Author Archives: bclyp

Sparky!

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sparky!Sparky!

by Jenny Offill, illustrated by Chris Appelhans

Schwartz & Wade, 2014

Girl wants pet. Mother agrees, so long as pet is low maintenance. Sloth arrives via express post. The premise is simple enough, but Offill and Appelhans veer off script just enough to take what might have been simply charming and make it particularly funny, in an irresistibly peculiar way.

The story’s initial progression follows tropes as we might expect. The girl makes lots of plucky attempts to make Sparky into a perfect pet (or at least believe him to be), playing all manner of games at which she can beat him. But her smart, bespectacled frenemy isn’t having it. So our protagonist casts Sparky as the star of his very own talent show, and, on the day, he fails. Miserably. Frenemy departs in a fit of superiority, and all seems lost. Here’s where the script flips. What’s supposed to happen is the girl discovers some secret, sloth-specific talent Sparky has that rescues the day from some convenient cataclysm, shining on him a new and heroic light. Instead, he just sleeps in his tree and the girl engages him in a game of tag. “‘You’re it, Sparky’ I said. And for a long, long time, he was.”

Beyond the achingly sweet double meaning of that final phrase, the situation’s refusal to conform to our expectations adds a lovely meta-humor to the tale. The funny comes from dodging our expectations, as funny often does. But in this case those expectations are not part of the situation itself but come from the literary tradition surrounding it.

But funny is just the beginning. The earnest perspective of Offill’s first person narrative is enchanting. The girl is trying so hard to believe in Sparky’s wonders herself that she convinces us in the bargain. Appelhans’ muted watercolor sketches wring buckets of charm from the characters and circumstances in open, expansive compositions with plenty of laughing room. Even the typeface, based on Appelhans’ hand lettering, adds to the story’s soft and tender heart.

This is the sort of book that makes one long for a regular group of preschoolers to read it to, at least if that someone is me.

The Caldecott measuring stick

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measuring stickThe Caldecott terms and criteria constitute a particular, prescriptive lens through which to look at picture book illustration. The Caldecott Medal is arguably the most prestigious prize a picture book can win, and as such the specific elements and attributes it recognizes have a particular role to play as we examine and evaluate books in the canon. To be sure, the Caldecott terms and criteria are not the only measure we can apply. Indeed, in our day to day work with children, other things–iconic characterization, accessibility, suitability for a group read aloud–can be much more significant. Still, measuring picture books with the Caldecott measuring stick allows us to delve deeply into the quality of the illustration, and gives us meaningful information about the application and legacy of the Medal itself.

And so, for our final project in my intensive picture book course this semester, we are putting the books we’ve looked at through the Caldecott paces. From the 80 titles we’ve looked at the students have nominated 12 for our Mock Caldecott (stipulating that all are eligible, regardless of date or place of publication, or nationality of creator). It is fascinating too see which titles stand out in a Caldecotty sort of way, and which have announced to us their qualities in that respect. Here they are:

  • Michael Rosen’s Sad Book, illustrated by Quentin Blake, written by Michael Rosen
  • Mr. Tiger Goes Wild, by Peter Brown
  • Knock Knock: My Dad’s Dream for Me, illustrated by Bryan Collier, written by Daniel Beaty
  • Locomotive, by Brian Floca
  • The Great Bear, illustrated by Armin Greder, written by Libby Gleeson
  • Wild, by Emily Hughes
  • Flora and the Flamingo, by Molly Idle
  • This Moose Belongs to Me, by Oliver Jeffers
  • Waiting for the Biblioburro, illustrated by John Parra, written by Monica Brown
  • Here Comes the Garbage Barge, by Red Nose Studio
  • John, Paul, George and Ben, by Lane Smith
  • And Then it’s Spring, illustrated by Erin Stead, written by Julie Fogliano

michael rosen's sad bookmr tiger goes wildknock knocklocomotivegreat bearwildflora and the flamingothis moose belongs to mewaiting for the biblioburrohere comes the garbage bargejohn paul george and benand then it's spring

USBBY’s 2014 Outstanding International Books List

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Here at the Butler Center we’re proud to host the USBBY Outstanding International Books Committee for their year-end deliberations. And, given our recent trip to the Bologna Children’s Book Fair, we’re especially interested in their choices.

Here’s the 2014 list. I see some favorites. How about you? What international books for children and teens are on your radar for next year’s list?

SLJ1402w_FT-USSBY_Image1

Grandma

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grandmaGrandma

by Jessica Shepherd

Child’s Play, 2014

“I’m Oscar and I have the best Grandma in the whole wide world.” So begins this sweet, fragile story about the finite, particular experience of moving an older person into assisted living, and its impact on a young child. Oscar’s direct story offers a linear account of the situation. Grandma is forgetting things and needs more help than the family can provide, so she’s going to live somewhere where there are lots of people to care for her. We will miss her, it will be different, and you can ask questions. Oscar visits Grandma, learns about her new routine, meets her friend Albert, and decides it’s going to be OK.

This kind of purposeful book rarely gets attention beyond its purpose. It may not attract a large audience beyond families sharing the experience it depicts, and probably won’t find its way into regular storytime rotation (though I would be all over it). But there is real art here, and detail that warrants our notice.

Let’s begin with the style of the artwork, fresh and tender and childlike. The images vibrate with the love of family, and reinforce the child’s perspective. Just looking at the book, one feels the sort of security a child might craft for himself. The handwritteny font further establishes this as something experienced directly by a child, not filtered through the wisdom of adulthood.

And within the art are many wonderful details. Right on the cover we see Oscar and Grandma cuddling in a soft, oversized chair upholstered in a particularly cheery floral fabric. We see that fabric, with its bright red, yellow, blue and pink blossoms, over and over, on the opening and closing pages, on the coverlet on Grandma’s bed, as a handkerchief in Grandma’s memory box. And the original chair comes with Grandma and is present in her room after the move. No mention is made of the fabric’s constancy, but the through-line reminds readers that while some things will be different, some things will stay the same. The imagery is not all about particulars, though. Open backgrounds and copious white space leave plenty of room for children to fit themselves into the story, and fully absorb its comforts.

Also worth noting is the candor of the first person address. Oscar, experiencing things genuinely, tells the truth. “Grandma still tells me lots of stories about her life. I know them all by heart, so that I can remind her if she forgets one day” he says, for example. The sweetness here is pure, and does not come from sugar coating. It would be disingenuous to suggest to children that things will be better than they are. Instead, Oscar gives us his own account, focused on the positive, to be sure, but fully acknowledging the reality.

As practitioners we are aware of the need for books like this to help families through situations of stress and change. How wonderful that we have at our disposal books that support and explain, and do so with consummate artfulness.

what i came to tell you

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what i came to tell youwhat i came to tell you

by Tommy Hays

Egmont, 2013

Grover and Sudie have recently lost their mother, killed when she was hit by a car, crossing the street. Their father, director of the local Thomas Wolfe House, buries himself in his work. Sudie disintegrates into tears. And Grover retreats to the cane break in the vacant lot beside their home, weaving intricate tapestries of branches and leaves between the wild bamboo shoots growing there. As time passes these tapestries take on meaning for Grover, and for the community, and when a developer threatens to raze them, Grover fears the loss of much more than the pieces of art themselves. Hays is careful and artful as he draws back the curtain, slowly revealing circumstances surrounding the accident and the burdens associated with them. A cast of original, winning characters helps and bumbles and threatens and loves. There is so much sweet spirit here, and it shines just right.

This is a book cut of a standard middle grade cloth. We have seen many books about the death of a parent, wherein a child struggles to make peace and move forward, and this, surely, won’t be the last. But this book is special, if not because of its theme, then because of its approach to it. For in Grover we meet a particular, individual child, the likes of which we don’t see in literature every day. Grover is a sensitive boy.

For decades arms of the children’s literature establishment have fought against female gender expectations, filling shelves with plucky, resolute heroines who defy stereotypes and take no prisoners. By no means do I mean to suggest that we’re done–girls are still bombarded with images and messages that define their lives in unfortunate and dangerous ways–but we can find more and more positive role models on the pages of books, girls who take responsibility for their own lives, ignoring princes and taking on dragons themselves.

But where are the boys who sidestep societal expectations? Have we become so consumed with getting boys to read, chasing their attention with action and adventure and testosterone-fueled explosions, that we are inadvertently doing some stereotyping of our own? I admire what i came to tell you for its warm prose, metaphorical landscape, and astute characterizations. It is, all by itself, a lovely and resonant story. But I am thankful for its contribution to the canon. It offers us a model of a boy who looks to art as a doorway, who processes his pain with nimble fingers and a beating heart, a boy who feels. It shows us that there are lots of different ways to meet the challenges life has in store for us, and that tenderness is not a liability but an asset. It delivers the power of art, in its theme and its execution.

Thanks.

Paying it forward

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locke kidsThe buzz leading up to the ALA Youth Media Awards announcements Monday morning, full of predictions and premonitions, rightly focuses on the books themselves. The criteria for the big awards are all different, but they share a stalwart dismissal of the definition of popularity as inherently valuable. We look for literary and/or illustrative excellence, knowing that the best way to build a population of curious and voracious readers is to purposefully challenge them with excellent excellence. But it’s too easy to let that focus distract us from the very real work of matching kids and books, which sits at the heart of youth librarianship (at least as far as I’m concerned).

And today I have the great pleasure of having my attention diverted to such happy togetherness of kids and books with these pictures, sent to us from the Josephine Locke School, the most recent recipient of a grant of new books from the Butler Center. The Locke Librarian, Sabrena Wetzel, is a longtime friend of the Butler Center, and we enjoyed working with her to distribute books to the library there.

Each year the Butler Center receives new books from our friends in publishing, and each year we pull the previous year’s books, to make room for the next. We work with local libraries, schools, and other agencies to place those books where they’ll do the most good, and boy, howdy, they appear to be doing some good at Josephine Locke!

If you’d like to be considered for a book grant, drop us a line. We’d love to meet you!

shared reading

kids reading

Mock CaldeNott Results!

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This time of year we enjoy handicapping the big children’s and young adult book awards as much as the next literature center. But rather than trying to anticipate the 2014 committees, we decided to go a different way in our own engagement with the process. We used the Caldecott lens to examine some outstanding examples of picture book making from around the world. Yesterday evening a hale and inquisitive group of 22 gathered in the Butler Center to consider extraordinary picture books ineligible for the actual Caldecott Medal due to their international provenance. We pulled out the official Caldecott terms and criteria (leaving behind the bits about the illustrator being American and the book being first published in America) and focused them on a butler’s dozen (that’s 13) of terrific ineligible picture books. It was stimulating and edifying, and, as is always the case with Butler Center book discussions, a real blast. In the end we chose one winner and one honor book. Look at us!

jane the fox and meFor our winner we selected Jane, the Fox & Me by Fanny Britt, illustrated by Isabelle Arsenault (Groundwood Books). A young girl, bullied and friendless, finds strength and comfort in the pages of a favorite novel, buoyed by its familiar message and strengthened enough, eventually, to trust someone and take a chance. We were especially taken with Arsenault’s sophisticated use of color to paint an emotional landscape; the distinct styles she used to differentiate the adolescent world of the protagonist and the imaginary world of Jane Eyre into which she retreats; and the illustrations’ almost childlike essence that really enhanced the raw vulnerability of the first-person voice.

my father's arms are a boatOur honor book is My Father’s Arms Are a Boat by Stein Erik Lunde, illustrated by Øyvind Torseter (Enchanted Lion Books). A boy who recently lost his mother steps into the night with his father to process grief, look for comfort, and reconnect with the world that still holds possibility. Here we appreciated the untethered compositions, expressing the amorphous, rudderless nature of grief; the gradual relief that comes with the return of regular boundaries; and the expression of life’s fragility in the delicate three-dimensional paper-work dioramas.

But this was no easy choice. The debate was spirited, intense, and full of insight. And just look at the other distinguished titles we had on the table!:

The Line by Paula Bossio (Kids Can Press)

The Bear’s Song by Benjamin Chaud (Chronicle Books)

A Little Book of Sloth by Lucy Cooke (Margaret K. McElderry Books)

Herman and Rosie by Gus Gordon (Roaring Brook Press)

Opposites by Xavier Deneux (Chronicle Books)

Here I Am by Patti Kim, illustrated by Sonya Sanchez (Capstone)

The Big Wet Balloon by Liniers (Toon Books)

The Tiny King by Taro Miura (Candlewick Press)

Maps by Aleksandra Mizielinska and Daniel Mizielinski (Big Picture Press)

The Voyage by Veronica Salinas, illustrated by Camilla Engman (Groundwood Books)

Nasreddine by Odile Weulersse, illustrated by Rbecca Dautremer (Eerdmans Books for Young Readers)

It was a lot of fun. You should try it.

Mock CaldeNott!

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the bear's songOn Thursday, January 16, our regular Butler Center book discussion group, B3, resumes with a bang. This time out we’re conducting a Mock Caldenott Award. Yes, you read that right. CaldeNott. We’ll be using the official Caldecott terms and criteria to evaluate picture books ineligible for the actual award, due to their foreign provenance, and pick a winner.

I am as likely as the next person to get swept up in the drama and intrigue of the ALA Youth Media Awards. I attend the press conference where the winners are announced to the world without fail, and had the great honor of presiding over the festivities in 2010 (the year we announced The Lion and the Mouse as Caldecott winner). And I love all of the handicapping and arm-chair quarterbacking that goes on. But there’s a little part of me (OK, a big part) that feels bad about the incredible books that don’t get their due. We spend so much time searching for the most distinguished American books of the year that books from other countries get lost in the shuffle. And some of those books are fan-freaking-tastic.

mapsSo, we have a short list of a butler’s dozen (that’s 13) extraordinary picture books vying for the Caldenott crown. You can find the titles here. Hey, why don’t you join us?!

As always, we meet on the third Thursday of the month in the Butler Center at 7:00. This time we’re opening up a few hours early. From 5:00-7:00 you’re welcome to drop into the center, enjoy a sandwich and a snack, review the books on the table, and consider the terms and criteria that will guide our discussion. If you can come only be with us for part of the evening, that’s fine. If you haven’t seen any of the books yet, that’s fine. The point is, you should come.

It would be great if you’d RSVP in the form below (but do still please come, even if you don’t get around to it).

the big wet balloonHope to see you there!

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Thank you for your response. ✨

Annual Butler Booksale – 11/22/13

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book-92771_640It’s that time of year again!

Join the Butler Children’s Literature Center for our annual book sale!

On Friday, November 22nd, the Butler Center will be staffed from 9:00am-4:00pm and we want YOU to come join us for cookies, cider, expert recommendations, and BOOKS!

If you’re looking to build your personal book collection, stock up for your school or public library, buy some holiday presents for your loved ones, or just want to check out the best books for kids and teens from 2012, you won’t want to miss this opportunity!

Hardcovers are $7.50 apiece, paperbacks $2.50. Cookies and cider are free! Cash and checks are welcome!

Hope to see you there!

Book Sale
Butler Children’s Literature Center
Rebecca Crown Library, 214
Friday, November 22, 2013
9:00am-4:00pm

God got a dog

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godgotadogGod got a dog

by Cynthia Rylant, illlustrated by Marla Frazee

Beach Lane Books, 2013

Cynthia Rylant is a visionary, the sort of author who seems compelled to challenge literary constructs, and herself, ever in pursuit of some deeper truth that she needs to express. At least she has always seemed like a visionary to me, judging by her extraordinarily varied, generally innovative and uniformly personal body of work. Whether it is the Newbery-winning Missing May, with its put-your-head-on-the-desk heartbreak, the bold sweetness of her self-illustrated picture books like Cat Heaven and Dog Heaven, or the inspired, uncommon poetry of Boris or Something Permanent, her work transcends the expected in order to achieve the basic. In 2003 she published God Went to Beauty School, a collection of page-long poetic essays, each about God undertaking some commonplace activity, from opening His own nail salon to cooking spaghetti. These episodes, in their essential combination of the mundane and the sublime, express a rainbow of grace. In this year’s God got a dog a number of these poems is recollected and illustrated by Caldecott-honor illustrator Marla Frazee, who brings her own generous accessibility to the project. Frazee adds to the flavor of the book. Hand-lettering contributes a sense of innocence. Light permeates each tableau. But most striking is her casting of God in each episode. Rylant’s work already used both female and male pronouns to refer to God, but Frazee takes the plurality a step further, diversifying the personifications of God as much as possible: old and young, big and small, country and city, race after race. None of these updates represents a huge departure from the tone and intention of the original work. This new books, like its predecessor, is a soft, welcoming meditation on the sanctity of our daily lives and the reflection of the divine in simple things (even if those reflections are upside-down). But there is whimsy in this new package, a luminous, bubbly sort of warmth that unifies the different experiences and personifications, softening the edges and opening the doors. Rylant’s God is us, and Frazee’s us is God, and there you have it.