The Underneath Book

There is nothing lonelier than a cat who has been loved, at least for awhile, and then abandoned on the side of the road.

This is the breathtaking opening sentence of The Underneath - a sentence that has already been over-quoted and will probably lose its luster once it is revealed as The Great Deceptor. What follows this ingenious sentence, however, is not nearly as captivating.

Kathi Appelt's asinine debut novel is inexplicably receiving buzz as a contender for the Newbery Medal. Perhaps after reading the stunning above-quoted sentence, many have just thought, "Yep, here's a winner!" and thrown the book to the side. Because there really can be no other logical reason for all the hype about The Underneath. Unless these same people are mistaking the Newbery for the Caldecott. After all, David Small's illustrations throughout this book are the book's strongest point. They're charming beyond belief.

Kathi Appelt's overly florid prose (think Hemingway geared toward kids) consists of annoying and sophomoric methods.

1. Repetition Ad Nauseum:
[p. 263] "And then came that night, that long-ago night when he had paused and Gar Face shot him, shot his own dog in the leg."

YES! We know about that night! Do you know why? Because you mentioned it in great detail fifty pages into the book. And then a couple more times in the middle. We've also received the same story in multiple pointless perspectives. We are also treated to repetitive stories about the Grandmother, the clay jar, the alligator, Gar Face... well, just about everything. Multiple chapters are just reiterations of "action" that has already taken place.

2. Run-Ons Disguised As Art:
[p. 108] "Saw him yelp and cry and howl until he had nothing left, until his neck was raw and bleeding where the chain dug into the skin, rubbed the fur away and left it bleeding, raw, sore, until he had no voice at all, until he didn't utter a single sound." (This also reinforces #1 - you've already mentioned he had no voice, which is the exact same thing as not uttering a single sound)

Virginia Woolf writes excellent run-on sentences. But she doesn't write for children. And she doesn't indulge in purple prose. Also, she actually has something to say. In the case of The Underneath, this method just comes across as Desperately Trying Too Hard.

3. Endless, Meaningless List:
[p. 83] "The Caddoo can be found in the memories of trees. Not just pines, but hackberries, tupelos, water oaks, winged elms, mulberries, cedars, cypresses, yaupons, bois d'arcs."

Surely he's making that up, you might be thinking. No one in their right mind would write a sentence that stupid, and no editor would tolerate it. Please, by all means, reference page 83 of the book. It's the third paragraph. Oh, and like most everything else in this 320 page snoozefest, it adds nothing to the story. Nothing.

4. Character Development Concealed As Violence
When Gar Face beats the living hell out of his dog, the violence is jarring... not because you don't expect it (the character, in the brief biographical sketch we get, is a mean old coot), but because there's virtually no development in either character. Therefore, the action seems rooted in stereotype rather than in anything remotely honest. In fact, the sequence just seems like a ridiculous ploy to get the reader to gasp. And it works. Until the wily reader thinks, "Wait a minute... I know virtually nothing about this dog or about this man. What the hell is going on here?" Are we just supposed to feel sorry and move on, or is something deeper here at work? Good luck figuring out that little koan.

5. Tone Shifting
From the first chapter, The Underneath meanders with a foreboding and funereal tone. And then the kittens are born. Suddenly, many chapters are manic and bouncy. Yes, this tone shift indicates the unbridled playfulness of the kittens, but bookended with the dour passages, it creates an unbelievable inconsistency. And when Appelt begins mashing together multiple points-of-view in a single paragraph - Holy Creative Writing No-No 101!

Here's a clue that something is amiss in a book: when reading, if you find yourself wondering things like, "I wonder if Axl Rose realizes he looks dumb with corn rows" or "Maybe I just haven't given cauliflower a fighting chance" or "Gee, I wonder how many interstitual hairs are on my index finger", then there is something very wrong with the book.

Want to turn children off to reading permanently? Hand them a copy of The Underneath. Chronic aliteracy will be nanoseconds away.