The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B. White is one of those books I've been hearing about my whole life, and everyone who has ever read this has loved and told me that I have to read it because it is just so amazing. I read Charlotte's Web as a kid and really enjoyed it, so I fully expected to love this book.
I bought a really nice copy of it on impulse a couple years ago, because I just knew it would be awesome, and pretty copies of awesome books are great, right? I had a feeling it was going to be a while before I would get to it, so when Adam over at Roof Beam Reader started his 2011 TBR Reading Challenge, I thought it would be a great excuse to read this book.
So, I read the book. And, I didn't like it. I mean, it was okay, I guess. I actually really enjoyed the first couple of chapters, when the boy is our main character and the story is told by him and from his perspective. He goes camping in the wilds of Canada with his dad, and stumbles across a nesting pair of Trumpeter Swans, which are big, loud and beautiful. Being a nature and animal enthusiast, he does what he can to observe them and share a little part of their world. He's quiet and doesn't move as he observes the swans, because he doesn't want to alarm them, both because he doesn't want to threaten the home they have created for them and their eggs, but also because swans get downright nasty and you do NOT want to be on the receiving end of their territorial attacks.
And then we get a section from the swans point of view about this strange human boy who has invaded their space. But, it's kind of all right, because he just sits there, quietly, never moving. Just watching. So the swans get used to him. And then, a fox tries to attack the Mrs. and the boy saves her. So, they like the boy and allow him into their world, and when their chicks hatch, he is part of their lives also, at least for a few weeks.
If that was the only time we heard from the swans themselves, I would have been just fine. But it's not. The entire rest of the book becomes narrated by the swans and I didn't like it. They are ridiculous and far too human for me to believe any of it. And their understanding of the world is far too advanced for an animal. Like the son who cannot speak. He goes to school and learns to read and write on a little chalk board that hangs around his next. The teacher, of a first grade classroom, allowed a giant bird, notorious for its mean streak, into a classroom full of small children so it could learn to read, and it does.
And then even more craziness ensues, including the aforementioned swan learning how to play a magnificently beautiful trumpet, that more than makes up for the fact that he cannot 'trumpet' himself. Something has been wrong with his vocal cords since birth. But here's the things guys. I have played a trumpet. I know how they work. I know how hard you have to work to play one. And, if you don't have a working set of lips, you ain't getting any sound out of that thing. And if you can't depress the keys with your fingers, which takes more effort that the feathers on a wing could manage, you are vastly more limited in the notes you are able to play. So I didn't buy it.
I will admit right from the start that I want nothing but contemporary from my contemporary and realistic novels. I do not think there is any room for the abstract or unimaginable when I'm reading a book that I fully expect to be a realistic contemporary. If my book has impossibilities mixed in with it, I'm automatically more inclined to dislike it, and I didn't believe a single thing in this book after the swans took over the narration. And, it doesn't help that the father swan was one of the absolute most annoying characters I have ever read. He's full of ridiculous bluster, rambling pretension, and thoughts of inflated self, while his lady swan was very down to earth, practical and calm.
I feel bad that I didn't like this book, and I recognize there is a good chance I would have liked it a lot more if I had read it as a kid. But, I didn't. I read it now, and I didn't like it. The only thing that would possibly motivate me to read it again would be reading it aloud to my future kids someday.
Oh well. At least my copy is pretty.