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Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones (English) Paperback Book

Description: Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones In a transcendent novel that is at once intense, beautiful, and fable-like, the author of "Biograf" celebrates the resilience of the human spirit and the power of narrative to transform lives. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description In a novel that is at once intense, beautiful, and fablelike, Lloyd Jones weaves a transcendent story that celebrates the resilience of the human spirit and the power of narrative to transform our lives.On a copper-rich tropical island shattered by war, where the teachers have fled with most everyone else, only one white man chooses to stay behind: the eccentric Mr. Watts, object of much curiosity and scorn, who sweeps out the ruined schoolhouse and begins to read to the children each day from Charles Dickenss classic Great Expectations. So begins this rare, original story about the abiding strength that imagination, once ignited, can provide. As artillery echoes in the mountains, thirteen-year-old Matilda and her peers are riveted by the adventures of a young orphan named Pip in a city called London, a city whose contours soon become more real than their own blighted landscape. As Mr. Watts says, "A person entranced by a book simply forgets to breathe." Soon come the rest of the villagers, initially threatened, finally inspired to share tales of their own that bring alive the rich mythology of their past. But in a ravaged place where even children are forced to live by their wits and daily survival is the only objective, imagination can be a dangerous thing. Author Biography Lloyd Jones was born in New Zealand in 1955. His previous novels and collections of stories include the award-winning The Book of Fame, Biografi, a New York Times Notable Book, Choo Woo, Here at the End of the World We Learn to Dance and Paint Your Wife. Lloyd Jones lives in Wellington.Joness Here at the End of the World We Learn to Dance will be available in the U.S. for the first time on August 26, 2008. Review "One of the best books of the year! Poetic, heartbreaking, surprising. Matilda is a young girl in Bougainville, a tropical island where the horror of civil war lurks. Mr. Watts, the only white person, is the self appointed teacher of the tiny school where the only textbook is the Dickens novel Great Expectations. Storytelling, imagination, courage, beauty, memories and sudden violence are the main elements of this extraordinary book."—Isabel Allende"Genuinely affecting.... A book with worthwhile thoughts to impart."—The New York Times"Mister Pip is sheer magic, a story about stories and their power to transcend the limits of imagination and reside in the deep hearts core. Lloyd Jones is a brave and fierce writer, and he has given us Dickens brand new again."—Keith Donohue, author of The Stolen Child"Joness prose is fautless.... With a mixture of thrill and unease, Matilda discovers independent thought, and Jones captures the intricate, emotionally loaded evolution of the mother-daughter relationship."—Publishers Weekly"The novel is a paean to the transformative power of literature, particularly its ability to occlude an unpleasant reality with a fictional alternative and to expand an individuals sense of possibility."—New York Sun"Not just a delightful read, Mister Pip shows the cut and thrust of true multiculturalism."—Atlantic Monthly Review Quote "One of the best books of the year! Poetic, heartbreaking, surprising. Matilda is a young girl in Bougainville, a tropical island where the horror of civil war lurks. Mr. Watts, the only white person, is the self appointed teacher of the tiny school where the only textbook is the Dickens novel Great Expectations. Storytelling, imagination, courage, beauty, memories and sudden violence are the main elements of this extraordinary book."-Isabel Allende "Genuinely affecting.... A book with worthwhile thoughts to impart."-The New York Times "Mister Pip is sheer magic, a story about stories and their power to transcend the limits of imagination and reside in the deep hearts core. Lloyd Jones is a brave and fierce writer, and he has given us Dickens brand new again."-Keith Donohue, author of The Stolen Child "Joness prose is fautless.... With a mixture of thrill and unease, Matilda discovers independent thought, and Jones captures the intricate, emotionally loaded evolution of the mother-daughter relationship."-Publishers Weekly "The novel is a paean to the transformative power of literature, particularly its ability to occlude an unpleasant reality with a fictional alternative and to expand an individuals sense of possibility."-New York Sun "Not just a delightful read, Mister Pip shows the cut and thrust of true multiculturalism."-Atlantic Monthly From the Hardcover edition. Description for Reading Group Guide Celebrating the timeless power of storytelling, Mister Pip unites the stirring tale of a young girls quest for hope with a marvelous tribute to a Charles Dickens classic. Thirteen-year-old Matilda is coming of age on a Pacific island that has been torn apart by war. Almost everyone, including her father, has left to find work or escape the danger. Among those few who remain is the eccentric and mysterious Mr. Watts, the islands sole remaining white man, who takes on the role of teacher and begins to read Great Expectations aloud to students. For Matilda and her classmates, the story offers an escape from their brutal reality, while instilling in them the strength to endure in a place where nothing is certain, not even their survival. Mister Pip celebrates individual strength, the ability of humanity to transform itself through narrative, and powerful friendships that cross cultural lines. In this gripping and imaginative novel, Lloyd Jones gives us a unique way to explore issues of faith, family, loyalty, identity, and, ultimately, the transcendence of literature. Discussion Question for Reading Group Guide 1. Is it important that Mr. Watts is the last white man on the island? Why? 2. Why does Matilda write Pips name in the sand alongside the names of her relatives? Why does this upset her mother? How does this contribute to Doloress feelings about Mr. Wattss instruction of her daughter? Are these feelings understandable? 3. Why do you think Mr. Watts pulled his wife in the cart? Why did he wear the red clown nose? What meaning did that have for them? 4. What is the message Matildas mother is trying to express to the children with the story of her mothers braids? How is this related to the issue of Mr. Wattss faith in God? 5. What did you think of the lessons that the mothers of the children bring to the classroom? If you were the parent of a child in Matildas class, what lesson would you teach the children? What might your mother have taught the class? 6. Who is Dolores warning the children about when she tells them the story about the devil lady and the church money? How does this story justify her actions regarding the book and the redskins? Do you agree with Doloress refusal to bring forth the book? With Matildas? 7. Where do you think Gilberts father takes Sam? How do you know? In your opinion, was it necessary that he do so? 8. Why does the corned beef in Mr. Wattss house "represent a broad hope" for Matilda? Discuss Mr. Wattss reaction to Matildas fragment. Do you believe that Grace was alive when Matilda arrived? 9. Discuss how the characters in this story struggle to reconcile the concepts of race and identity. Does it seem to dictate their interaction with each other? How does it influence their concepts of self? What moments, especially, helped reveal this to you? 10. What is the meaning of the story of the Queen of Sheba? Why does Mr. Watts bring it up? Why is it significant that Dolores is familiar with that story? 11. Why does Dolores step forward to declare herself "Gods witness" to the murder of Mr. Watts? Were you surprised that she did? Why does she insist that Matilda remain silent? 12. Do you think Matilda was able to return home? How would that outcome affect your reading of both novels? 13. Discuss your memorable experiences of being read to as a child. What book made the greatest impact on your life? Did any book come to you at precisely the right time, the way Great Expectations was brought to Matilda? 14. On Great Expectations and Mister Pip . Are both Mister Pip and Great Expectations universal coming-of-age tales? How did you react to the blending of these two distinctly different settings and time periods? 15. The initial lines of Great Expectations are reflected several times in this novel. Compare them to the opening lines of Mister Pip . What connections do these first sentences draw between the themes of both novels? 16. In what way are the narrative voices of Mister Pip and Great Expectations the same? How are they different? What shifts do you notice in the storytelling after Matilda leaves the island? How did this impact your reading? 17. How is Doloress treatment of Matilda similar to Estellas treatment of Pip in Great Expectations ? How does this relationship help Matilda understand Pips attachment to Estella? Is it necessary that this attachment be severed before Pip/Matilda can grow individually? 18. Why do you think Mr. Watts omitted the characters of Orlick and Compeyson from his telling of Great Expectations ? What additional meaning might the children have gleaned from the story if these characters and their storylines, such as Compeysons jilting of Miss Havisham, had been included? 19. What is signified by the changing of ones name, both in Great Expectations and Mister Pip ? Why does Matilda not change her name? 20. In what ways does Great Expectations help Matilda cope with her reality and prepare her for the future? How does it help Mr. Watts deal with his past? What makes Great Expectations the ideal Dickens choice for this purpose? Excerpt from Book Chapter One EVERYONE CALLED HIM POP EYE. EVEN IN those days, when I was a skinny thirteen-year-old, I thought he probably knew about his nickname but didnt care. His eyes were too interested in what lay up ahead to notice us barefoot kids. He looked like someone who had seen or known great suffering and hadnt been able to forget it. His large eyes in his large head stuck out further than anyone elses--like they wanted to leave the surface of his face. They made you think of someone who cant get out of the house quickly enough. Pop Eye wore the same white linen suit every day. His trousers snagged on his bony knees in the sloppy heat. Some days he wore a clowns nose. His nose was already big. He didnt need that red lightbulb. But for reasons we couldnt think of he wore the red nose on certain days--which may have meant something to him. We never saw him smile. And on those days he wore the clowns nose you found yourself looking away because you never saw such sadness. He pulled a piece of rope attached to a trolley on which Mrs. Pop Eye stood. She looked like an ice queen. Nearly every woman on our island had crinkled hair, but Grace had straightened hers. She wore it piled up, and in the absence of a crown her hair did the trick. She looked so proud, as if she had no idea of her own bare feet. You saw her huge bum and worried about the toilet seat. You thought of her mother and birth and that stuff. At two-thirty in the afternoon the parrots sat in the shade of the trees and looked down at a human shadow one-third longer than any seen before. There were only the two of them, Mr. and Mrs. Pop Eye, yet it felt like a procession. The younger kids saw an opportunity and so fell in behind. Our parents looked away. They would rather stare at a colony of ants moving over a rotting pawpaw. Some stood by with their idle machetes, waiting for the spectacle to pass. For the younger kids the sight consisted only of a white man towing a black woman. They saw what the parrots saw, and what the dogs saw while sitting on their scrawny arses snapping their jaws at a passing mosquito. Us older kids sensed a bigger story. Sometimes we caught a snatch of conversation. Mrs. Watts was as mad as a goose. Mr. Watts was doing penance for an old crime. Or maybe it was the result of a bet. The sight represented a bit of uncertainty in our world, which in every other way knew only sameness. Mrs. Pop Eye held a blue parasol to shade herself from the sun. It was the only parasol in the whole of the island, so we heard. We didnt ask after all the black umbrellas we saw, let alone the question: what was the difference between these black umbrellas and the parasol? And not because we cared if we looked dumb, but because if you went too far with a question like that one, it could turn a rare thing into a commonplace thing. We loved that word--parasol--and we werent about to lose it just because of some dumb-arse question. Also, we knew, whoever asked that question would get a hiding, and serve them bloody right too. They didnt have any kids. Or if they did they were grown up and living somewhere else, maybe in America, or Australia or Great Britain. They had names. She was Grace and black like us. He was Tom Christian Watts and white as the whites of your eyes, only sicker. There are some English names on the headstones in the church graveyard. The doctor on the other side of the island had a full Anglo-Saxon name even though he was black like the rest of us. So, although we knew him as Pop Eye we used to say "Mr. Watts" because it was the only name like it left in our district. They lived alone in the ministers old house. You couldnt see it from the road. It used to be surrounded by grass, according to my mum. But after the minister died the authorities forgot about the mission and the lawnmower rusted. Soon the bush grew up around the house, and by the time I was born Mr. and Mrs. Pop Eye had sunk out of view of the world. The only times we saw them was when Pop Eye, looking like a tired old nag circling the well, pulled his wife along in the trolley. The trolley had bamboo rails. Mrs. Pop Eye rested her hands on these. o be a show-off you need an audience. But Mrs. Pop Eye didnt pay us any attention. We werent worthy of that. It was as if we didnt exist. Not that we cared. Mr. Watts interested us more. Because Pop Eye was the only white for miles around, little kids stared at him until their ice blocks melted over their black hands. Older kids sucked in their breath and knocked on his door to ask to do their "school project" on him. When the door opened some just froze and stared. I knew an older girl who was invited in; not everyone was. She said there were books everywhere. She asked him to talk about his life. She sat in a chair next to a glass of water he had poured for her, pencil in hand, notebook open. He said: "My dear, there has been a great deal of it. I expect more of the same." She wrote this down. She showed her teacher, who praised her initiative. She even brought it over to our house to show me and my mum, which is how I know about it. It wasnt just for the fact he was the last white man that made Pop Eye what he was to us--a source of mystery mainly, but also confirmation of something else we held to be true. We had grown up believing white to be the color of all the important things, like ice cream, aspirin, ribbon, the moon, the stars. White stars and a full moon were more important when my grandfather grew up than they are now that we have generators. When our ancestors saw the first white they thought they were looking at ghosts or maybe some people who had just fallen into bad luck. Dogs sat on their tails and opened their jaws to await the spectacle. The dogs thought they were in for a treat. Maybe these white people could jump backwards or somersault over trees. Maybe they had some spare food. Dogs always hope for that. The first white my grandfather saw was a shipwrecked yachtsman who asked him for a compass. My grandfather didnt know what a compass was, so he knew he didnt have one. I picture him clasping his hands at his back and smiling. He wouldnt want to appear dumb. The white man asked for a map. My grandfather didnt know what he was asking for, and so pointed down at the mans cut feet. My grandfather wondered how the sharks had missed that bait. The white man asked where he had washed up. At last my grandfather could help. He said it was an island. The white man asked if the island had a name. My grandfather replied with the word that means "island." When the man asked directions to the nearest shop my grandfather burst out laughing. He pointed up at a coconut tree and back over the whites shoulder whence he had come, meaning the bloody great ocean stocked with fish. I have always liked that story. Other than Pop Eye or Mr. Watts, and some Australian mine workers, Id seen few other living whites. The ones I had seen were in an old film. At school we were shown the visit by the duke of something or other many years before in nineteen-hundred-and-something. The camera kept staring at the duke and saying nothing. We watched the duke eat. The duke and the other whites wore mustaches and white trousers. They even wore buttoned-up jackets. They werent any good at sitting on the ground either. They kept rolling over onto their elbows. We all laughed--us kids--at the whites trying to sit on the ground as they would in a chair. They were handed pig trotters in banana leaves. One man in a helmet could be seen asking for something. We didnt know what until he was brought a piece of white cloth, which he used to wipe his mouth. We roared our heads off laughing. Mostly, though, I was watching out for my grandfather. He was one of the skinny kids marching by in bare feet and white singlets. My grandfather was the second to top kid kneeling in a human pyramid in front of the white men in helmets eating pig trotters. Our class was asked to write an essay on what we had seen, but I had no idea what it was about. I didnt understand the meaning of it so I wrote about my grandfather and the story he told of the shipwrecked white man he had found washed up like a starfish on the beach of his village, which in those days had no electricity or running water and didnt know Moscow from rum. Chapter Two WHAT I AM ABOUT TO TELL RESULTS, I think, from our ignorance of the outside world. My mum knew only what the last minister had told her in sermons and conversations. She knew her times tables and the names of some distant capitals. She had heard that man had been to the moon but was inclined not to believe such stories. She did not like boastfulness. She liked even less the thought that she might have been caught out, or made a fool of. She had never left Bougainville. On my eighth birthday I remember thinking to ask her how old she was. She quickly turned her face away from me, and for the first time in my life I realized I had embarrassed her. Her comeback was a question of her own. "How old do you think I am?" When I was eleven, my father flew off on a mining plane. Before that, though, he was invited to sit in a classroom and watch films about the country he was going to. There were films on pouring tea: the milk went in the cup first--though when you prepared your bowl of cornflakes the milk went in after. My mum says she and my father argued like roosters over that last one. Sometimes when I saw her sad I knew she would be thinking back to that argument. She would look up from whatever she was doing to say, "Perhaps I should have shut up. I was too stron Details ISBN0385341075 Author Lloyd Jones Short Title MISTER PIP Language English ISBN-10 0385341075 ISBN-13 9780385341073 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Year 2008 Audience Age 14-18 DOI 10.1604/9780385341073 Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2008-05-20 NZ Release Date 2008-05-20 US Release Date 2008-05-20 UK Release Date 2008-05-20 Pages 272 Publisher Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group Inc Publication Date 2008-05-20 Imprint Bantam Doubleday Dell Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:12647641;

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