Category Archives: grades

Make Magic! Do Good!

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make magic

Make Magic! Do Good!

by Dallas Clayton

Candlewick, 2012

We who work at the Butler Center have the privilege of opening up new packages of books nearly every day, sometimes fresh from the press. Books get stacked, fiction and non-fiction become intermingled, and it is easy for a wonderful book to get lost amidst the chaos. But then each book is picked up and entered into our system. I always look at each book as a new experience, a wonderful possibility for my next read. But then I move along because, well…it’s my job to.

Yet, sometimes the reader inside gets the best of me, and I find myself lost in a book. It is a rare occasion, because I am a very diligent worker, but sometimes a book grabs me so tightly that I have no chance of becoming free until I turn the final page. This recently happened to me here in the Butler Center with Dallas Clayton’s 2012 book of poetry titled Make Magic! Do Good!

Sometimes quiet, sometimes loud, sometimes joyful, sometimes gently sad, this book respects the child reader and understands that he or she experiences profound, deep feelings just as much as grownups. There are forty-nine poems in the collection, all illustrated in a simple, sketch-like style with vibrant colors and dynamic expression. About the artistic medium, the front matter states, “The illustrations were done in two parts positive vibes and three parts watercolor rainbow sprinkles.” This captures the whimsical, creative, playful spirit of the poetry. The silly poems, such as “Amanda the Panda” and Xavier Xing Xu” wholly encapsulate the spirited, snappy mind of a child. Clayton’s humorous illustration note does not demonstrate the incredible emotional depth several poems communicate. One of my favorites is titled “Slumber,” and it’s only four, simple lines:

You won’t know all the answers

You won’t get everything right

But once you learn you don’t have to know ‘em

You’ll sleep the best at night.

The illustration accompanying this poem is a big, pink animal, fast asleep in a bed covered in a blue and orange starred comforter, and the vast white space comforts the eye. I opened this page, experienced both text and image, and I had to experience it again. As a person who struggles with perfectionism and anxiety, this poem is the perfect mantra for peace. What a lesson to learn, and absolutely beautiful that Clayton is telling it to children.

It doesn’t stop there. Clayton’s honest poems and imaginative illustrations include topics as varied as enemies, decision-making, love, sharing, friendship, money, and the potential end of the world, and he tackles them with vibrant energy, poignant honesty, and joy. And there are some pretty darn silly ones along the way.

I haven’t been stopped like this by a book here at the Butler Center in a while, but Make Magic! Do Good! certainly shouted my name that day and echoed in my heart and mind for the days and weeks to come. In a world that we all know is filled with bad stuff—violence, sadness, sickness—it is lovely to find a book filled with message of hope, love, strength, silliness, honesty, warmth, and peace, peace, peace.

Please watch this animation based on the book, and listen to the profound poem that closes the work, the title poem of the collection, Make Magic! Do Good!

Lion vs Rabbit

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lion vs rabbitLion vs. Rabbit

by Alex Latimer

Peachtree, 2013

Lion is the king, and something of a bully. He steals Hyena’s lunch monkey. He gives Buffalo a wedgie. Baboon puts an ad in the paper, looking for someone to put lion in his place. Bear and Moose and Tiger arrive on a plane, ready to challenge Lion, one by one. Lion wins, every time. Then comes Rabbit. Rabbit chooses his own contests (marshmallow eating, painting, trivia) and wins each one. Lion relents, agreeing to bully no more, and rabbit takes his leave. As his ship departs we learn that he is in fact a bunch of rabbits, chosen specifically for the individual contests. And, indeed, looking back through the book we see evidence of the subterfuge. For every rabbit competing there are other rabbits hiding, their ears or tails peeking out from behind rocks or hills or tall grasses. Droll details and comic characterizations add wild panache. The story’s skewed humor and buoyant charm delight on their own, but the regular opportunities for the listener to know just a little more than the protagonist elevate this outing from mere felicity to full-on fun.

Oliver

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Oliver by Birgitta Sif

Oliver

by Birgitta Sif

Candlewick, 2012

From Ferdinand to Frederick, children have wonderful (often animal) picture book role models who express the value in accepting yourself. And of course that message is all well and good. Yet in reality, the self satisfaction found in cherishing your uniqueness sometimes fails to eclipse the loneliness that so often accompanies it. Take Oliver. Here’s a young person who doesn’t seem particularly plagued by the burden of his differentness. He’s not cursing a defect or suffering from taunts; he’s not asking a parent why he is the way he is. He rather enjoys his quiet, imaginative life. His playmates are his toys, plush animals whom he carts around the library and yard. Even surrounded by his boisterous family, Oliver prefers to retreat into his own world with these soft-hearted friends.

And with these playful illustrations, the reader may retreat with him. Notice the subtle glances of otherwise button eyes, the teasing suggestion of life from what reason would inform are inanimate objects: a tiny glimpse for us into the everyday magic Oliver experiences.

Until one day, it’s not enough for Oliver. His animal friends, heaped in a pile, don’t respond like they used to. Yes, Oliver likes the way he is, and isn’t purposefully ostracized for it. There’s no doubting of self here. What Oliver lacks is someone who sees the world like he sees it; someone who can appreciate him and share his fantastical world and adventures. By the book’s end and through a fateful moment, Oliver finds his someone: a someone who’s more than plush stuffing and button eyes. And as the reader turns back to pore over the warmly detailed illustrations, she discovers that Oliver’s new friend has been with him all along, present but unseen. More magic lives on these pages, and in Oliver’s world, than first meets the eye. And as Oliver discovers, magic begs to be shared.

Sir Quentin Blake

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quentin blakeAfter a long and storied career, British illustrator Quentin Blake was knighted by the Prince of Wales today. From Mrs. Armitage to Matilda, he has deposited lots and lots (and lots) of indelible characters, human and otherwise, into our collective consciousness, where they will stay in perpetuity. He is also responsible for the wonderful wallpaper on the display wall right here in the Butler Center. On this side of the pond he is best known for his spot illustrations for the Roald Dahl oeuvre, but in his 64 year career (and 64 is my favorite number) he has crafted a remarkable variety of really exquisite books, as author and as illustrator. Here are a few standouts:

CockatoosCockatoos

by Quentin Blake

Little, Brown 1992

Professor Dupont is a slave to his routine, and it is driving his cockatoos crazy! They decide to teach him a lesson, and distribute themselves about the conservatory, never to be seen again. Or not.  This clever, infectious book turns the familiar counting book on its head, with the ever diminishing items-to-be-counted hidden (in plain, polychrome sight), to the delight of observant children everywhere.

tell me a picture

Tell Me A Picture

by Quentin Blake

Millbook Press, 2003

Quentin Blake curated a collection of 26 paintings and children’s book illustrations and employs his trademark figures to interpret them with us. Each work of art enjoys four pages, two for uncluttered presentation, followed by two more where the sketchy individuals respond, with genuine curiosity, puzzlement, and affection. As much about looking at art as it is about art itself, it offers children a safe and stable place from which to begin their own inquisitions.

michael rosens sad bookMichael Rosen’s Sad Book

by Michael Rosen

illustrated by Quentin Blake

Candlewick, 2005

Michael Rosen tells the story of his own experience losing his adult son, and explores the fundamental nature of grief. Blake’s sketchy, chaotic images, in drab greys and blues, express grief’s uncontrollable disquiet in a profound and deeply affecting way. The world will continue to debate whether or not it is a book for children (it is), but it’s artistic power is undeniable.

On the money (mostly)

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Back in December we suggested some books as particularly holiday-giftable. Looking back, I see that among the eight books for young people we recommended, half were recognized at the ALA Youth Media Awards! We had the Newbery winner (The One and Only Ivan), The Sibert winner/Newbery honor book (Bomb: The Race to Build–and Steal–the World’s Most Dangerous Weapon), a Caldecott honor book (Extra Yarn), and a Printz honor book (Code Name Verity). Not bad for a day’s work.

The One and Only IvanbombExtra YarnCode Name Verity

 

 

 

 

You can find a link to all of the ALA award winning titles here.

My Family Valentine

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When I was growing up, Valentine’s Day was the biggest holiday going. The Valentine’s Day Peacock would administer the annual treasure hunt, hiding construction paper hearts around the house, each with a different clue on it, in Latin, and it fell to me and my sisters to hunt them down, translating one to lead to the next, and so on. Each of us was assigned a different color heart (lest they get confused) and as we grew older, the clues became more difficult and more plentiful. The trail invariably ended with particular paydirt: a cellophane-wrapped, heart-shaped box of chocolates and a pair of pink socks. I believe this went on all through our high school years (though my sister swears it was the Valentine’s Day Aardvark, so my memory may not be especially dependable) and was, even as a teen, a sweet, resonant tradition. To me, Valentine’s day will always be a holiday about family, more than romance, and so I offer you a bevy of picture books about family love, in its infinite variety, as my valentine.

Marisol McDonald Doesn’t Match/Marisol McDonald no combina by Monica Brown,  illustrated by Sara Palacios, Children’s Book Press, 2011

Little Owl Lost by Chris Haughton, Candlewick, 2010

The Dog Who Belonged to No One, by Amy Hest, illustrated by Amy Bates, Abrams Books for Young Readers, 2008

All Kinds of Families, by Mary Ann Hoberman, illustrated by Marc Boutavant, Little, Brown, 2009

My People by Langston Hughes, illustrated by Charles R. Smith, Atheneum, 2009

I’ll See You in the Morning, by Mike Jolley, illustrated by Mique Moriuchi, Roaring Brook, 2008

Monday is One Day by Arthur Levine, illustrated by Julian Hector, Scholastic, 2011

A House in the Woods by Inga Moore, Candlewick, 2011

The Family Book by Todd Parr, Little Brown, 2003

In Our Mothers’ House by Patricia Polacco, Philomel, 2009

The Schmutzy Family, by Madelyn Rosenberg, illustrated by Paul Meisel, Holiday House, 2012

Mad at Mommy by Komako Sakai, Arthur A. Levine Books, 2010

marisollittle owl lostdog who belonged to no one all kinds of families     my people ill see you in the morningmonday is one dayhouse in the woodsfamily bookin our mothers houseschmutzy family    mad at mommy

Open This Little Book

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open this little bookOpen This Little Book

written by Jesse Klausmeier

illustrated by Suzy Lee

Chronicle Books, 2013

In a world where meta is everywhere, a book turning in on itself might come across as trendy or superficial. Indeed, many such books do. But the overuse of a particular approach to storytelling does not make such an approach necessarily obsolete. It does, however, raise the storytelling bar. To transcend the dangers of gimmickry, a meta picture book needs to weave together its plot, text and illustration into a tight and cohesive package, in service of a reverberant message. Fixing meta’s self reflection in some meaningful purpose grounds it, rescuing the by-definition disconnectedness of the narrative from flapping in the literary breeze. When done right, this kind of circular storytelling packs a real wallop, and such is the case with Open This Little Book.

The book is literally a number of books inside one another, each smaller than the last, each identified by a different colored cover (purple, red, green, orange, yellow, blue), each “opened” in succession by a different character (reader, ladybug, frog, rabbit, bear, giant), and then consumed and read in reverse order, arriving at the end with a compelling case for more. More books. More reading. More community. The clarity of Klausmeier’s text, clean and simple and exact, and the way she establishes and then breaks the patterned structure, shows more than tells us about the seductive sway of a well-written book. Suzy Lee’s careful illustrations begin in monochrome with the singular color of the little books’ titles. With each successive opening we have more colors in which to delight, and by the time we arrive at the final scene, with all of our friends, plus many more, luxuriating beneath and within a polychrome tree full of books, the remarkably appealing rainbow of variety stands as an immediate, resonant symbol of the endless glories of books and reading.

This is a book you need to find and experience with your own hands and eyes (and spirit). I include the book trailer below to give you a sense of the mechanics and the mood, but there is no substitute for opening this little book yourself.

The Brother’s Grimm: Popular Folk Tales

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brothers grimmThe Brothers Grimm: Popular Folk Tales

Newly translated by Brian Alderson, illustrated by Michael Foreman

Doubleday, 1978

This rich collection of thirty-one Grimm’s tales combines familiar stories, such as “Hansel and Gretel,” “Rapunzel,” and “Rumpelstiltskin,” with lesser-known tales like the haunting “Fitcher’s Bird” and “King Throstlebeard.” While the anthology contains no formal introduction, internal notes or citations, there is a table of contents and a list of color illustrations in the front matter. Alderson also includes detailed “Afterward” and “Notes” sections in the back matter, in which he affirms his mission for the book. He states that many English translations of Grimm, though accurate, “miss the spirit of the tales” (188), and his objective for this collection is to translate the German tales “not from the scholar’s study but from a storyteller talking to his listeners” (188). He succeeds in this goal, as the translations are clear, concise, and readable—yet they still contain anecdotes of humor, gruesome description, and evocative imagery. Alderson notes that the Brothers Grimm stories “exist in a number of forms,” and his translation “is largely based on texts which had reached [the] final form, the ninth edition of the ‘Grosse Ausgabe’” (189). When he uses previous versions of the tales in his translations, he does not make a specific source note in the internal text, but he does mention it in the “Notes”, which are a thorough three pages long. Alderson comments that himself, his illustrator, and his publisher chose the specific tales to be included, and notes that the order of arranging the tales is intentional. He states, “It was hoped that the sequence of stories would have a naturalness about it that would make it comfortable for readers to work through, if they wished, from one end to the other” (189). Michael Foreman’s dynamic illustrations enhance the collection, as each tale begins with a black-and-white thumbnail sketch and twenty-six full-color, vibrant, watercolor illustrations are scattered throughout the book. Foreman captures the tone of each tale, using muted and dark colors, shadow, and thin lines in the mysterious tales and luminous color, imaginative details, and softer lines in the lighter tales. The collection’s most remarkable feature is its potential diversity of audience. Because of the collection’s comprehensible translation, it is a great resource for the oral storyteller, but it is also a worthy selection for upper-elementary children, as the illustrations bring out the pathos of each story. Translated and illustrated by two qualified, experienced experts in children’s literature, this collection is a significant addition to the canon of folklore for children.

“Rubberized” book covers?!

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Is it just me? It seems that publishers have become really enamored of some new dust jacket treatment that adds an almost sticky texture to the paper. It feels sort of like a neoprene wetsuity material. I was on the Boston Globe Horn Book Award jury for 2012 and we recognized three pieces of fiction: No Crystal Stair by Vaunda Michaux Nelson (winner), Life: An Exploded Diagram by Mal Peet (honor book), and Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein (honor book). And all three have been subjected to these rubbery covers. Two of the three have dark, black backgrounds and I will admit that the matte finish of the texture adds some depth to it. But it also shows fingerprints something awful. And it’s a little tacky (duct-tape-adhesive tacky, not white-pants-after-labor-day tacky). Most libraries will put mylar covers over the jacket, simultaneously solving the problem of the unpleasant feel and compromising the benefits of the matte finish. And, really, at the end of the day, it doesn’t much matter. At all. But, still, someone is going to a lot of trouble (it must be some trouble) to take what might be perfectly fine dust jackets and make them stick.

What do you think?

no crystal stairlife an exploded diagramverity

For your consideration 3

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Why teach an old dog new tricks when the old dog is already perfect? Our Caldecott consideration continues.

homerHomer

Elisha Cooper

Greenwillow, 2012

Look closely here. On the surface this is a simple, lovely story about a nice old dog (a dog who doesn’t die, by the way, for those of you worried about that kind of thing). With sensitive brush and pencil work Cooper gives us an irresistible, flesh and blood (and fur) dog in Homer. But beneath that sweet surface is an especially sophisticated piece of storytelling. Copper lays the story out across a carefully structured set of panels. One by one, the members of Homer’s family pass him on the porch, inviting him to join in one outing or another. And with each cumulative turn of the page and subsequent invitation, we see the previous family member attending to his or her pursuit. And then the whole things plays back in reverse as the family returns. A wordless denouement finds Homer leaving his post on the porch and joining the family inside, hoisting his arthritic frame into what is clearly his chair. And there is peace. Cooper’s ability to paint such full-bodied characters, human and canine, is such simple linear gestures is, on its face, a little bit amazing. That he applies that skill to a brilliant narrative arc is extraordinary. It’s hard to imagine paying more respect to a child audience.