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"In a sequel worthy of The Mouse and the Motorcycle and Runaway Ralph, the dauntless mouse Ralph goes to school....Cleary captures the essence of classroom bickering and the warm relationship between a good teacher and her students....The story is a deft blend of realism and fantasy, quietly and consistently funny, and occasionally touching...Again, bravo."—Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books.
Presents the further adventures of a motorcycle-riding mouse who goes to school and becomes the instigator of an investigation of rodents and the peacemaker for two lonely boys.
Henry Huggins, published in 1950, was an effort to represent kids like the ones in Yakima and like the ones in her childhood neighborhood in Oregon. The bunch from Klickitat Street live in modest houses in a quiet neighborhood, but they’re busy: busy with rambunctious dogs (one Ribsy, to be precise), paper routes, robot building, school, bicycle acquisitions, and other projects. Cleary was particularly sensitive to the boys from her library days who complained that they could find nothing of interest to read – and Ralph and the Motorcycle was inspired by her son, who in fourth grade said he wanted to read about motorcycles. Fifteen years after her Henry books, Cleary would concoct the delightful story of a boy who teaches Ralph to ride his red toy motorcycle.
Cleary’s best known character, however, is a girl: Ramona Quimby, the sometimes difficult but always entertaining little sister whom Cleary follows from kindergarten to fourth grade in a series of books. Ramona is a Henry Huggins neighbor who, with her sister, got her first proper introduction in Beezus and Ramona, adding a dimension of sibling dynamics to the adventures on Klickitat Street. Cleary’s stories, so simple and so true, deftly portrayed the exasperation and exuberance of being a kid. Finally, an author seemed to understand perfectly about bossy/pesty siblings, unfair teachers, playmate politics, the joys of clubhouses and the perils of sub-mattress monsters.
Cleary is one of the rare children’s authors who has been able to engage both boys and girls on their own terms, mostly through either Henry Huggins or Ramona and Beezus. She has not limited herself to those characters, though. In 1983, she won the Newbery Medal with Dear Mr. Henshaw, the story of a boy coping with his parents’ divorce, as told through his journal entries and correspondence with his favorite author. She has also written a few books for older girls (Fifteen, The Luckiest Girl, Sister of the Bride, and Jean and Johnny) mostly focusing on first love and family relationships. A set of books for beginning readers stars four-year-old twins Jimmy and Janet.
Some of Cleary’s books – particularly her titles for young adults – may seem somewhat alien to kids whose daily lives don’t feature soda fountains, bottles of ink, or even learning cursive. Still, the author’s stories and characters stand the test of time; and she nails the basic concerns of childhood and adolescence. Her books (particularly the more modern Ramona series, which touches on the repercussions of a father’s job loss and a mother’s return to work) remain relevant classics.
Cleary has said in an essay that she wrote her two autobiographical books, A Girl from Yamhill and My Own Two Feet, "because I wanted to tell young readers what life was like in safer, simpler, less-prosperous times, so different from today." She has conveyed that safer, simpler era -- still fraught with its own timeless concerns -- to children in her fiction as well, more than half a century after her first books were released.
Cleary usually starts her books on January 2.
Up until she was six, Cleary lived in Yamhill, Oregon -- a town so small it had no library. Cleary's mother took up the job of librarian, asking for books to be sent from the state branch and lending them out from a lodge room over a bank. It was, Clearly remembers, "a dingy room filled with shabby leather-covered chairs and smelling of stale cigar smoke. The books were shelved in a donated china cabinet. It was there I made the most magical discovery: There were books written especially for children!"
Cleary authored a series of tie-in books in the early 1960s for classic TV show Leave It to Beaver.
Cleary's books appear in over 20 countries in 14 languages.
Cleary's book The Luckiest Girl is based in part on her own young adulthood, when a cousin of her mother's offered to take Beverly for the summer and have her attend Chaffey Junior College in Ontario, California. Cleary went from there to the University of California at Berkeley.
The actress Sarah Polley got her start playing Ramona in the late ‘80s TV series. Says Cleary in a Q & A on her web site: “I won’t let go of the rights for television productions unless I have script approval. There have been companies that have wanted the movie rights to Ramona, but they won’t let me have script approval, and so I say no. I did have script approval for the television productions of the Ramona series…. I thought Sarah Polley was a good little actress, a real little professional.”
A Dark and Snowy Night
Night winds, moaning around corners and whistling through cracks, dashed snow against the windows of the Mountain View Inn. Inside, a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. The grandfather clock, as old and tired as the inn itself, marked the passing of time with a slow tick . . . tock ... that seemed to say,, "Wait ... ing, wait ... ing."
Everyone in the lobby was waiting-the desk clerk, the handyman, old Matt, who also carried guests' luggage to their rooms, Ryan Bramble, the son of the hotel's new housekeeper, and Ralph, the mouse who lived under the grandfather clock.
The desk clerk dozed, waiting for guests who did not arrive. Matt leaned against the wall to watch television while he waited for the desk clerk to close up for the night. Ryan, sitting on the floor to watch television, waited for his mother to tell him to go to bed because he had to go to school the next day. Ralph, crouched beside Ryan, waited for the adults to leave so be could bring out his mouse-sized motorcycle. Unfortunately, Ralph's little brothers, sisters, and cousins, biding in the woodpile and behind the curtains were also waiting.
On the television set, a sports car crashed into a truck, shot off a clif and burst into flames.
"Wow!" Without taking his eyes from the screen Ryan said "There's a boy at school named Brad Kirby, who would really like this movie. He has a BMX bicycle for motocross racing, and his father sometimes drives him to school in a tow truck." A police car followed the sports car over the cliff before Ryan added, "Brad isn't very friendly to me. He's sort of a loner."
Ralph was more interestedin television than in Ryan's problems. "If I had a sports car like that," he said, "I wouldn't let it run off a cliff." -
Ralph was an unusual mouse. He had listened to so many children and watched so much television that he had learned to talk. Not everyone could understand him. Those who could were lonely children who shared Ralph's interest in fast cars and motorcycles and who took the trouble to listen. Other children, if they happened to glimpse Ralph, said, "I saw a mouse that squeked funny".
Matt was the only adult who understood Ralph. "Yes, sir, that mouse is a mouse in a million," he often told himself.
Ralph knew there were not really a million mice in the inn, although he had to admit that in wintertime the mouseholes were crowded, because his rough outdoor relatives moved inside to keep warm. Ralph's mother said they were a rowdy bunch that set a bad example for the more civilized indoor mice.
While Ralph and Ryan were enjoying a commercial for a truck that could zigzag without over-turning, Matt strolled into a room called the Jumping Frog Lounge and returned with a handful of popcorn. He dropped one kernal in front of Ralph.
"Thanks," said Ralph, who enjoyed nibbling popcorn while watching television.
As the commercial ended, Mrs. Bramble entered the lobby. "Come on, my boy," she said to Ryan. "It's past your bedtime. You know the manager doesn't like you hanging around the lobby."
"Aw, Mom, just let me watch the end of the
program," pleaded Ryan. "I'll leave if any guests arrive."
At that moment, the rattle and crunch of a car with chains on its tires was heard. Ryan rose and walked backward out of the lobby so he wouldn't miss the high speed, siren-screeming chase on the television screen. As he left, he gave Ralph a little wave with his fingertips, a wave no on else would notice. Ralph wished Ryan could stay up all night like a mouse.
As the car stopped in front of the hotel and the desk clerk roused himself, Ralph scurried under the grandfather clock to the nest he had made from chewed-up Kleenex, a lost lift-ticket, and a few bits of carpet fringe he had nipped off when no one was looking. Beside his nest rested his two precious possessions: a little red motorcycle and a crash helmet made from half a ping-pong ball lined with thistle-down, gifts of a boy who had once stayed in the hotel.
Above Ralph the clock began to grind and groan and strike, bong ... bong, as if it had to summon strength for each stroke. Ralph dreaded the sound even though it was the reason he lived under the clock. The noise terrified his little relatives who thought the clock was out to get them. As long as they feared the clock, Ralph's motorcycle was safe.
The car door slammed. Feet stomped on the porch. When Matt opened the door to let two people blow into the lobby, a blast of freezing air sent Ralph's nest swirling around in bits. Never mind, thought Ralph peeking out at two pair of boots, the kind known as waffle stompers, which had thick treads that held snow.
"Do you have a room for the night?" the owner of the larger boots asked the desk clerk.
"H-mm, let's see," murmured the clerk who always behaved as if the hotel might be full even though he knew it was not.
Stop pretending, thought Ralph, who was tired of waiting.
"
Well. . . ." The desk clerk ended the suspense. I can let you have room 207. just fill out this card, please."
Ralph's keen ears heard the scratch of a pen and the rattle of a key. He winced when the clerk banged the bell on the desk for Matt, even though Matt was standing right there, waiting to carry the guests' bags.
"Never mind, said one of the guests to Matt. "We can find our room." The pair picked up their luggage and stepped into the elevator, leaving behind puddles of melted snow.
"Cheapskates," muttered Matt. Guests at this hotel often insisted on carrying luggage to avoid tipping him.
After the elevator door closed Ralph worried that the puddles might dry before he had the lobby to himself. Time dragged on. The man in the red vest who worked in the jumping Frog Lounge came out, yawned, and remarked that he might as well close for the night. The television station went off the air. The desk clerk locked the front door and left. If any more guests arrived, they would have to ring the night bell. Matt began to turn out the lights.
At last! Ralph threw his leg over his motorcycle, adjusted the rubber band that held his crash helmet in place, and grasped his tail so that it would not become tangled in his spokes. Then,because as everyone knows,a toy motorcycle moves when someone makes a noise like a motorcycle, Ralph took a deep breath, went Pb-b-b, b-b-b, and shot out from under the clock. Gradually he picked up speed and zoomed through a puddle. Wings of water .fanned out from -his wheels. It was a thrilling experience.
All of Ralph's little brothers, sisters, and cousins,, hoping Matt would not notice them in the dim light, popped out from their hiding places to watch. Of course,, Ralph had to show off. He took deeper breaths and rode faster, making puddles splash higher and leaving tiny tire tracks on the dry linoleum. Matt, who was banking the fire for the night, laid down the poker to enjoy the sight.
Unfortunately, the little relatives were not satisfied. Not now. Once Ralph's indoor relatives had been happy to have Ralph push them up and down the halls on his motorcycle, but this treat was not enough for his rowdy outdoor relatives.
Ralph S. Mouse. Copyright © by Beverly Cleary. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.Chapter One
A Dark and Snowy Night
Night winds, moaning around corners and whistling through cracks, dashed snow against the windows of the Mountain View Inn. Inside, a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. The grandfather clock, as old and tired as the inn itself, marked the passing of time with a slow tick . . . tock ... that seemed to say,, "Wait ... ing, wait ... ing."
Everyone in the lobby was waiting-the desk clerk, the handyman, old Matt, who also carried guests' luggage to their rooms, Ryan Bramble, the son of the hotel's new housekeeper, and Ralph, the mouse who lived under the grandfather clock.
The desk clerk dozed, waiting for guests who did not arrive. Matt leaned against the wall to watch television while he waited for the desk clerk to close up for the night. Ryan, sitting on the floor to watch television, waited for his mother to tell him to go to bed because he had to go to school the next day. Ralph, crouched beside Ryan, waited for the adults to leave so be could bring out his mouse-sized motorcycle. Unfortunately, Ralph's little brothers, sisters, and cousins, biding in the woodpile and behind the curtains were also waiting.
On the television set, a sports car crashed into a truck, shot off a clif and burst into flames.
"Wow!" Without taking his eyes from the screen Ryan said "There's a boy at school named Brad Kirby, who would really like this movie. He has a BMX bicycle for motocross racing, and his father sometimes drives him to school in a tow truck." A police car followed the sports car over the cliff before Ryan added, "Brad isn't very friendly to me. He's sort of a loner."
Ralph was more interested in television than in Ryan's problems. "If I had a sports car like that," he said, "I wouldn't let it run off a cliff." -
Ralph was an unusual mouse. He had listened to so many children and watched so much television that he had learned to talk. Not everyone could understand him. Those who could were lonely children who shared Ralph's interest in fast cars and motorcycles and who took the trouble to listen. Other children, if they happened to glimpse Ralph, said, "I saw a mouse that squeked funny".
Matt was the only adult who understood Ralph. "Yes, sir, that mouse is a mouse in a million," he often told himself.
Ralph knew there were not really a million mice in the inn, although he had to admit that in wintertime the mouseholes were crowded, because his rough outdoor relatives moved inside to keep warm. Ralph's mother said they were a rowdy bunch that set a bad example for the more civilized indoor mice.
While Ralph and Ryan were enjoying a commercial for a truck that could zigzag without over-turning, Matt strolled into a room called the Jumping Frog Lounge and returned with a handful of popcorn. He dropped one kernal in front of Ralph.
"Thanks," said Ralph, who enjoyed nibbling popcorn while watching television.
As the commercial ended, Mrs. Bramble entered the lobby. "Come on, my boy," she said to Ryan. "It's past your bedtime. You know the manager doesn't like you hanging around the lobby."
"Aw, Mom, just let me watch the end of the
program," pleaded Ryan. "I'll leave if any guests arrive."
At that moment, the rattle and crunch of a car with chains on its tires was heard. Ryan rose and walked backward out of the lobby so he wouldn't miss the high speed, siren-screeming chase on the television screen. As he left, he gave Ralph a little wave with his fingertips, a wave no on else would notice. Ralph wished Ryan could stay up all night like a mouse.
As the car stopped in front of the hotel and the desk clerk roused himself, Ralph scurried under the grandfather clock to the nest he had made from chewed-up Kleenex, a lost lift-ticket, and a few bits of carpet fringe he had nipped off when no one was looking. Beside his nest rested his two precious possessions: a little red motorcycle and a crash helmet made from half a ping-pong ball lined with thistle-down, gifts of a boy who had once stayed in the hotel.
Above Ralph the clock began to grind and groan and strike, bong ... bong, as if it had to summon strength for each stroke. Ralph dreaded the sound even though it was the reason he lived under the clock. The noise terrified his little relatives who thought the clock was out to get them. As long as they feared the clock, Ralph's motorcycle was safe.
The car door slammed. Feet stomped on the porch. When Matt opened the door to let two people blow into the lobby, a blast of freezing air sent Ralph's nest swirling around in bits. Never mind, thought Ralph peeking out at two pair of boots, the kind known as waffle stompers, which had thick treads that held snow.
"Do you have a room for the night?" the owner of the larger boots asked the desk clerk.
"H-mm, let's see," murmured the clerk who always behaved as if the hotel might be full even though he knew it was not.
Stop pretending, thought Ralph, who was tired of waiting.
"
Well. . . ." The desk clerk ended the suspense. I can let you have room 207. just fill out this card, please."
Ralph's keen ears heard the scratch of a pen and the rattle of a key. He winced when the clerk banged the bell on the desk for Matt, even though Matt was standing right there, waiting to carry the guests' bags.
"Never mind, said one of the guests to Matt. "We can find our room." The pair picked up their luggage and stepped into the elevator, leaving behind puddles of melted snow.
"Cheapskates," muttered Matt. Guests at this hotel often insisted on carrying luggage to avoid tipping him.
After the elevator door closed Ralph worried that the puddles might dry before he had the lobby to himself. Time dragged on. The man in the red vest who worked in the jumping Frog Lounge came out, yawned, and remarked that he might as well close for the night. The television station went off the air. The desk clerk locked the front door and left. If any more guests arrived, they would have to ring the night bell. Matt began to turn out the lights.
At last! Ralph threw his leg over his motorcycle, adjusted the rubber band that held his crash helmet in place, and grasped his tail so that it would not become tangled in his spokes. Then,because as everyone knows,a toy motorcycle moves when someone makes a noise like a motorcycle, Ralph took a deep breath, went Pb-b-b, b-b-b, and shot out from under the clock. Gradually he picked up speed and zoomed through a puddle. Wings of water .fanned out from -his wheels. It was a thrilling experience.
All of Ralph's little brothers, sisters, and cousins,, hoping Matt would not notice them in the dim light, popped out from their hiding places to watch. Of course,, Ralph had to show off. He took deeper breaths and rode faster, making puddles splash higher and leaving tiny tire tracks on the dry linoleum. Matt, who was banking the fire for the night, laid down the poker to enjoy the sight.
Unfortunately, the little relatives were not satisfied. Not now. Once Ralph's indoor relatives had been happy to have Ralph push them up and down the halls on his motorcycle, but this treat was not enough for his rowdy outdoor relatives.
Ralph S. Mouse. Copyright © by Beverly Cleary. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Overview
"In a sequel worthy of The Mouse and the Motorcycle and Runaway Ralph, the dauntless mouse Ralph goes to school....Cleary captures the essence of classroom bickering and the warm relationship between a good teacher and her students....The story is a deft blend of realism and fantasy, quietly and consistently funny, and occasionally touching...Again, bravo."—Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books.
Presents the further adventures of a motorcycle-riding mouse who goes to school and becomes the ...