Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz — A Reader’s Guide

The Wizard as Tinkerer and Host

The Wizard’s laboratory is a space of both invention and social obligation. Thompson shows him pacing, checking the clock, and peering into the darkening garden—a portrait of the magician as anxious host. His repeated question to Jellia—“Are you sure you told them all?”—reveals a character concerned with precision and attendance, not just magical feats. The laboratory itself, “brightly lighted” and set behind the throne room, suggests a private domain where the Wizard’s authority is practical rather than ceremonial. Jellia’s role as serving maid who “counts places” and admires the miniature house positions her as a grounded counterpart to the Wizard’s lofty experiments. This opening dynamic—inventor and assistant, grandeur and domesticity—recurs throughout the excerpts, as when the Wizard later consults a “little book” of flight entries and Jellia reports her observations matter-of-factly.

Airborne Tensions and Magnetic Compasses

Thompson introduces a specific technological detail: the Ozpril’s magnetic compass, which tracks the Oztober’s course “provided both planes are in flight.” This device allows the Wizard to follow Jellia’s exact route, creating a parallel between the two flights. The Wizard’s logbook, with entries for “Clouds, fogs, spiked monsters,” mirrors Jellia’s terse summary—“Oh, nothing much but clouds, fog, an icecloud, and some flying airimals with spikes.” This symmetry underscores a theme of shared experience across distance. Yet the Wizard’s delay is attributed to “difference in speed,” a practical limitation that keeps the narrative from feeling too convenient. The compass and logbook are not mere props; they structure the pursuit and give the Wizard a methodical, almost scientific role. Thompson avoids over-explaining the magic, letting the mechanical details ground the fantasy.

Character Contrasts in the Royal Pavilion

In the Royal Pavilion of Stratovania, Thompson stages a quiet comedy of character through dialogue and action. The Scarecrow, bouncing on air cushions, invites others to join him; the Wizard stacks three cushions and stretches out, murmuring about fatigue after “sixteen hours of flying.” Dorothy curls up on a couch and falls asleep “almost before her head touched the pillows.” Jellia watches them nervously, while the Soldier with Green Whiskers declares he “wouldn’t trade one button on my uniform for all the jewels in Strut’s crown.” Each reaction reveals personality: the Scarecrow’s playful energy, the Wizard’s exhaustion, Dorothy’s easy trust, Jellia’s vigilance, and the Soldier’s loyalty to Oz over Stratovania. Thompson uses the pavilion’s air cushions and blue pillars as a backdrop for these interactions, letting the setting amplify the characters’ distinct voices.

Thompson’s dedication to illustrator John R. Neill—“Bows, cheers and heartfelt appreciation!”—hints at the collaborative spirit behind the book. Readers attentive to the interplay of text and image will find Neill’s drawings amplifying the merriment Thompson mentions in her preface. The excerpts suggest a narrative that rewards attention to small details: the Wizard’s logbook, Jellia’s counting, the Soldier’s uniform buttons. These concrete elements anchor the story’s airborne whimsy, offering a reading experience that balances invention with character-driven humor.

Reading about the Wizard’s airborne contraptions, I remembered my grandfather’s old atlas, where I once traced smuggling routes by lantern light. That same thrill of hidden purpose—the machine’s cleverness, the sailors’ quiet defiance—came back. It’s odd how Ozoplaning and Jack Hardy: A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon — Background and Themes both feel like afternoons spent inventing private adventures, no urgency, just wonder.