The White Mountains by John Christopher

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars

John Christopher’s first foray into children’s literature, and his first entry in the now-infamous Tripods series, could easily fit in well on a shelf besides most boys’ adventure books. Told in strong, clear prose, Christopher presents the story of Will, a boy living in an apparently medieval world with an important difference: the presence of the enormous, mysterious Tripods who “cap” humans at the onset of puberty to keep them docile and obedient. This is his travelogue as he endeavors to escape this fate, sailing from England, traveling through an abandoned Paris and finding temporary sanctuary at the house of a wealthy French lord. Descriptions of scenery and food are lush and lively.

But the characterizations, of Will (so anonymous a boy that, several times, I forgot his name), of his traveling companions Henry and Beanpole, and of the people surrounding them, are incredibly flat and lifeless. The few details of personality we’re given–that Henry has a temper, that Beanpole loves inventing things–seem to have no impact on their motivations. This flatness, coupled with an incredibly unsatisfying ending (we never learn anything about the white mountains to which they ultimately escape) drag this short book down considerably. I’m curious as to whether the subsequent volumes will redeem the series.

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I’m thinking about making a potentially stupid purchase. For the past year, I’ve thought, over and over again, about getting a class ring upon my graduation from UF. Tax return time will be soon, and I’m feeling terribly, terribly tempted.

I never got a class ring in high school, or college. We were too poor when I graduated from North Plainfield. I remember, pretty vividly, watching the other juniors pour over the catalog. I might have asked my mother about it, but I can’t imagine that I didn’t know the answer. Our school used Jostens, which meant that rings started at around three hundred and fifty dollars for synthetic stones and synthetic metals. Even with my job at the supermarket, I couldn’t swing that. During college, it was the same story. Jostens again, although the rings started at over four hundred. Besides, graduating from William Paterson didn’t really feel like an accomplishment.

It feels weird, in a way, that this is something I’d even consider. I was talking to some friends here who emphasized to me what a ridiculous, unstylish purchase this would be, how terribly consumerist and shallow it is. I can’t really deny that. I mean, Herff-Jones, the company behind the official UF rings, charges a whopping six hundred dollars (and up) for stuff with Gator heads on it. And, as Jordan once said to me while we were first dating, I don’t seem to be the type of girl to like flowers or jewelry. I mean, I’ve been totally fine with not having an engagement ring, for example. After all, I’m funky, whereas class rings are big chunky hunks of consumerist tripe, not that different from engagement rings. Corporate junk. I know that.

But I still want one.

I’m a pretty sentimental person when it comes to certain things–heirlooms and ceremonies, mostly. For example, though I don’t really ascribe to any Jewish beliefs, I love the pageantry of a good Passover sedar, the sanctity of rituals like candle lighting on Shabbos. And since middle school I’ve been fascinated by the academic dress of graduation ceremonies. Multi-colored robes and hoods do something to me, strike a chord, deep down, resonate.

Honestly, it probably has something to do with all the fantasy I read as a kid, where rank was always declared by garb color, where books and rings could open doors, where foreign words and candle-lighting initiated secret magic. I remember watching my peers select skinny little fashionable rings with flutes and crosses on them and all I could do was salivate over the big, chunky traditional (mens’) rings in the glossy catalog and think this is an object that signifies something.

Anyway, I’ve found a company online that custom-makes rings for cheap; I could get a silver one for two hundred and fifty bucks, which is the upper limit of what such a thing could feasibly be worth, I imagine. And I could stick a unicorn on one side. I don’t know why, but that seems terribly right for a ring celebrating my MFA.

In the back of my head, I can hear a voice saying: save your money; this is a stupid purchase. I still might not do it. But I’m worried that, if this is something I’ve thought about for this long, I might just regret not doing it. And this has been a rough two years, a growing experience. Part of me really wants to mark it with a gift for myself–a little magic.