Caroline Dale Snedeker (1871–1956)
Author of Theras and His Town
About the Author
Series
Works by Caroline Dale Snedeker
The White Isle 1 copy
Associated Works
Daring to Dream: Utopian Fiction by Nineteenth Century Women Writers (1984) — Contributor — 39 copies
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Legal name
- Snedeker, Caroline Dale
- Birthdate
- 1871-03-23
- Date of death
- 1956-01-22
- Gender
- female
- Education
- Cincinnati College of Music
- Occupations
- writer
pianist
music instructor
historical novelist - Short biography
- Caroline Snedeker, née Parke, was born in New Harmony, Indiana. She was a descendant on her mother's side of Robert Owen, the British social reformer and industrialist. She grew up in Indiana; later the family moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, where she attended the College of Music. Caroline and her three sisters performed musical concerts to support the family after their father died. She was the pianist in the group and became a music teacher. In 1903, she married Charles Snedeker and went to live in Hempstead, Long Island, New York. Caroline Snedeker wrote 13 sucessful novels for young adults and two adult novels, along with articles, stories and poems. Her first book, the Coward of Thermopylae, later re-titled The Spartan, was first published in 1911. Most of her novels were inspired by her love of the ancient Greek and Roman worlds. She also based a series on American history. She won the Newbery Honor award in 1928 with Downright Dencey and again in 1934 with The Forgotten Daughter.
- Nationality
- USA
- Birthplace
- New Harmony, Indiana, USA
- Places of residence
- New Harmony, Indiana, USA
Cincinnati, Ohio, USA
Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, USA
Mount Vernon, Indiana, USA
Hempstead, New York, USA - Place of death
- Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, USA
- Burial location
- Live Oak Cemetery, Pass Christian, Mississippi, USA
- Associated Place (for map)
- USA
Members
Reviews
Selected - along with Ella Young's The Wondersmith and His Son - as a Newbery Honor Book in 1928, Downright Dencey is a gripping work of historical fiction for younger readers, set on Nantucket in the early years of the nineteenth century. It follows its Quaker heroine, Dionis "Dencey" Coffyn, as she first injures, and then befriends, the childish outcast of her community - the "unspeakable" Sammie Jetsam, a ragged, foul-mouthed scrap of a boy, being raised by old "Injun Jill" out on the show more windy Commons.
Spurred on by her determination to atone for the injury she had done him, when, enraged by his name-calling, she had thrown the stone which cut his shoulder, Dencey agreed to surrender one of her most prized possessions - a copy of Pilgrim's Progress - to Jetsam, and to teach him how to read it. So began an unusual relationship - secret at first, and then well-known in their small whaling town - that would change both of their lives.
Beautifully-written, and instantly engaging, Caroline Dale Snedeker's story offers a moving examination of issues of faith and community, in a small, enclosed Quaker society. I was particularly interested in her exploration of Dencey's groping search after the Divine, her struggle to understand and connect to God, and her efforts to reconcile the promptings of her conscience with the teachings of her religion. That this is a central issue in the novel is made clear in the third chapter, when Snedeker writes:
Dionis's mind closed upon these religious phrases which were in everyone's mouth. "Lay thy sin before the Lord," "Enter into the Silence," "Follow the Light." What did it all mean? She could not even form questions about them, much less experience them. They were all one foggy puzzle, but she was expected to understand these experiences. Every New England child was expected to understand them."
The author's perceptive appreciation of the child's bewilderment, of the ways in which Dencey both embodies and rebels against Quaker doctrine, make for a believable and immensely sympathetic heroine. Indeed, it is this genius for creating characters who are "real" people - Lydia, so strong and good in some ways, and yet so blind to the meaning of her daughter's behavior; Jetsam, so ignorant and deliberately cruel, as if to strike first at the hard world which had so mistreated him, and yet so hungry for knowledge, and so ready (if all unconscious of it) to learn to love - that gives Snedeker's work its true power.
She understands the "cognizance of childhood," the ways in which, many times, children perceive and appreciate the reality of the world around them with greater clarity than the adults in their lives. Though raised to believe that "the Light" is in everyone, Lydia cannot, at first, see past Jetsam's dirty appearance and foul language, cannot see him as a human boy worthy of associating with her "kind." But Dencey, though she cannot articulate it, not only sees that kernel of humanity in Jetsam, but understands that it is her duty to hold fast to him, in the face of all opposition: Dencey knew with an intensity that equalled its vagueness that if she let go of Jetsam, he would tumble back into an abyss. Hatred, abuse, filthy talk, and fear - all these were in it; and she alone held him back from the lip of it."
So much for the good. Sadly, like Snedeker's characters, there is good and bad mingled in Downright Dencey, making it a difficult book to unreservedly recommend to today's young readers. The author's language is as beautiful as her portrait of the power of faith, but her depiction of the racism of a bygone era, often unconsciously voiced by the narrator, is as ugly as can be. There is, of course, the rather shocking epithets hurled by Jetsam at the beginning of the novel - the name-calling which precipitates Dencey's stone-throwing, and subsequent atonement - from "N*gger-face" to "Portugee." Thankfully, these words don't recur in the story, and a thoughtful adult might be able use their appearance to begin a discussion of how beliefs about race have changed, to explain how such insults would, unfortunately, not have been so uncommon during the time depicted.
Far more disturbing, I think, is the ever present idea of the "degenerate" nature of Native Americans, as embodied by the character of "Injun Jill," Jetsam's abusive and alcoholic (possible) mother. It's odd, because in many ways, I think Snedeker is fairly progressive for her time, depicting Jetsam's journey from outsider to insider, despite the disadvantage of his background. She even shows some sympathy for "Injun Jill" at one point, in a scene which hints at the tragedy that overtook the indigenous people of Nantucket: "The poor, miserable, lonely thing! There were almost no Indians left now in the Island. Why, Jill was as alone in the world as he. He saw her in an utterly new aspect."
But although Jetsam learns to see his erstwhile tormentor in a new light, this one moment of understanding has to be weighed against the entire book, in which Jill speaks in the kind of broken, ignorant dialect often assigned to Native Americans in such tales, and embodies every vice and weakness; and in which Jetsam is disgusted at the possibility of being half Indian, as that would make him inferior to the other people of Nantucket. It's sad that such an otherwise outstanding story would be marred by such outdated ideas of race, but there you have it. I think this is a title that, despite its undeniable virtues (and in many ways, I really loved it!), I would only recommend to older children, with a good grasp of history, and an ability to appreciate the changing mores of our society. show less
Spurred on by her determination to atone for the injury she had done him, when, enraged by his name-calling, she had thrown the stone which cut his shoulder, Dencey agreed to surrender one of her most prized possessions - a copy of Pilgrim's Progress - to Jetsam, and to teach him how to read it. So began an unusual relationship - secret at first, and then well-known in their small whaling town - that would change both of their lives.
Beautifully-written, and instantly engaging, Caroline Dale Snedeker's story offers a moving examination of issues of faith and community, in a small, enclosed Quaker society. I was particularly interested in her exploration of Dencey's groping search after the Divine, her struggle to understand and connect to God, and her efforts to reconcile the promptings of her conscience with the teachings of her religion. That this is a central issue in the novel is made clear in the third chapter, when Snedeker writes:
Dionis's mind closed upon these religious phrases which were in everyone's mouth. "Lay thy sin before the Lord," "Enter into the Silence," "Follow the Light." What did it all mean? She could not even form questions about them, much less experience them. They were all one foggy puzzle, but she was expected to understand these experiences. Every New England child was expected to understand them."
The author's perceptive appreciation of the child's bewilderment, of the ways in which Dencey both embodies and rebels against Quaker doctrine, make for a believable and immensely sympathetic heroine. Indeed, it is this genius for creating characters who are "real" people - Lydia, so strong and good in some ways, and yet so blind to the meaning of her daughter's behavior; Jetsam, so ignorant and deliberately cruel, as if to strike first at the hard world which had so mistreated him, and yet so hungry for knowledge, and so ready (if all unconscious of it) to learn to love - that gives Snedeker's work its true power.
She understands the "cognizance of childhood," the ways in which, many times, children perceive and appreciate the reality of the world around them with greater clarity than the adults in their lives. Though raised to believe that "the Light" is in everyone, Lydia cannot, at first, see past Jetsam's dirty appearance and foul language, cannot see him as a human boy worthy of associating with her "kind." But Dencey, though she cannot articulate it, not only sees that kernel of humanity in Jetsam, but understands that it is her duty to hold fast to him, in the face of all opposition: Dencey knew with an intensity that equalled its vagueness that if she let go of Jetsam, he would tumble back into an abyss. Hatred, abuse, filthy talk, and fear - all these were in it; and she alone held him back from the lip of it."
So much for the good. Sadly, like Snedeker's characters, there is good and bad mingled in Downright Dencey, making it a difficult book to unreservedly recommend to today's young readers. The author's language is as beautiful as her portrait of the power of faith, but her depiction of the racism of a bygone era, often unconsciously voiced by the narrator, is as ugly as can be. There is, of course, the rather shocking epithets hurled by Jetsam at the beginning of the novel - the name-calling which precipitates Dencey's stone-throwing, and subsequent atonement - from "N*gger-face" to "Portugee." Thankfully, these words don't recur in the story, and a thoughtful adult might be able use their appearance to begin a discussion of how beliefs about race have changed, to explain how such insults would, unfortunately, not have been so uncommon during the time depicted.
Far more disturbing, I think, is the ever present idea of the "degenerate" nature of Native Americans, as embodied by the character of "Injun Jill," Jetsam's abusive and alcoholic (possible) mother. It's odd, because in many ways, I think Snedeker is fairly progressive for her time, depicting Jetsam's journey from outsider to insider, despite the disadvantage of his background. She even shows some sympathy for "Injun Jill" at one point, in a scene which hints at the tragedy that overtook the indigenous people of Nantucket: "The poor, miserable, lonely thing! There were almost no Indians left now in the Island. Why, Jill was as alone in the world as he. He saw her in an utterly new aspect."
But although Jetsam learns to see his erstwhile tormentor in a new light, this one moment of understanding has to be weighed against the entire book, in which Jill speaks in the kind of broken, ignorant dialect often assigned to Native Americans in such tales, and embodies every vice and weakness; and in which Jetsam is disgusted at the possibility of being half Indian, as that would make him inferior to the other people of Nantucket. It's sad that such an otherwise outstanding story would be marred by such outdated ideas of race, but there you have it. I think this is a title that, despite its undeniable virtues (and in many ways, I really loved it!), I would only recommend to older children, with a good grasp of history, and an ability to appreciate the changing mores of our society. show less
I read the first chapter of this with a kind of horror, and then rapidly changed my mind. I quite enjoyed this book, and got quite involved. It’s a shame this is not more wildly circulated, because I’d say this is a quality Newbery medal winner. (I had to read it through interlibrary loan. I couldn’t find it anywhere else, and it was one of the hardest 1920s Newbery books for me to locate, and also one of my 1920s favorites.)
I loved how little Dencey/Dionis has certain Quaker rules show more drilled into her, and she believes if she breaks them she will go to hell. And yet she still feels compelled to break them, because her inner humanity is compelling her to do good for another. The lessons are subtle in their strength. And the relationship between Dencey and Jetsam is pretty sweet, including how it develops over the years.
My only qualm is that now I have to go find the sequel. show less
I loved how little Dencey/Dionis has certain Quaker rules show more drilled into her, and she believes if she breaks them she will go to hell. And yet she still feels compelled to break them, because her inner humanity is compelling her to do good for another. The lessons are subtle in their strength. And the relationship between Dencey and Jetsam is pretty sweet, including how it develops over the years.
My only qualm is that now I have to go find the sequel. show less
Incredible depth of research here concerning ancient Rome, Roman customs, and Roman Britain. The story is so well done that it's particularly jarring when it hits a false note in describing a community of early Christians whose religious gathering (you couldn't exactly call it worship) is entirely devoid of scripture, liturgy, and priests. "You'd think they were a bunch of Quakers", I muttered. Then I discovered that the Society of Friends was in fact Snedeker's background. Solved. show more
Unfortunately the "early Christian community" sequence is so important to the whole story arc that Snedeker's decision not to research this aspect of history (which would have been easy since there are many, many Christian sources contemporary to her story's setting) is indefensible as well as unaccountable. show less
Unfortunately the "early Christian community" sequence is so important to the whole story arc that Snedeker's decision not to research this aspect of history (which would have been easy since there are many, many Christian sources contemporary to her story's setting) is indefensible as well as unaccountable. show less
Young Theras, born an Athenian, is taken to Sparta by a relative when his father is lost at war. He is forced to live like a Spartan, a brutal life with no pity for those who are not physically perfect and totally obedient to Spartan control. After enduring rigorous training and repeated cruel incidents, he escapes with a Perioikoi boy and heads for his beloved Athens. Here is the story of a hard and dangerous journey, including an escape from slavers.
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