In 1956, William Saroyan published a book he'd written for his daughter Lucy, written from her perspective. He called it Mama, I Love You. The following year there was another one for his 10-year-old son Aram, and this is it. It's hard to say which one I like more, because they're pretty different (daughter hanging out with mom, son hanging out with dad), but they're both essential for Saroyan fans, or any fan of books with lovable characters saying and doing kind, interesting things.
Papa, You're Crazy is also from the perspective of the child. It's full of wise little nuggets, spoken by the father or his son. The plot is simply the two of them talking, running on the beach, wrestling, driving to San Francisco, making up new recipes, eating a lot, talking more. At ten, Aram is wise for his years, but he's very believable since he's a Saroyan. He says some zany things, such as this gem:
Now, what is food? Why is food so important? Why do human beings need so much of it - three times a day, every day, year after year? Why do they live on food instead of on something else? Wouldn't it be better if human beings didn't need food at all? Wouldn't it be better if they could live on air, for instance? Get stronger and bigger by breathing sea air, or the air of the mountains, or the forests, or the meadows, or the vineyards and orchards, the wheat fields, the gardens all over the world? Wouldn't that be a better way for men to stay alive?
It's a wonderful, touching book.
Here are some of my other favorite tidbits:
"Wouldn't you care to live twice?"
"I don't know, Pop. Would you?"
"I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I'd like to live my whole life all over again, and sometimes I thank God I've gotten through so much of it already."
"Eating's good, though," I said. "Breakfast especially."
---
Standing there, watching the sun go down into the sea, my father said, "In every house there ought to be an art table on which, one by one, things are placed, so that everybody in that house might look at the things very carefully, and see them."
"What would you put on a table like that?"
"A leaf. A coin. A button. A stone. A small piece of torn newspaper. An apple. An egg. A pebble. A flower. A dead insect. A shoe."
"Everybody's seen those things."
"Of course. But nobody looks at them, and that's what art is. To look at familiar things as if they had never before been seen... A necktie. A pocketknife... a walnut."
---
"You should have seen the fish I almost caught in my dream, Pop."
"We'll catch plenty of fish," my father said, and he squeezed me tighter.
"But this wasn't just a fish, it was something else, too."
"What else?"
"Well, I don't know if I can remember exactly what else it was, but I think it was all the things I've always believed I'll know some day. I never saw a fish so full of fight. Gad, I wish I'd had time to bring him in, Pop."
"I do, too. Plenty of time, though. You'll make it."
"Did you ever land a fish like that?"
"No, but I've been working at it, and I will some day."
"Does it take that long?"
"A number of great men believe you never land that one."
"How come?"
"I think it has to do with the way the fish grows. A lot of good fishermen have worked that fish nearer and nearer, and then all of a sudden they have found themselves in the sea, pulled overboard by the fish, because it had grown so big."
"What do you do then?"
"Hang on, or let go."
"Would you get him if you hung on?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. But everybody knows you don't get him if you let go."