“The Tale Of Despereaux” by Kate DiCamillo. Desperaux was the only mouse in his litter to survive. He was a small mouse with big ears. He was born with his eyes open. He was the last mouse his mother would have. And he would be dead soon. He couldn't live. Not with his eyes open like that. But, he did live. He was the smallest mouse that had ever lived, with obscenely large ears. And, he was sickly. He was not a proper mouse and did not think constantly of food. He instead would stand with his head cocked listening. Not smelling, but listening to a sweet sound...like...um...honey...that no other mouse could hear. The other mice tried to train Despereaux to be a proper mouse. But, he just wasn't interested. He didn't scurry like a proper mouse, but stared at the light in the castle from the stained glass windows. He didn't nibble on paper like a proper mouse. Instead, he looked at the marks on the pages, the squiggles, and they became words, phrases, sentences. He read of a beautifu princess and a brave knight. Finally his siblings gave up trying to make him into a proper mouse and Despereaux was free to spend his time as he desired. The honey-sweet sound drew him. It was music. It was the King playing his guitar and singing to the Princess Pea. Despereaux saw the Pea, and fell in love. (From Booktalking Colorado, http://booktalkingcolorado.ppld.org)
“The Tale Of Despereaux” by Kate DiCamillo. Desperaux was the only mouse in his litter to survive. He was a small mouse with big ears. He was born with his eyes open. He was the last mouse his mother would have. And he would be dead soon. He couldn't live. Not with his eyes open like that. But, he did live. He was the smallest mouse that had ever lived, with obscenely large ears. And, he was sickly. He was not a proper mouse and did not think constantly of food. He instead would stand with his head cocked listening. Not smelling, but listening to a sweet sound...like...um...honey...that no other mouse could hear. The other mice tried to train Despereaux to be a proper mouse. But, he just wasn't interested. He didn't scurry like a proper mouse, but stared at the light in the castle from the stained glass windows. He didn't nibble on paper like a proper mouse. Instead, he looked at the marks on the pages, the squiggles, and they became words, phrases, sentences. He read of a beautifu princess and a brave knight. Finally his siblings gave up trying to make him into a proper mouse and Despereaux was free to spend his time as he desired. The honey-sweet sound drew him. It was music. It was the King playing his guitar and singing to the Princess Pea. Despereaux saw the Pea, and fell in love. (From Booktalking Colorado, http://booktalkingcolorado.ppld.org)