Novel Ideas: Stuart Little. Illustrating an Event Activity. Most chapter books are written with very few to no illustrations. Visualizing the events of the story is left to . View PDF. book | Fiction | US → Harper and Row Publishers. UK → Puffin. Stuart Little is no ordinary mouse. Born to a family of humans he lives in New. The classic story by E. B. White, author of the Newbery Honor Book Charlotte's Web and Trumpet of the Swan, about one small mouse on a very big.
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Stuart Little by E. B. White; 42 editions; First published in ; Subjects: Accessible book, Voyages and travels in fiction, Children's stories. Mar eBooks Download Stuart Little (PDF, ePub, Mobi) by E. B. White Free Stuart Little Best Children Books, Childrens Books, Tween Books, Young . Stuart Little tells the surprising story of an extraordinary stories into a much bigger book and published Stuart Little, his first book for children. . tLittle_web. pdf.
However, the book kind of felt like White didn't really know what he was doing with it or where he was going with it. The first half of it consists of largely unrelated, episodic adventures aro Strange little book. The first half of it consists of largely unrelated, episodic adventures around New York, and then the second half develops a somewhat more cohesive plot as he embarks on his quest to find Margalo. Only barely more cohesive, though, as it too consists of a series of basically unrelated escapade along his journey.
And then it just ends. No, seriously. It's like White just stopped writing in the middle of the story.
We don't find out if Stuart finds Margalo, or anything about what happens to Margalo. We don't know how the Little family reacts to Stuart's departure, or if he ever makes it back. We just know he sets out on this quest, and that's it.
It really feels unfinished, and I actually checked to see if maybe he died in the middle of writing it or something, but no. It was written earlier than the other two books included in this volume, so I don't know. Maybe he got bored?
In any case, it's kind of bizarre. Also contributing to my sense that he didn't really know what he was doing with this story is the fact that, for the most part, aside from the fact that Stuart is a mouse born to a human family, everything is basically, well, reasonably plausible.
The things his father builds for him make sense, the fact that he wears doll clothes makes sense, and even his sailing of the model ship is conceivable. Someone could be crazy enough to build a model ship that is fully functional, to the point of being crewable if only you could find a crew small enough.
But then there's the little car. OK, there again, maybe you could be crazy enough to build a model car that actually runs on gasoline and everything. But this thing has an invisibility button. All of a sudden, this bit of complete outlandishness is just dropped into the story. Frederick C. The truth of the matter was, the baby looked very much like a mouse in every way.
Before he was many days old he was not only looking like a mouse but acting like one, too—wearing a gray hat and carrying a small cane. Little named him Stuart, and Mr. Little made him a tiny bed out of four clothespins and a cigarette box. Unlike most babies, Stuart could walk as soon as he was born.
When he was a week old he could climb lamps by shinnying up the cord. Little saw right away that the infant clothes she had provided were unsuitable, and she set to work and made him a fine little blue worsted suit with patch pockets in which he could keep his handkerchief, his money, and his keys. Every morning, before Stuart dressed, Mrs.
Little went into his room and weighed him on a small scale which was really meant for weighing letters. At birth Stuart could have been sent by first class mail for three cents, but his parents preferred to keep him rather than send him away; and when, at the age of a month, he had gained only a third of an ounce, his mother was so worried she sent for the doctor. The doctor was delighted with Stuart and said that it was very unusual for an American family to have a mouse.
Everything seemed to be all right, and Mrs. Little was pleased to get such a good report. The home of the Little family was a pleasant place near a park in New York City. In the mornings the sun streamed in through the east windows, and all the Littles were up early as a general rule.
Stuart was a great help to his parents, and to his older brother George, because of his small size and because he could do things that a mouse can do and was agreeable about doing them. One day when Mrs. Little was washing out the bathtub after Mr. Little had taken a bath, she lost a ring off her finger and was horrified to discover that it had fallen down the drain. If I were you, said George, I should bend a hairpin in the shape of a fishhook and tie it onto a piece of string and try to fish the ring out with it.
So Mrs. Little found a piece of string and a hairpin, and for about a half-hour she fished for the ring; but it was dark down the drain and the hook always seemed to catch on something before she could get it down to where the ring was.
How about it, Stuart, would you like to try?
So Stuart slipped into his old pants and prepared to go down the drain after the ring. He decided to carry the string along with him, leaving one end in charge of his father. When I jerk three times on the string, pull me up, he said. And while Mr. Little knelt in the tub, Stuart slid easily down the drain and was lost to view. In a minute or so, there came three quick jerks on the string, and Mr.
Little carefully hauled it up. There, at the end, was Stuart, with the ring safely around his neck.
How was it down there? Little, who was always curious to know about places he had never been to. Everybody in the family thought he had been awfully good about the whole thing. The Littles liked Ping-pong, but the balls had a way of rolling under chairs, sofas, and radiators, and this meant that the players were forever stooping down and reaching under things.
Stuart soon learned to chase balls, and it was a great sight to see him come out from under a hot radiator, pushing a Ping-pong ball with all his might, the perspiration rolling down his cheeks. The ball, of course, was almost as high as he was, and he had to throw his whole weight against it in order to keep it rolling.
But anyway, the key stuck, and was a great inconvenience to anyone trying to play the piano. It bothered George particularly when he was playing the Scarf Dance, which was rather lively.