About Amos

“One night, in a phosphorescent sea, he marveled at the sight of some whale spouting luminous water; and later lying on the deck of his boat gazing at the immense, starry sky, the tiny mouse Amos, a little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe, felt thoroughly akin to it all.  Overwhelmed by the beauty and mystery of everything, he rolled over and over and right off the deck of his boat and into the sea.”Amos & Boris, by William Steig

I’ve heard this passage 12 times in the past four days.  

From an eight-year-old’s mouth, phosphorescent is quite the thing.  Try luminous.  Unexpectedly, along comes akin.  And the most troublesome pronunciation?  Amos.

This passage, from William Steig’s picture book Amos & Boris, is part of the third grade language arts curriculum that requires students to re-read a passage aloud for fluency.  In these hybrid days of in-school/home-school, I happen to be the teacher on duty when it comes time for fluency practice.

And so, in my days, Amos tumbles overboard, over and over again.

On the first read, I marvel at the difficulty of the words for an eight-year-old.  On the second read, I wonder if she understands the word’s meanings?On the third read, I get hung up on Amos, “a little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe.”

It takes me four days of 12 repetitions to be overwhelmed by the beauty and mystery of Amos.

In home-school, we Google “phosphorescent sea.”   We click the images tab, scroll the results.  We oooohhh and aaaaahhh over night seas strung with aquatic twinkle lights. I hear the passage again, and this time imagine the whale spout, lit like some neon tube perpendicular to the ocean’s horizon. We define akin.  A kin.  A kindred spirit.  Connected in neon DNA ladder rungs to the luminous, unexpected life around.

Amos floats on some manmade contraption, so unremarkable in this scene of phosphorescent sparkle that it’s not described beyond one solid, dependable noun: boat.

That mouse, such a wee speck, sandwiched between stars in the sky above and stars in the seas below.

On one hand, Amos felt “thoroughly akin to it all.”  At home in his own skin, one with the whale and the stars and the phosphorescent plankton filling my daughter’s mouth with syllables.

On the other hand, Amos was “overwhelmed by the beauty and mystery of everything.”

I don’t think Amos could Google to demystify phosphorescent seas and luminous spouts and kinship.  I imagine he could pronounce his own name correctly, but otherwise, I understand the overwhelming marvel of his position.

Rather than anchor Amos to the boat for existential security, William Steig uses mystery to spur Amos into action.

Voluntarily or involuntarily?  I’m not sure which, even after 12 readings, but one way or another, Amos “rolled over and over and right off the deck of his boat and into the sea.”

The end.  Or, at least, the end of the assigned fluency passage.  12 times in four days, it’s a hard stop at that splash.  What does William Steig do next with his be-wondered protagonist?  Flounder or flourish? 12 repetitions and four days later, my imagination has not stopped tumbling over that question.

Being forced to listen to this passage so many times, I’m stuck on that darn, dripping wet mouse.  A mouse whose marvel propels him to participate more fully with the mystery of everything.  

This is how I currently imagine Amos: doused in the sea, covered now in phosphorescent goo, an intrepid, glowing tail lifted parallel to the luminous whale spout in the background.  Amos paddles or sails or swims or floats or sinks or whatever verb a mammal akin to the universe can manage in the ocean.

I am just a Beth.  A little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe.  Do I feel so drawn into kinship with the phosphorescence around me that I’m plunged into wonder?  What tumbles me over and over and right off the deck of predictable security?  If I hold my breath, will I bob to the surface more luminous?

Today, I’ll read the passage a thirteenth time and report back on my conclusion.

One Comment

  1. Jo said:

    I had the same concern, niggling unanswered question about little Amos rolling into the ocean. I had to force my brain to leave him there while I traveled with you through phosphorescence and luminous. I am anxiously awaiting your return!

    October 4, 2020
    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *