Miss Rumphius

Sorry to give the ending away, but that's acceptable with children's books, isn't it? I mean, you read them thousands of times, anyway, so it isn't like there are surprises, at least not after a while.

The eponymous Miss Rumphius travels around the world, lives by the sea, and does something (plants lupines) to make the world more beautiful.

It's the sweetest, most inspiring story--Miss Rumphius's grandfather teaches her this three-fold human duty; Miss Rumphius passes the lesson on to our narrator, her great niece. And isn't this a common human goal--to travel the world, live by the sea, and most importantly to make the world more beautiful?

But there's something that drives me nuts about this book. (Ok, ok, I'm also charmed by this and every Barbara Cooney book.)

Before Miss Rumphius travels the world, lives by the sea, and then makes the world more beautiful, she is a librarian, which in Cooney's telling doesn't do any of these things. Why are Miss Rumphius' adventures in living so separate from making the world more beautiful? Why couldn't she make the world more beautiful where she was? (In the words of that horrible cliche, bloom where you're planted.) Why couldn't her service as a librarian be a contribution to the world, a work of citizenship that improves her place? But no, as a librarian she's just dreaming of the tropical islands she'll visit.

Also, why does making the world more beautiful have to be such a grand gesture--planting lupine everywhere, so that they took over? (In fact, lupines are classified as an invasive species in Maine. They seem to take over, replacing the natural growth.) Wouldn't it be better highlight the good in small interpersonal actions?

In fact, this is the redeeming part of the book--Miss Rumphius teaching her great-niece, just as her grandfather taught her, to care for the world; this inter-generational lesson is what really makes the world a more beautiful place.