GRAMMAR IS A GENTLE, SWEET SONG

Getting shipwrecked doesn’t have to be so bad.

Ten-year-old Jeanne and her older brother Thomas don’t get along, which isn’t much of a surprise. In fact, not much is a surprise as Orsenna (Love and Empire, 1991, etc.) begins here. Jeanne and Thomas seem just your average precocious and slightly pampered French children who happen to be on an ocean liner to America—until, that is, the liner sinks in a storm and the kids are swept up on a deserted shore. The first sign that something is out of the ordinary—that we’re not reading just the tale of two children surviving on a lonely island—comes when Thomas and Jeanne discover pages of a dictionary washing up on the beach (there was a Scrabble tournament on the boat), still impossibly legible after floating in the sea. Jeanne is delighted and starts snatching the pages up, thinking she’d like to cover her body in them: “They would have caressed and soothed me in the unobtrusive, slightly unsettling way that words have.” The island turns out hardly to be deserted. A kindly older man named Monsieur Henri swiftly appears and takes the little survivors on a tour of a place more than a little magical and quite definitely metaphoric. Here, words are free, not imprisoned by and always waiting on people. Instead, they’re living tribes that occasionally have dealings with each other, sometimes even getting married to words from different tribes. All this isn’t just fantasy and fun, since Orsenna has some grammar lessons to teach the young readers who are presumably his targeted audience. But in this tiny French bestseller (260,000 copies sold so far, we’re told), he imparts the lessons delightfully, making examples of things like the nouns and articles (they’re always together) who go shopping in stores run by adjectives, since the adjectives help the nouns and articles feel less cold and naked.

A slim little surprise of delightful whimsy: Umberto Eco would definitely approve.