Shiny New Books


It’s that time again — time for another issue of Shiny New Books, filled with glorious temptation.

This time around, I contributed a review of two Astrid Lindgren reissues: Seacrow Island and Mio My Son, both from the New York Review Children’s Collection. These lesser-known classics from the author of Pippi Longstocking deserve a second look. Please visit SNB to learn why I loved them so much, and have a look round while you’re there. You’re sure to find something you’ll want to read next.



Once Upon a Time: The Valley of Song

Elizabeth Goudge, The Valley of Song (1951)

Many classic children’s fantasies involve finding a hidden country through a secret door, a theme that is connected with the mysterious land we enter during sleep, before birth and after death. From Wonderland to the country at the back of the North Wind to Oz to Narnia, these realms have captured readers’ hearts and imaginations in our modern, secularized age. They provide a method of transcending the barriers of formalized religion by exploring archetypal and mythic experiences in a fresh and individual way.

In The Valley of Song, the discovery and exploration of such a country is almost the sole subject of the book. Ten-year-old Tabitha, one of Goudge’s characteristically naughty but loveable child characters, has found the way into a wonderful land she calls the Valley of Song. When she brings some of her favorite adults in as well, she learns more about its nature and purpose, as the “Workshop” of the earthly kingdom and the gateway to the heavenly kingdom beyond.

Although there’s a thin thread of plot to carry the narrative — a quest to build “the most beautiful ship ever made,” using materials from the magical Valley — there’s little tension or conflict, and certainly no tremendous battles against the externalized forces of evil. Tabitha experiences some mild discomfort and one struggle to conquer her own self-interest, but mainly she journeys from wonder to wonder, rejoicing along with the creatures of the Valley at the beauty and goodness that flow from their Creator, and feeling the blessing of the Great Ones who watch over human lives.

The Peaceable Kingdom, Edward Hicks

If this makes it sound like a religious book, it is — but without being the least bit narrow or dogmatic. It bears a strong resemblance to the works of George MacDonald, which come out of a similar impulse to express the inexpressible through numinous images. Goudge’s writing in this particular book is not strong enough to reach the poetic quality of her great predecessor; too many things are merely labeled as “beautiful” or “lovely” or “wonderful,” weak adjectives that take away from our sense of actually beholding what she’s trying to describe. As an adult reader I also found some passages almost too whimsical, though Goudge is guiltless of the twee insincerity that makes such writing truly unbearable.

Instead, her gift of touching fictional people and places with reality serves to make us care about the little shipbuilding town from a bygone day, and the myriad characters, young and old, human and animal, who inhabit it. There are also passages of grandeur and true beauty, and suffusing the whole book is the power of love, love for the earth and for all that dwell therein, and for the Lord of Life, whose work we participate in when we ourselves are creative.

In her autobiography, The Joy of the Snow, Goudge herself identified this as one of the three of her own books that she truly loved, and having read it I now understand why. Into it she poured all the longings of her heart — for redemption, harmony, and participation in that joyful song that underlies all being. Readers of any age who share this longing will find delight in visiting the Valley of Song.

I’m counting The Valley of Song for the Fantasy category of the Once Upon a Time Challenge, Quest the Second.


Elizabeth Goudge Reading Week: A Visit to Torminster (with Giveaway!)

One of my favorite fictional places to visit is Torminster, Elizabeth Goudge’s version of her birthplace, Wells in Somerset. It’s like Barchester without the cynicism, or Cranford with a poetic and mystical touch. Centered around the Close that surrounds its beautiful cathedral, populated by an enchanting set of characters young and old, saintly and not-so, and most importantly possessing a really good bookshop, it’s a place I’m almost afraid to visit in real life lest it lose some of its charm.

Though she wrote them just before and during the Second World War, Goudge set these books in the early years of the twentieth century, the time of her own childhood. It was a placid, sleepy town at the time, removed from the worst ravages of industrialization. As such it offered her contemporary readers a welcome respite from the devastation of war, and for us provides a nostalgic trip back into a vanished world.

That’s not to say that there is no struggle or conflict to be found in Torminster, only that it’s more of an inner rather than an outer nature. In the first book, A City of Bells, young Henrietta has been taken in by Canon Fordyce and his wife as a companion to their irrepressible grandson Hugh Anthony. She loves her new home, but she is haunted by the memory of a mysterious poet who briefly lived nearby. As she and her adopted family search for answers to his disappearance and possible death, their lives are transformed in unexpected ways.

Seemingly responding to requests for more about Henrietta, Goudge wrote two more lovely books about Torminster for a younger audience: Henrietta’s House and Sister of the Angels. Both have been out of print and hard to find for years, but now the wonderful folks at Girls Gone By have reprinted them for us to enjoy. And I’m delighted to announce that they are offering a giveaway for EGRW readers: a copy of each book will go to one lucky winner. Please be sure to enter using the Rafflecopter widget below.

In Henrietta’s House, our Torminster friends set out on a picnic in honor of Hugh Anthony’s birthday, and each finds an adventure suitable to his or her nature. (Diana Wynne Jones fans may recall that this is one of the books Polly read and loved in Fire and Hemlock, which alone should recommend it to you.) It’s a charming modern-day fairy tale with something for everyone: humor, beauty, romance, danger, and even the appearance (and disappearance) of an early motor car.

Sister of the Angels, written first but concerning a slightly older Henrietta, is a shorter tale in which we get to spend more time in the Cathedral and its environs. Subtitled “A Christmas Story,” it gives us a glimpse into Henrietta’s future as an artist, and explores again the intersection of art, faith, and love that is so characteristic of Goudge’s writing.

The paperbacks from Girls Gone By are a quality production, printed in the UK and incorporating the original illustrations. Each book includes a different introduction by publisher Clarissa Cridland, which provide photos of some of the relevant sites in Wells, along with an excellent bibliography, a biography of Elizabeth Goudge, and (in Henrietta’s House) a synopsis of A City of Bells. All these extras make them even more tempting, and the care that has gone into their production speaks of how cherished they are by Goudge fans.

I’m so glad that the way to Torminster is open once more, and hope that you will want to make a journey there soon.

Congratulations to the winner, Cleo of Classical Carousel!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Review and giveaway copy source: Personal collection (A City of Bells); Paperbacks from publisher (Henrietta’s House and Sister of the Angels). No other compensation was received, and all opinions expressed are my own.

Battle of the Books

The School Library Journal Battle of the Books is nearly over! One of the things I enjoy about this tournament-style contest is that rather than being handed a winner by some group of more or less anonymous judges, we get to read their responses in detail, with some very individual and sometimes controversial reasoning behind the choices. It was much more interesting for me this time since I had actually managed to read more than half of the books.

Would I
do this again next year? I’m not sure, because it made me cram a lot of
“required” reading into a short time, crowding out other books I wanted or needed to read. But I’m
not sorry I made the effort this year. If you have read any of these, please let me know your thoughts in the comments.

Here are my play-by-play reactions:

Round One
Match 1: Brown Girl Dreaming vs. Children of the King
Winner: Brown Girl Dreaming
I’m in the middle of listening to the audiobook of Brown Girl Dreaming, and even though I’m not a huge fan of the free verse format, Woodson’s child’s-eye view of growing up during the civil rights movement is moving and eloquent. Hearing the author read her own book gives it an especially personal touch. Children of the King was a good and interesting read, but didn’t quite succeed in making history come alive in the same way.

Match 2: The Crossover vs. Egg and Spoon
Winner: Egg and Spoon
One of the few brackets in which I finished both contenders, and I would have chosen differently. For me, Egg and Spoon started well (with a particularly fun rendition of Baba Yaga) but faltered at the end. On the other hand, I was dubious about The Crossover but liked it more and more as I read — it was funny and inventive and emotionally engaging, and the characters became real for me. I hope it got votes in the Undead poll!

Match 3: El Deafo vs. The Family Romanov
Winner: El Deafo
I agree with the judge here. The Family Romanov is fine narrative non-fiction, but El Deafo is unique, an excellent use of the graphic-narrative form to express the protagonist’s experience of deafness (empty speech bubbles, fading words) as well as a universally relevant story of the trials and traumas of childhood.

Match 4: Grasshopper Jungle vs. The Key That Swallowed Joey Pigza
Winner: The Key That Swallowed Joey Pigza
I didn’t read either of these; I would get nightmares from reading a book about giant grasshoppers destroying the world, and I started Joey Pigza but found the middle-grade gross-out style of humor unappealing — not realizing that it’s actually a hard-hitting portrait of mental illness and child neglect. I might look into the series again some time but would probably not start with this one.

Match 5: The Madman of Piney Woods vs. Poisoned Apples
Winner: The Madman of Piney Woods
I didn’t read Poisoned Apples; a poem or two using fairy tale metaphors to explore issues of teen body image could be fine, but a whole book? The commentators confirmed my fear that this could get repetitive and boring. I enjoyed The Madman of Piney Woods, and like judge G. Neri I “grew fond of the characters and the place,” though something about the arc of the story didn’t quite work for me. It’s worthy to move on, but there are stronger books in the battle.

Match 6: The Port Chicago 50 vs. The Story of Owen
Winner: The Port Chicago 50
I adored the premise of The Story of Owen — teenagers fighting dragons in a modern-day Canadian town — but although the characters and setting were well-developed and believable, the plot was lacking in narrative tension and I lost interest before the end, which is why I have yet to finish it (though I would like to). The Port Chicago 50, on the other hand, I read straight through, finding it a lucid and compelling story that illuminated an important but overlooked historical incident, as well as how far we still have to go toward racial equality. The commentary by judge Rachel Hartman was especially thoughtful on this one.

Match 7: This One Summer vs. A Volcano Beneath the Snow
Winner: This One Summer
I don’t read many graphic novels, but This One Summer was an impressive example of storytelling through a visual medium. I wouldn’t consider it a children’s book, but I guess I’m in the minority with that opinion. My history education being quite spotty, I was grateful that A Volcano Beneath the Snow filled in many of the blanks in my knowledge around the abolitionist movement and the Civil War, but I can understand it not beating This One Summer; the latter is simply the more striking book. (Added points for the humorous style adopted by the judge here.)

Match 8: We Were Liars vs. West of the Moon
Winner: West of the Moon
We Were Liars sounded as though it had an extremely annoying writing style, and I’m also not enamored of books that depend on a twist no one is allowed to reveal, so I skipped it. West of the Moon had great potential — I love the idea of weaving Norse folklore into a real-life story. But the story was so frantically paced and packed with brief, melodramatic incidents that it made me feel tired before I got to the end. Still, I’m glad it won this round.

Winners in Round Two:
Brown Girl Dreaming, El Deafo, the Port Chicago 50, West of the Moon
These were pretty easy to predict. The first three were shoe-ins (I thought). The fourth was more iffy, and I was slightly surprised by the outcome. Although I didn’t much like either This One Summer or West of the Moon, I thought Summer was the more impressive book. Will it come back in the final round?

Winners in Round Three:
El Deafo, The Port Chicago 50
This is where things got really heart-breaking. Brown Girl Dreaming against El Deafo? Nooooo! Still, one book had to be the winner, and El Deafo continued its unstoppable march to the podium. The other round didn’t move me so much: worthy but conventional non-fiction vs. genre-bending but problematic fiction. Which to choose? I thought The Port Chicago 50 did a better job at what it set out to do, which is exactly how judge Marcus Sedgwick put it.

The winner of the “Undead Poll” will be revealed on Monday, and the final battle will take place the following day. May the best book win!

New Release Review: Echo

Pam Munoz Ryan, Echo (Scholastic, 2015)


Echo takes an unlikely candidate for bearing mysterious, magical powers of healing and protection — a harmonica — and weaves a surprisingly compelling tale around this humble instrument. This middle-grade novel tells three stories of young people during the years surrounding the Second World War, with music as the thread that inspires, sustains, and ultimately connects them. As the harmonica passes through the lives of Friedrich in Germany, Michael in Pennsylvania, and Ivy in California, it changes their lives in unexpected ways, though revelation of the ultimate results for good or ill is left till the very end.

I enjoyed the details of how the harmonica played a role in each story. Who knew there was a golden age of harmonica bands, or that these small pieces of wood and metal really saved lives in the war? Other bits of historical fact, like the fight against the unjust segregation of Mexican-Americans in California schools, are incorporated gracefully as well. Though I found Echo to suffer from a certain amount of oversimplification and stereotyping, featuring as it does an abundance of cartoon Nazis, plucky orphans, and deserving immigrants, there are also vividly drawn and memorable characters to take into one’s heart, as well as a moving plea for the vital importance of music in human life. Certainly, I will never look at a harmonica in the same way again.

I found it sometimes frustrating to be pulled out of one story into another just at a crucial moment, and would peek at the end to make sure everything was going to turn out all right. (Not very surprising spoiler: it does.) The closing pages wrap everything up neatly, and rather too quickly for all that has gone before. It would have felt more balanced if the final section had been given more weight, rather than resolving all the narrative tension in a few hasty flashbacks.

At nearly 600 pages, this looks like a formidable chunk of a book, but appearances are deceiving. I really don’t understand why publishers sometimes choose to set the type of middle-grade books at nearly easy-reader proportions, but I wish this wasteful and misleading practice would stop. In this case, don’t be intimidated by the page count; Echo will quickly pull you in to its tale of music, courage, and hope.


Publisher Spotlight: David R. Godine

Today, when giant mega-conglomeration is the rule in publishing (as in so much else), it’s heartening to find that some independent publishers still continue to foster the individual spirit in the face of the pressures of mass production.

One of these — perhaps one of the best — happens to be just around the corner from me: David R. Godine, Publisher, operating out of offices in Boston and Jaffrey, NH. I’ve been a fan of this house since my high school days, which is when I first began to order and pore over publishers’ catalogs. High standards of design and production have always been a Godine hallmark, and surely played a role in shaping my taste for beautiful books and my late-blooming interest in graphic design.

Godine started out in 1970 printing letterpress, limited-edition books in an old barn in Brookline, Massachusetts. Though that endeavor grew and expanded into a more conventional publishing house, it has remained idiosyncratic and individual in its vision. I can’t say it better than the Godine website:

The list is deliberately eclectic and features works that many other publishers can’t or won’t support, books that won’t necessarily become bestsellers but that still deserve publication. In a world of spin-offs and commercial ‘product,’ Godine’s list stands apart by offering original fiction and non-fiction of the highest rank, rediscovered
masterworks, translations of outstanding world literature, poetry, art, photography, and beautifully designed books for children.


The Godine books I have acquired over the years are well-loved favorites, including The Chronicles of Pantouflia, a lost classic by Andrew Lang, editor of the Rainbow Fairy Books; an exquisite illustrated edition of Anne of Green Gables; and The Alphabet Abcedarium by Richard Firmage, a fascinating history of the alphabet as well as a gorgeous gallery of typography. All of these are sadly out of print, but the current Godine list includes many new and rediscovered treasures that are well worth a look. They were kind enough to send me a couple of titles from their current children’s list, both of which which represent their dedication to publishing uncommon and one-of-a-kind works in beautiful, lasting editions.

One of these is The Adventures of Uncle Lubin, a nonsense tale from the Edwardian age, with exuberant, fantastical illustrations by W. Heath Robinson. As the oddly garbed Uncle searches for young Peter, who has been stolen away by a wicked Bag-bird, his adventures over land and sea, and even into outer space, are told with a deadpan humor that will tickle young children. Meanwhile, the ornate, detailed Art Nouveau illustrations with their masterfully sinuous lines can be pored over for hours. The playful interaction of text and images is part of the fun, and this edition painstakingly recreates the typesetting of the original.

A very different aesthetic is displayed by a thoroughly modern picture book, The Lonely Typewriter, written by Peter Ackerman and illustrated by Max Dalton. Poor Pablo has to write a paper on penguins, but the computer is broken. What will he do? His mom’s typewriter, that has been stashed in the attic for years, comes to the rescue! An alliterative text and quirky color-block pictures will capture the interest of young readers, and very possibly pique their interest in antiquated office machines.

I hope that I have piqued your interest as well, and that the next time you’re browsing in a bookstore or library you’ll look for that DRG calligraphy on the spine or title page. It’s a sure sign of quality.

Review copy source: Finished books from publisher

Sampling the Cybils

When award decisions come up, I have seldom read enough of the nominees to have an opinion about the worthiness of the winner. This year, I decided to read the finalists in the Middle Grade Speculative Fiction category of the Children’s and Young Adult Book Bloggers’ Literary Awards (aka the Cybils), which looked like a lovely assortment to spend some time with.

With one exception, I enjoyed all of these books very much, and wouldn’t have been sorry to see any of them the winner. The swashbuckling space battle of The Jupiter Pirates: Hunt for the Hydra and the heart-warming squirrel epic Nuts to You were two very different tales of adventure that both left me with a smile on my face. With Greenglass House I was drawn into a new and fascinating world of smugglers, stained glass, and a mysterious inn and its inhabitants; at the end I didn’t want to leave. The Castle Behind Thorns had another large, mystery-haunted structure at its heart, in the midst of an enchanting fairy tale woven around themes of mending and forgiveness. Boys of Blur, a supernatural thriller set in the Florida sugarcane fields, was impressive for its taut storytelling, vividly described setting, and memorable characters.

Of the finalists, perhaps my favorite (though Greenglass House and The Castle Behind Thorns were not far behind) was The Swallow, a spooky yet touching story that concerned two families with some painful secrets they need to accept, and two girls whose friendship has the potential to bring healing to both of them. I’m not usually a fan of the “paranormal” genre, but this twist on the “girl who can see ghosts” tale was not about giving readers gratuitous and ultimately unsatisfying thrills, but about expanding our awareness in order to become more open toward and accepting of ourselves and others.

The one book I didn’t finish, The Luck Uglies, a series opener set in an imaginary city threatened by slavering monsters, had nothing really wrong with it; it just failed to capture my interest after 100 pages. I have to confess that it surprised me that this was the book that won the award! Different readers have different tastes, clearly, and mine are different from those of the award committee.

In general, though, I believe the committee has succeeded admirably in recognizing books that “combine the highest literary merit and popular appeal.” Funny, imaginative, lyrical, suspenseful — these seven books have it all, and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend them to readers young and old.

Review copy sources: Library/purchased

Beautiful Books: Pinocchio

Carlo Collodi, Pinocchio (1883; Limited Editions Club, 1937)

Growing up, I was lucky to have a few books illustrated by Richard Floethe: Ballet Shoes and Circus Shoes by Noel Streatfeild, as well as Pinocchio. Floethe’s strong, minimalist images were very striking to me, with their clean lines and simple shapes. Like many who develop a relationship to an illustrator in childhood, it’s hard for me to see these books illustrated in any other way.


Richard Floethe was a German-born, Bauhaus-influenced artist who studied with Kandinsky and Klee. After moving to New York city in 1928, he worked in advertising and as a freelance illustrator and portrait painter. The commission to illustrate Pinocchio for the Limited Editions Club came when he was only 36 years old.



The linocut technique (a modern variant of woodcut printing) was fairly new at the time, and Floethe employs it masterfully. Areas of color are beautifully composed and complemented with the negative white space to create lively but perfectly balanced images.


Pinocchio is often a dark and even frightening tale, and some of the images are slightly disturbing, as when poor silly Pinocchio burns his feet off in the fire. . .


. . . or starts to turn into a donkey.



But in the end Floethe’s jaunty puppet comes through all his adventures unscathed, still in his cheerful outfit of blue, coral and brown. These images will always be “Pinocchio” to me: amusing, stylish, and slightly abstract.


There are two editions available: the original Limited Editions Club publication, limited to 1500 copies and signed by the artist, and the lower-priced, mass market Heritage Press edition. The HP version has much thinner paper, is missing a few illustrations, and most importantly the colors are not as bright and distinct. But if you can find a copy in good condition, it’s still a good alternative to the higher-priced LEC edition.
In whatever form you view them, I hope you’ll agree that Floethe’s pictures are a very fine artistic approach to Collodi’s classic tale.
Image source: eBay
Be sure to visit the Pinocchio readalong and Children’s Literature Event at Simpler Pastimes.

More of Richard Floethe’s very interesting and diverse work can be viewed in this gallery.


The Immortality of Love: Little Women

Louisa May Alcott, Little Women (1868-9)


What makes Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women immortal, when as a nineteenth-century moral story for the young it should properly have been forgotten long ago? A portion of the reading population might like to forget it, as Elaine Showalter points out in her illuminating introduction to my Penguin Classics edition: “in male literature. . . Little Women stands as a code term for sentimentality and female piety. . . . In a typically dismissive critical judgment of the 1950s, Edward Wagenknecht declared that Little Women ‘needs — and is susceptible of — little analysis.’ ” Yet it is still read and loved, at a time when the mores of American society have changed almost beyond recognition from those of Alcott’s day. Clearly, more is at work here than mere “sentimentality and female piety.”

As a child, I was simply entranced by the adventures of those four wonderfully realized characters, Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy. When Alcott decided to draw on her own life to create the moral tale her publisher requested, she feared the result would be dull. The reverse was the case, as the homely details of family life are what lend the story its irresistible charm and vitality. Who can forget Jo selling her hair, Amy bringing forbidden pickled limes to school, Meg succumbing to the temptation to dress up in “frills and furbelows,” or Beth’s joyful reaction to the gift of a piano? The girls’ idiosyncrasies and foibles are described with a wry humor that saves the narrative from becoming overly sweet, and their relationships with one another are spiced with realistic quarrels and quirks as well as love and tenderness.

When I went back to Little Women as an adult, I did find the moralizing aspect to intrude somewhat, but not as much as one might expect. With her unfailing perception and equanimity, Marmee is an idealized quasi-divine mother figure whose words of wisdom bring each episode to neat closure, especially in the first half of the book, which explicitly takes its theme and direction from the Christian precepts of The Pilgrim’s Progress. Yet the undogmatic, sensible nature of most of these lessons saves them from being only examples of that dreaded “female piety.” The underlying message is to be true to one’s inner core, and to find value in the lasting treasures of life: integrity, self-knowledge, human connections. Though the trappings of time and culture may change, this moral journey is universally valid, and surely a key to the book’s continuing relevance.

Meanwhile, the marvelously unconventional character of Jo, Alcott’s own alter ego, also plays a large part in its enduring appeal. With her exuberant speech and behavior, disregard of propriety, and literary creativity, she points toward a later time when women would be able to more fully express themselves and their potentialities. For modern readers, it can be disappointing when Jo’s youthful urges and artistic ambitions, along with those of her sisters, are partly squashed in favor of the ultimate female consummation of marriage and motherhood. But her spirit remains unquenched for readers and writers who have found in her a soul-sister, an inspiration and a companion when “genius burns.”

Opposite to Jo is gentle Beth, whose death is one of the other indelible experiences of reading Little Women in childhood. Saccharine Victorian death scenes are notorious, but Alcott’s sincere depth of feeling born of her own sorrow and loss gives this one a poignant simplicity, and I still cannot read it without sobbing. “Love is the only thing we can carry with us when we go,” Beth says. For me, this “belief in the immortality of love” is the gift and the legacy of Little Women, one for which I am forever grateful.

Classic MG/YA Challenge


A Christmas Gift: I Saw Three Ships

Elizabeth Goudge, I Saw Three Ships (1969)


Just in time for Christmas, the wonderful folks at David R. Godine, Publisher have reprinted their edition of Elizabeth Goudge’s story I Saw Three Ships. In this brief tale set in the West Country of England a couple of centuries ago, we are introduced to the irrepressible orphan Polly, who knows she has heard angels climb the stairs on Christmas Eve; her very proper maiden aunts, Dorcas and Constantia, who yet harbor secret dreams and longings; and three wise men of a rather unexpected sort. How they all come together is Christmas magic of the very best kind.

As fans of Elizabeth Goudge may expect, there is a marvelously evoked historical setting, with a lovably mischievous child character, adults of varying degrees of eccentricity, and a contented cat. There is charm and mystery and humor, and a hint of something beyond the everyday world. At appropriate moments, the old English carol named in the title enlivens the text with its jaunty tune — a different one than most Americans may be familiar with, so it’s good that words and music are included at the end. The numerous pen-and-ink drawings by Margot Tomes capture the early-nineteenth-century atmosphere perfectly, and Godine’s usual fine production values enhance the book’s appeal even further. A small paperback (about 5 by 7 inches large and 60 pages long), with a heavy, durable matte cover and French flaps, it would slip nicely into a large stocking. If you’re looking for a gift for an older child — or adult! — who enjoys historical fiction by the likes of Joan Aiken or Leon Garfield, this would be a fine choice.

For those who already know and love the books of Elizabeth Goudge, or would like to discover a splendid but often sadly underrated author, I’m pleased to announce that I’ll be hosting an Elizabeth Goudge Reading Week from April 24 to 30. Keep your eye on these pages for further details in the New Year, and enjoy whatever you choose for your holiday reading.