The Gilded Bat

"Maudie was only five when she was discovered gazing at a dead bird by Madame Trepidovska.

Madame, once assoluta at the Maryinsky, informed the Splaytoes that the child was to be her pupil.

Long years of study began at her ballet school above a row of shops.

Maudie first came before the public as a sparrow in Bain d'Oiseaux, devised by Madame to display her students' abilities.

Her life was rather monotonous.

She became aware of what real ballet was when Madame took her to one of Solepsiskaya's innumerable farewell performances."

--from The Gilded Bat, by Edward Gorey

Yesterday, I received my used, out-of-print copy of Edward Gorey's The Gilded Bat, the story of the ballerina Mirella Splatova (née Maudie Splaytoes). I scanned four photos (including the cover), which you may view here. Splatova's life is "somewhat dreary" and "fairly tedious." However, her costumes are spectacular, and she ends up becoming "the reigning ballerina of the age." Gorey himself makes an appearance as Baron de Zabrus. You can also spot him here in the opening credits to the television series Mystery!* Gorey is the man with the big beard and fur coat. Oh, and here's another set of opening credits.

In other news, I've adopted a virtual bat:

adopt your own virtual pet!

Note to Bede: this is still a good idea for a present.


Thanks to The Dark Blonde for the bat pet link.

*I was never a Mystery! fan, but I used to stay in the room just for the opening credits.

Day of the Bat

A bat is born,
Naked and blind and pale
His mother makes a pocket of her tail
And catches him. He clings
to her long fur
By his thumbs and toes and teeth.
And then the mother dances through the night
Doubling and looping,
Soaring, somersaulting-
Her baby hangs on
underneath.
All night, in happiness,
She hunts and flies.
Her high sharp cries
Like shining needlepoints of sound
Go out into the night and
echoing back,
Tell her what they have touched.
She hears how far it is,
how big it is,
which way it's going:
She lives by hearing.
--from The Bat Poet, by Randall Jarrell, illustrated by Maurice Sendak

In college, my children's literature professor told me, "Of course you like The Bat Poet. That's a book usually only children's librarians like." The basic premise is this: a little brown bat discovers that daylight reveals a completely different, totally fascinating world. He tries to get his fellow bats to stay awake with him, but they refuse. As the bat continues to "stay up" during the day, he meets an assortment of creatures, including a chipmunk who's a great listener, and a self-absorbed mockingbird who claims to have the corner-market on the correct forms of poetry.

While the story intrigued me, it was Sendak's illustrations that catapaulted me into my fascination with bats. I like their looks, the elegant silhouettes of the different wing-spans, the way their wings are actually their hands. At one point in time, I could fill your head with all sorts of facts about bats, where they showed up in folklore, as well as their prevalence in popular culture. You could get me fuming by dismissing bats as "rabid animals that fly into your hair." Hey, there are more people bitten by rabid cats, dogs, squirrels and raccoons. Everyone thinks they're cute.

I bring this subject up now because a new non-fiction children's book about bats was published a few months ago, and I want to read it. It's called Little Lost Bat, by Sandra Markle, illustrated by Alan Marks. If you get to it before I do, let me know what you think.

By the way, in China, bats are representative of happiness and good fortune. You've probably seen some version of the five bats (Longevity, Wealth, Health, Love and a Natural Death at a Ripe Age:



I still collect folktales about bats. One of my favorite ones comes from Cote d'Ivoire. To be continued...

Pipistrella

Earlier in the week, Lucia said she wanted a party where there would be vanilla cake and chocolate frosting. I checked the calendar for a good date, and lo and behold, tomorrow is the feast day of Mary Magdalene. If you're in town, and you actually know the House of Glee (blogging counts), come by our house around 4 pm for a barbecue. Bring meat. There will be cake.

In other news, yesterday evening, Bede and I had a date-night, and I bought a new guitar:



It's a Hohner HW-300, and it has a smaller fretboard than my first guitar. Of all the guitars I tried out, including the higher-end ones, the Hohner seemed right for me for my current skill-level. The guitar seller acknowledged that it was a good first or second guitar, and I assured him that when I turned 40, I would go for the big ticket item. In six years' time, I hope to be pretty good.

Here is the guitar case (purchased originally for my first guitar):


Note the "q" on the tag. Ask me what the "q" stands for. Please, ask me!

(It stands for "queen.")

I've given my guitar a name, too: Pipistrella. In Italian, "pipistrello" is the word for bat. Now you know one of my secrets: I love bats. The reason it's a secret is not because I'm embarassed about bats, but because when people find out I like bats, they give me ugly bat-related items. Please don't give me bat-related items, unless the bats are really, really cute.

And now, I'm off to play "Leatherwing Bat" on Pipistrella. I shall use my red capo.