Bubble Gun.

This novel is all about prejudice, and brings its effects home in a more striking way because, once again, Gallico hits the nerve that is present in all our lives regardless of the colour of our skin or religion or any of the other more commonly used methods of illustrating this dangerous aspect of human nature. In The Boy Who Invented the Bubble Gun, the individual who is discriminated against is a child, and his situation is one to which we all probably can relate.

The protagonist in the story is a brilliant little boy who invents a gun that shoots… beautiful bubbles. He wants to patent his design and market it – this is his dream. But the adults in his life are patronising; he’s just a boy and his ideas are really of no consequence in the real world. They don’t even look at his plans – they are just a child’s imaginative scribbles.

The boy knows his idea’s worth, though, and he is blessed with an unshakable confidence. He finds the means to travel by bus to the city where he must register his patent, and off he goes. On the bus, the boy meets the one adult who does believe in his model…

Once again, the author demonstrates the effects of our actions and attitudes on those around us simply, profoundly and memorably. He calls out those aspects of our personality that have the potential to either wound or lift up, strengthen or disable, often without our even giving the slightest thought to them.

There are those out there who will undoubtedly have little use for Paul Gallico. He must have been popular once, but for some reason he seems to have faded away. Yet his stories are so delightful, so whimsical, so touching and often profound, that I cannot understand why. Perhaps it is because our society has developed such a sense of individualism that people have no time for books that may point out the rewards of looking out of one’s self and giving more attention to what we give of ourselves to others. I can’t help but think that the world would be a better place if everyone read at least one of this man’s books.

The Man Who was Magic highlights the allegorical nature of Paul Gallico’s novels. In it, Adam, who has the gift of magic, goes to the city of magicians to apply for membership in the Guild of Magicians. But for the people of Mageia, magic isn’t real; magic is clever deceptions, tricks and slights of hands performed to dazzle, fascinate the magicians of the world are unable to appreciate true magic. For some reason, they see Adam’s lack of conformity, his innocence and candour as a threat, leaving Adam, who has invested everything he is and has to become a “magician,” in danger of losing it all.

Written in 1966, at a time when innocence was out and worldliness had come into its own, this novel is a lament for a lost way of life. It celebrates the child in us all and the importance of letting that child live and express itself. It’s when we suppress that sense of wonder, joy and imagination that life gets skewed, and becomes dull, and demoralising.

By the way, the blurb on the jacket of my copy says that Paramount bought the film rights. I can’t find reference to a movie anywhere, but apparently there is a musical…

Ok. So you didn’t see the Angela Lansbury film. How about The Poseidon Adventure?

I was shocked when I pulled a paperback out of a box, thinking “Movie Tie-In” before seeing the author’s name… Paul Gallico! I’d always thought the movie looked like a waste of time from the trailers I’d seen. But if Paul Gallico wrote the book, well, I must read it!

I’ve never seen the first film version of the 1970s, although (here I go dating myself) I remember the hit song There’s Got to be a Morning After that rose out of it. I watched the later version last summer on T.V. And. was. so. disappointed. Talk about completely losing the point! Oh well, that’s
Hollywood for you! (Truthfully, my expectations were not high, but I was curious to see what the film made of the book.)

The book, as I say, is another story altogether. Disaster at sea… now, what affect does this have on the people involved? And of course, Gallico explores the question thoroughly.

Initially, there are two groups: the defeatists and those who decide to struggle against the odds and claim survival. Then Gallico focusses on a group of the latter led by a motivating star athlete turned
minister. The reader follows its struggle through the decks of the overturned and gradually flooding ship, and the various ordeals along the way to, hopefully, safety and rescue. Motivational book devotees – this one is all about teamwork under stress.

This isn’t my favourite Gallico novel. In some respects I felt he was breaking down and trying to
conform to a more modern audience’s tastes. Nothing wrong with that if you are trying to sell books. But in doing so, some of the child-like (not childish!) innocence that I so love about others of
his novels is compromised. The important thing though, is that his quality of understanding of human nature is again showcased in an original setting. Readers are completely drawn into the lives of the group’s individuals, how their situation pulls the best and the worst from them, how they grow stronger or weaker depending on situations confronting them, and how the group dynamic both is affected by them and works its effect on them.

Gallico is no literary master. But there is something deeply engaging in the simplicity of his stories and the complexity of his characters and their interactions with each other that cannot help but leave a lasting impression on his readers.

Never heard of Paul Gallico (until yesterday’s entry)? Maybe you have but you just didn’t it. Perhaps you’ve seen Angela Lansbury in Mrs. ‘Arris Goes to Paris? Gallico wrote the book, which was published in 1957.

Mrs. Harris is a London char (house cleaner), who ‘does’ for a number of rather grand ladies. The story opens with her seeing an elegant gown at one of her clients’, fashioned by the House of Dior in Paris. From that moment, Mrs. ‘Arris decides that one day, she too will own a Dior dress. And she begins to save toward it.

Mrs. ‘Arris Goes to Paris is a story about following one’s dreams and making them reality. Read the One Minute Manager and other such motivational fiction? Add Mrs. ‘Arris to your list. It has a depth that other motivational books lack. Paul Gallico really understands human nature, and he fills his novels with all aspects of it, and shows very cleverly the influences that our behaviour can have on others around us. I think it is because of this that his stories engage readers so deeply. There is, in a relatively short space, determination, courage, optimism, innocence, genuine love (not the love of romances, but something deeper and finer that exists in lasting friendships), selfishness, egotism, thoughtlessness, disrespect, and so on, all of which play against one another to produce a variety of effects on the different characters. We see ourselves there with the characters, sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. We can relate, both as a victim, perhaps, and in the successes. We see how we and others influence those around us and are inspired. Mrs. ‘Arris is not a glamorous heroine, but in the end, we hope we can be more like her! She really is inspiring.

There is always an element of tragedy to a Gallico novel – at least to the few I’ve found to read – but there is also one of those lovely beams of sunlight that bursts through the clouds, providing hope and a deep satisfaction for readers. The joy in the story doesn’t necessarily come from the expected success of the protagonist (who, by the way, may or may not be ’successful’), but more often from some unexpected development of which perhaps even the main character is unaware. In this sense, Gallico’s novels are very true to life; the story isn’t necessarily written about the character or, at least, about the character’s gratification, but for the reader. It is the message that comes to us through the story that is the story, and because he is so successful in bringing that message home, readers remember his novels vividly for a very long time.

On Saturday, I was going through a lot
of books that had come in. Tucked in the first box I found a slim
volume that triggered a surge of memories: Paul Gallico‘s
The Snow Goose.

Who? What?

I can’t believe how little
known this American author is today. My mother introduced me to him
in my teens. “Oh, Elizabeth… You must read this! Tell me what you
think when you’re done.” It was a skinny little thing with
pictures, so to please her, I took it and began to read – in the
privacy of my bedroom, thank goodness. ‘Thank goodness’ because by the
end of the short time it took to read it – and it really is a one
sitting book – I was bawling my eyes out. I’m not a weepy sort of
person. I do, however, tend to become emotionally engaged in a GOOD
book. And to this day, I believe The Snow Goose is a GREAT book. I
have read it only once, and that an embarrassingly long time ago, but
I still remember almost every detail of the story.

I found a bunch of them at
the Children’s Hospital Book Sale a few years ago in Winnipeg and
snatched them up for the shop. I had to hand sell every one of them.
Nearly everyone who bought a copy came back to tell me how moved they
were by the story. It is simple. It is short. It is beautiful.

I am going to dedicate
this week’s blogs to Paul Gallico. If you’ve read him, join in. If
you haven’t, you need to expand your library!