The World Writ Small

After a day of milking cows and shoveling manure, three dozen fifth-graders dressed in fleece pajamas and terry robes clamber into the living room of Michael Morpurgo’s Devon farmhouse for a bedtime story. The British author pulls out a volume that he says they cannot possibly have read because it isn’t published yet, and the students smile with delight. Not only have they escaped their parents and school for a week in his “Farms for City Children” program, but they are about to get a preview of a Morpurgo book, which makes them terribly cool.

“It’s the best title of any book I have written--’Cool!’ ” Morpurgo tells the 10- and 11-year-olds seated on the carpet by a Victorian fireplace. “It’s a word I really, really hate that my granddaughters use all the time: cool.”

The children giggle, knowing that they, too, abuse the word. They settle down quickly, however, when they hear that “Cool!” is not a breezy, upbeat book, but the story of a boy who has fallen into a coma after being hit by a car. Robbie Ainsley can hear his parents and friends trying desperately to draw him out, but he is unable to speak or to move. He cannot acknowledge their declarations of love and friendship or reciprocate them. He can’t even utter his usual seal of approval--cool.

“My stepfather died last year and before he died, he was in a coma,” Morpurgo tells his audience. “I used to just sit by his bed in the hospital until one day the doctor told me to talk to him. I said, ‘What’s the point?’ and he said that we don’t know, but that enough people have woken up after a long coma and said they had heard people talking to them. I tried but he died several months later.”

The experience, however, gave Morpurgo the idea for the book about a boy locked in a coma with his thoughts. “It’s what it is like to be inside of his head,” he says.

Morpurgo, the 58-year-old author of more than 90 children’s books, often takes his readers “inside the head” of people whom they would not ordinarily meet, and to places they would not normally go. He is a teller of ancient tales and an adventure writer who matter-of-factly addresses difficult subjects such as sickness and death. “Waiting for Anya” is the story of an occupied French village’s efforts to smuggle Jewish children across the border to safety in Spain during World War II. “The War of Jenkins’ Ear” examines faith and superstition through the boarding school friendship between a young boy and an older student claiming to be Jesus Christ. And in “The Ghost of Grania O’Malley,” a girl grapples with cerebral palsy while her cousin confronts his own father’s life-threatening illness.

With the first chapter of “Cool!,” Morpurgo’s bedtime audience is spellbound by a mixture of humor and drama, by references to Dr. Smelly Breath and the more serious thoughts of a boy who can’t move his body. “I remember thinking in the ambulance, ‘Maybe I am dead,’ ” Morpurgo reads in a convincingly boyish voice. He pauses at the end of the chapter, then teases, “Do you want another chapter?”

“Yes-s-s,” the kids cry in unison. They’re hooked.

In an age when J.K. Rowling novels dominate bestseller lists by plunging young readers into fantastic realms, Morpurgo continues to infuse his books with what some consider inappropriate in children’s literature--geography, history and large doses of reality. He believes children are simply small adults, less experienced but no less intelligent than grown-ups, who should be exposed to life’s difficulties along with its pleasures.

He is not alone in this. His compatriot Jacqueline Wilson does it as well, and sometimes with more emotional depth. But besides offering up reality, Morpurgo immerses readers in stories that draw from the past. Characters such as Joan of Arc and King Arthur figure prominently in his works, which he has set against the Spanish Civil War, World Wars I and II and the Irish potato famine.

His “War Horse” is about an animal that leaves the farm to join the British cavalry in World War I only to be captured by the enemy. In “Twist of Gold,” an Irish brother and sister bid their starving mother goodbye to search for their father, who has gone to America looking for work. And the compelling hero of “Kensuke’s Kingdom,” due to be published in the United States by Scholastic Press next spring, is a Japanese survivor of the U.S. atomic bombing of Nagasaki during WWII.

These are some of the books that have made Morpurgo a best-selling author in Britain, where he began his professional life as a primary and middle school teacher and discovered all too quickly how most children tuned out in the classroom. He started telling tales in an effort to inspire his students, then wrote them down and eventually published them. The death of his father-in-law, Penguin Books founder Sir Allen Lane, more than a quarter century ago left Morpurgo’s wife, Clare, with an inheritance and the couple with an opportunity to “put their money where their mouth was” to enrich the lives of children. They founded the “Farms for City Children” charity, which now brings about 3,000 underprivileged kids to farms each year in Devon, southwest of London, in Gloucestershire and Wales for a hands-on experience with rural life. (The Morpurgos also have supported a U.S. branch of the program in Vermont.) For many of the city kids, it is their first exposure to hedgerows and wild daffodils, their first encounter with farm animals.

That was the case for 11-year-old Elliott Debell, who visited Morpurgo’s Nethercott Farm in Iddesleigh with his classmates from London’s Ruislip Gardens primary school. Grooming a horse on a misty morning, Debell gleefully recounts his experiences. “Yesterday we cleaned out a massive yard of cow poo, and it was all soggy because it had rained.”

Debell is equally enthusiastic about the author’s books. “I’ve got four of them. I like it when it’s real and he describes things around him. Tom, that’s one of the workers on the farm, he used that name in ‘War Horse.’ ”

Morpurgo, a father of three and grandfather of six, is passionate on the subject of history. He loves to tell of the time “War Horse” was short-listed for Britain’s prestigious Whitbread Prize in 1982 but failed to win. The celebrated author Roald Dahl, who was one of the judges, explained to Morpurgo, “Children really don’t like history.”

With more than 60 books in print (some of the “early rubbish” has been put to rest, he says) and translations in at least 20 languages, Morpurgo makes a strong case that history sells. “History is as much a fantasy world as other fantasies. We haven’t looked at it, we have to imagine it. It’s just that we have the geography, the time, the place there, so we can use this as the backdrop of whatever drama we’re going to create,” he says.

His books have never been as popular in the United States as they are in Britain, but Morpurgo argues that last year’s Sept. 11 attacks highlight the need for children everywhere to learn about foreign people and places. They need to be transported to different times and exposed to other cultures if they hope to understand the world.

If an English child reads “Toro Toro,” his book set in the Spanish Civil War, Morpurgo says the child will discover that Spain has a history. “Every country is pretty much the same, but the English and--I have to say it--the Americans specialize in focusing on [themselves], and we see the world as Anglo-Saxon-centric. It doesn’t matter how often people tell us it isn’t, how many bombs people throw out to show us that it isn’t, we still go on with this nonsense.”

Germany and France, Morpurgo notes, are keen to publish foreign authors. Foreign books make up half the list of his French publisher, Gallimard Jeunesse, he says. “French kids read stories from all over the world, in circumstances from all over the world. The equivalent list in England has about 3% foreign.” But most countries are reluctant to confront their own dark chapters of history. Even France was initially reluctant to publish his book on its controversial national saint, Joan of Arc, and publishers in Spain have apparently passed on his “Toro Toro,” set against the fascists’ bombing of the village of Sauceda in 1936.

“Joan is this right-wing fascist symbol in France. I didn’t know it when I was writing the book, and when I presented it to my French publishers, they said, ‘What have you done? We can’t publish this, it would look like [ultra-right politician Jean-Marie] Le Pen.’ And I said, ‘What are you talking about? It’s Joan of Arc, nothing to do with Le Pen.’ ”

The French published the book in the end, but “Toro Toro” has yet to see print in Spain. “The Spanish thing is different because it’s a hidden history, isn’t it? They don’t like talking about it. It’s recent, it’s hurtful.”

Similarly, Morpurgo says he had difficulty finding a U.S. publisher for what is arguably his best book yet, “Kensuke’s Kingdom.” This is Morpurgo’s “Robinson Crusoe,” the tale of a 12-year-old British boy who is washed overboard while on his family’s sailboat and ends up on a Pacific island.

“I disappeared on the night before my 12th birthday,” the account of the boy’s odyssey begins. Alone and hungry, he braces for death until he awakens on the island to find that a bowl of fresh water and plate of fish have been left for him. Later, he meets Kensuke, a former doctor in the Japanese navy who survived the atomic bomb and sought refuge from a horrible world on the deserted island. The two develop a deep friendship.

Penguin Putnam, which had published other Morpurgo books, turned “Kensuke’s Kingdom” down, he says. “They’d been very keen on my stuff and published everything and then all of a sudden I put this book in front of them and they said, ‘This is not what you usually do.’ So I said, ‘Why should anything be what you usually do?’ They were trying to say something else, but weren’t actually telling me what it was.”

After three or four publishers rejected the book, Morpurgo confronted one of them and was told that the problem was that he had implied that Americans were pleased about the bombing of Nagasaki, in which an estimated 80,000 Japanese died.

“I said, ‘Yes, and so were the British at the time, because it saved millions of lives and everyone thought, “Good, the bloody war’s over.” ’ What I didn’t know, I suppose, was that the Americans [are] still sensitive about the atom bomb. But we’ve got to confront these things. Just as Spaniards have to confront their fascist interlude and the bitterness that went on, and we [Britons] have to confront what we’ve done in Ireland for 500 years.”

Children should not be shielded from history, Morpurgo insists, and Scholastic Press apparently agrees, having accepted the book for publication. Elizabeth Szabla, editorial director of Scholastic in New York, says the historical backdrop of the story was never a drawback. “For me, ‘Kensuke’s Kingdom’ was a perfect blend of adventure, with its many details of survival, and introspection as Michael [the central character] is forced to grow up quickly and explore a friendship,” Szabla says. “I believe our audience knows this story [of the atomic bomb]. I hope so. Even if they have a vague idea, I hope it spurs them to explore it more. I applaud this vehicle for exploring that part of our history.” Although it is not an American book, the publishing house intends to bring it out next March, in time for Asian Pacific American Heritage Month in May, to draw attention to the subject matter.

Nonetheless, Morpurgo’s experience with “Kensuke’s Kingdom” has left him disappointed with the publishing industry. He acknowledges that the Irish potato famine and World War II may not be as sexy as a wizardry school, but he believes it is the duty of writers and publishers to help young people develop an understanding of different cultures. Morpurgo is earnest when he talks about this, but not bitter. He even laughs when giving an example of how his American editors wanted to change details in “Kensuke’s Kingdom” to suit an American audience. While still traveling with his family, Michael stops in Brazil to play soccer on the beach with local boys, whose only English words are “Manchester United.” Morpurgo’s editor wanted to change the game to American football. “People have to grasp the fact that this is an English child and that there are English points of reference. Kids all over America play soccer. They aren’t dumb.”

Moreover, Morpurgo adds, “I think children have a wonderful ability to make imaginative leaps, and if you can catch them early enough with other people’s stories, they are going to become interested in other people. Once you’re interested in other people, you will not despise them, you will not patronize them, you will think of them as like you but different. And you’ll learn from them, as well.”

As he has defied skeptics by writing about history, Morpurgo also writes stories that do not always turn out happily. “Waiting for Anya,” in particular, ends on a bittersweet note that comes as a shock to some readers, but which Morpurgo says is an accurate reflection of history. “I’m not so keen on what I call ‘easy redemption’ in stories,” he says.

Maryam Alsop, a Ridgewood, N.J., mother who discovered Morpurgo’s work while living in London, says books such as this one and even “Kensuke’s Kingdom” are “too dark” for her 9-year-old daughter. “It’s beautiful writing, but the subject matter is a bit much for her. The aloneness, being all by yourself marooned on an island, it’s scary. I think she projects and sees herself there. She won’t be able to sleep. She’ll worry and wonder, ‘Does this really happen?’ ”

Morpurgo says he does not seek out the dark side of life, but tries to portray the blend of blacks, whites and grays. He wants children to understand that life is sweet and sour and usually does not offer up easy solutions. “So I don’t wish to answer questions when I write a book,” he says, “I wish to pose questions.”

But Morpurgo does answer questions for his pajama-clad audience. While “Farms for City Children” offers kids a valuable rural experience, it provides Morpurgo a constant supply of material for his child characters and an ever-ready sounding board for new material. Morpurgo clearly likes children, respects them and knows how to talk with them.

“What’s the difference between them and us? They have less experience, less years, that’s it. They’re as bright as we are, definitely as bright as we are, as perceptive, and the other thing they have which we don’t have is a wonderful freshness of approach--we’ve done so much before and we’re coming at it again. I do feed on that, in that things they say and do endlessly come into my books. I’m a terrible robber.”

It would be hard not to, as the kids are quick and charming. After his reading of “Cool!,” their hands fly into the air like fireworks. Their questions come fast: “What’s your favorite book you’ve written so far?” one student asks. “How long have you been writing for?” asks another. “Do you enjoy writing more than reading?” “Where do you get all of your brilliant ideas from?”

“You lovely person,” Morpurgo responds to the last. The ideas are ordinary, not brilliant, he says, but he tries to weave them together in new and interesting ways. The children wave their hands in a pick-me, pick-me frenzy, but are polite and do not shout out their questions before he points to them.

“When you were young, did you want to be famous?” a boy asks.

“When I was young, being famous was not something you thought about. Now you do because of TV. I wanted to play rugby for England, but I didn’t want to be famous. I didn’t want it and I don’t want it now,” he says.

There are a handful of famous writers, he says, but most authors enjoy “quiet fame. People may know your name, but you can walk down the street.”

“What would you do if [another] writer nicks your ideas?” another boy asks.

“An original idea is almost impossible,” Morpurgo says, acknowledging that “Kensuke’s Kingdom” bears similarities to “Robinson Crusoe.” “In a sense you could say I pinched the idea. But everybody who writes has pinched something from someone. You take an idea and make it your own.” But, he cautions, now is probably not a good time to write about a boy wizard at boarding school.

As the hour grows late, the queries become increasingly sophisticated. “Do you ever have any doubts about a book?” asks a questioner.

“All the time. It’s like when you’re running a race. When you get past the middle, you have no more doubts, but up to the middle, you doubt you’ll get over the hill.”

The children stifle their yawns, but Morpurgo sees them and knows they will have to rise early to do their chores before breakfast. One more question, he says. Half a dozen arms go up and he selects one before sending them upstairs to dormitories.

“Any tips?”

Morpurgo laughs. “You have to live a lot and read a lot and go to lots of places. You have to have a well of experiences and make it as full a life as possible. When you write stories, you use water from the well and if you don’t live an interesting life, you use up the water.”

Their thirst for information sated for the moment, the children file off to bed. Morpurgo, on the other hand, looks wide awake. His face is glowing after the exchange, his own well having been replenished.