Misty of Chincoteague Book

Marguerite Henry's Misty of Chincoteague novels truly present one of my all time favourite horse-based children's literature series (or rather, the first three books rank amongst my personal favourites, as I really do not at all like the fourth instalment). And as such, I have never been able (or even all that willing for that matter) to write an actual review of the first three books of the series. I did recently pen a very critical review of the fourth book, of Misty's Twilight (which was published decades after the first three novels and does not feature either Misty or the Beebes), but as I rather majorly despise said novel, it has actually not been all that difficult to post not at all laudatory musings and analyses, whilst with the first three instalments of the series, with Misty of Chincoteague, Sea Star: Orphan of Chincoteaque and Stormy, Misty's Foal even writing a review, even starting a review has been and continues to be much more personally daunting. Not only am I well aware of the fact that with the first three Misty books, I am most definitely rather massively and personally positively biased, but also, like with oh so many if not most of my childhood favourite reads, I also tend to have the personal feeling and even the nagging suspicion that any and all interpretations and analyses I might decide to provide will be, at best merely a pale and even perhaps somewhat cracked reflection of the actual work(s), of Marguerite Henry's narrative skills.

However, I do think it is now time to attempt to consider a review of at least the first Misty book, of Misty of Chincoteague, and to explain, or perhaps more to the point try to explain why and how Marguerite Henry's Newbery Honour winning horse novel has always been such a sweet and evocative favourite (so much so that I still regularly reread and always enjoy it). And even though I am as an adult more than well aware of the fact that as a novel of the late 1940s, there are, of course, instances of datedness, of signs of the times, of indeed some annoying sexism, this does not and never has diminished my love of and for Misty, her horse and human family, her antics, her exploits (and while as an adult, I might well and increasingly see and notice instances and potential issues worthy of discussion and debate, I still massively and lastingly simply and utterly adore Misty of Chincoteague as both a novel and as a delicate and realistic portrait of early to middle 20th century life on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States, the close family ties, the daily lives of the Chincoteaguers, whether they be horse-people, water-people or chicken farmers).

Now while Marguerite Henry has created nuanced and realistically developed characters throughout (as even many of the minor characters who make an appearance in Misty of Chincoteague are portrayed not as simply basic stock personages but as living, breathing entities with clearly defined personalities and both laudable and not so stellar character traits), the main human protagonists (the Beebe family, Grandpa, Grandma, Paul and Maureen) really and truly do in my opinion sparkle and shine. I do love the sense of natural and respectful responsibility and the in many ways massive amount of personal freedom that Paul and Maureen enjoy (and albeit that Maureen might indeed have more house-bound chores than Paul, when it comes to taking care of the family's ponies, and when it comes to making money in order to try to purchase the Phantom come Pony Penning, their responsibilities are not only the same, they are approached as and seen as equals by especially Grandpa Beebe).

But granted, it is indeed true (and uncomfortably so) that in Misty of Chincoteague, especially young Paul Beebe often does seem at least on the surface to be the one and main individual who displays the most blatant and obnoxious sexism (usually and especially towards his sister Maureen). But that having been said, if one then actually considers Paul and Maureen's relationship as older brother and younger sister, Paul's behaviour becomes more and more like simply an opinionated and full of himself older brother lording it over or at least attempting to lord it over his younger sister (thus more a case of sibling squabbles and sibling rivalry than mere sexism). Yes, Paul often chides Maureen for being only "a girl" but really, his little and not so little put-downs are generally and for all intents and purposes an older sibling poking nasty fun at a younger sibling (or trying to show how much smarter he or she is than the younger sibling, which in my humble opinion, usually stems from a low self esteem and a resulting desire to make oneself appear as superior in some way). And at least Paul and Maureen do both have an equal (and thus a fair) opportunity to ride the Phantom in the big Pony Penning race (the fact that Maureen ends up losing, that she figuratively and literally draws the short straw so to speak is just bad luck on her part). Furthermore, that only Paul is able to ride (to participate) in the actual Pony Penning roundup, while that little scenario is indeed more than a bit sexist in and of itself, it is however in NO WAY sexism on Paul's part, but simply how the roundup of the Assateague ponies is generally organised, namely that the rules stipulate that only adult men and boys above a certain age are permitted to be part of the actual penning up of the ponies (and I for one am glad that Marguerite Henry has not tried to change the at that time current cultural practices of the Chincoteague Pony Penning celebrations, such as, for example, having both men and women, both teenaged boys and girls be permitted participate in the round-up, as that would be painting a wrong, and thus a false picture of both time and place).

As a person whose parents both bred raised riding horses (Trakehners, a German warm-blood breed, to be exact), what has probably always impressed me most with regard to Misty of Chincoteague is how knowledgable especially Grandpa Beebe is portrayed with regard to ponies and horses, and how gentle this often gruff and curmudgeonly man is with regard to both horses and his grandchildren (with children in general). He does not expect Paul and Maureen to use a metal bit on the Phantom, explaining to Paul that the soft plant-based wickie bridle and reins Paul and Maureen had been using are more than adequate as long as the Phantom obeys their commands and follows their directions (and Grandpa Beebe is also and happily not in any way shy about showing his intense pride in Paul and Maureen, of praising them for their care of the Phantom and Misty, for being able to actually gentle a three year old wild Assateague mare enough for her to be ridden and later, publicly raced).

And when Paul finally does decide to give the Phantom her freedom (when the Pied Piper comes back for her), Grandpa Beebe both praises Paul and tells his grandchildren that giving the Phantom her freedom, allowing her to return to Assaateague is the humane and thus the right thing to do (and both Paul and Maureen do really know this as well, as both have much horse sense and had been for quite some time wondering whether the Phantom, was really as content and as satisfied with her life on the Beebe's ranch as little Misty obviously is). The ending, with the Phantom being given her freedom (and then little Misty basically making her rounds almost as if to comfort Paul, Maureen and the grandfather) is both sad and sweet, both heartbreaking and uplifting and probably one of the main reasons why Misty of Chincoteague will always have a very special and tenderly sweet place in my heart and in my soul, my being.

Now as to the accompanying illustrations by Wesley Dennis, although they are perhaps not really necessary to understand the story itself, the actual happenings of Misty of Chincoteague, they do provide a glowing compliment of and complement to the text (and I know that my personal visions of how Misty, the Phantom and the Beebes look are based almost entirely on Wesley Dennis' pictorial offerings, so much so that I cannot even consider the Misty series without his evocative and realistically beautiful drawings).

And now finally (I promise), with Misty of Chincoteague, Marguerite Henry's writing style, her narration, her vocabulary choices intensely and with the juices of life itself evocatively do glow. The ample use of Chincoteague vernacular (although I know that some readers have had issues and complaints with regard to this) gives a wonderful and truly rich and expansive sense of time and place (making the featured events much more authentic sounding and feeling than if the characters, if the Chincoteaguers had been simply depicted and described as speaking standard English). And while there might indeed be a few instances where a reader (especially a child just learning to read) might stumble over a potential meaning, most of the vernacular words utilised are more than easily enough discerned from the general context of the plot, of the text. And thus yes, I absolutely and utterly adore Marguerite Henry's Misty of Chincoteague and do recommend the novel most highly and eagerly as a glowing example of what I personally consider a perfectly lovely and in all ways wonderful horse-story for children (and for adults who still enjoy reading books for children)!