Emily’s Dress and Other Missing Things

by

“Emily Dickinson is the perfect thing to hand to a 16-year old girl,” advised fellow blogger lynchlibrarian recently. What is it about Emily? Indeed, I was 16 when I purchased my paperback copy of her complete works (at the local Borders bookstore, my idea of the cool hangout spot), and I vividly remember discussing “Success is counted sweetest” in my high school’s U.S. Literature class. Certainly I considered her words earlier and later in life, though not by much: an eager seventh grade teacher chalked “I never saw a moor” on the board for the daily quote; in my second year of college, fellow English majors and I spent the better part of a class dissecting the differences between her 1859 and 1861 versions of “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers” (the power — of a dash!).

So what is it about Emily that resonates during young adulthood? While increasingly introspective teens may be intrigued by her famously reclusive habits, it’s her words that truly inspire. At a time when teenagers feel pulled between their past and future selves, her voice simultaneously offers innocence and wisdom. As they encounter the terribly great problems of the world and personal decisions to make, her subject matter rings with the impossible brightness and darkness of life’s great questions. Through succinct, tender verses, Emily provides young people with a “nugget of pure truth” to grasp in their hands and hearts. (My Virginia Woolf obsession came later in life.)

  Feathers by Jacqueline Woodson   Emily's Dress and Other Missing Things

If young people miss out on enthusiastic teachers reading Emily’s poetry aloud, I’m happy to know they may also discover her in the pages of fiction. Jacqueline Woodson’s beloved Feathers (Putnam, 2007) perfectly pairs “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” with a story that examines the power of friendship over divisions and discrimination during the 1970s, a fragile, precariously hopeful time in our nation’s history. What a perfect story for a 12-year-old.

For older readers, Kathryn Burak’s novel Emily’s Dress and Other Missing Things (Roaring Book Press, 2012) explores Emily’s darker side. After experiencing personal tragedy, Claire and her father attempt to start fresh by moving to Amherst, Massachusetts, the home of Emily Dickinson. Claire is a poet herself  and finds herself drawn to Emily’s words, rich with poignant examinations of death, and to Emily’s house, now of course a museum where Emily’s personal belongings are artfully arranged for tourists to view. As if in a creative trance, she breaks in, night after night, to write while wearing Emily’s white dress — until the day the college-aged student teacher Tate discovers her. Instantly linked by this strangely intimate crime, they run, stealing the dress in the process. Burak’s poetry is the star of this novel, both in the actual verses Claire writes — the portals by which she gradually shares the tragic details of her past — and in the crisp, shimmering prose of Claire’s narration:

The smell of snow on the winter air fades. I take a deep breath. I smell paper. Here I have the cool, clean feeling of paper, too.

I am so glad to get away. To be in Emily Dickinson’s house.


With a frigate like this book, the reader will certainly agree.

Caldecott 2014 continued

by

We left off with three women whose 2013 work merits some Caldecott consideration. Here are a few men whose illustrations we want to look at, too (remember, I’m going alphabetically by author – the gender breakdown is purely accidental):

boy and the airplaneThe Boy and the Airplane

illustrated by Mark Pett

Simon and Schuster, 2013

This wordless picture book is awash in poignant, sepia-toned nostalgia, so you know I’ll love it. A little boy receives a package (from an unidentified stranger – look carefully) and opens it to discover a red toy airplane. He plays and plays and plays, until the plane accidentally lands up on the roof, beyond his reach. Try as he might, he can’t get it down. So, he plants a seed. Year by year a great tree grows. The boy grows, too, becoming a young man and, eventually, an old, Santa-Claus-looking one. At last, he climbs the tree and finds the plane, just as he left it. Instead of playing, though, he wraps it up and pays it forward. I can already anticipate heated arguments about whether or not this is really a book for kids (nostalgia has that effect on us) but expect consensus with respect to the subtle art with which the story is told. The pages themselves are a succession of varied drab grays, fixing a somber tone that persists, even in the happier moments. And the wistful facial expressions, so simply realized, are somehow simultaneously round and piercing, all at once. We are left with a tender cycle of loss and reconciliation, but the melancholic tone establishes the losing, not the finding, as the predominant thematic emotion. We can go back and forth as much as we like about the need for a poignant picture book about the inevitability of loss. But taking the theme as a given, it’s hard to argue with its artistic execution.

the darkThe Dark

written by Lemony Snicket, illustrated by Jon Klassen

Little Brown, 2013

In 2013 Jon Klassen became the first illustrator to win both the Medal and an Honor since Leonard Weisgard did it in 1947. Can he be the first repeat winner since the Dillons did it in 1976 and 1977? With a book like The Dark in contention there’s no denying the possibility. A little boy fears the Dark, and so he confronts it. Snicket personifies the Dark in his almost elegaic text, and though our young hero Laszlo fears him, he is more a mystery than a real threat. Klassen sets the action in a huge, ramshackle house, full of the sort of staircases, closets, and corners that invite worry. But what’s especially striking about this book is not so much what Klassen build into the illustrations but what he leaves out. There is no furniture to speak of, save Laszlo’s bed, and a dresser in the basement with curious import. And there are no adults, either. Klassen has really tapped into the insecurities of childhood and manifests them on the page in stark resonance. It’s easy to celebrate an artist’s exquisite hand, fine line, sense of shape, manipulation of color, etc. It’s not so easy to recognize what the artist excludes. This book gives us the rare opportunity.

bluebirdBluebird

illustrated by Bob Staake

Schwarz and Wade, 2013

A little boy is bullied, rather mercilessly. Friendless, he roams the city streets alone. He is adopted by a little blue bird, who becomes his trusted companion. The bullies persist, though, and in a particularly brutal attack, his little blue bird is struck by a stick and killed. Other birds arrive, and the boy and his bird are flown to the sky where the little blue bird is released. The Caldecott tends not to love purely digital work; somehow art is supposed to be made by hand. But it is only a matter of time before we recognize the computer as just another medium, no different from pens or brushes or woodblocks. And this could be the time. Staake, known more for a style of chaotic, somewhat irreverent ebullience, really reins things in here, working in a restrained palette with simple lines and straightforward composition. By getting out of the story’s way, he makes it all the more powerful. I have already read some musings about the inappropriateness of such a stark treatment of difficult subject matter. But to my eyes, by expressing the truth just as he sees it, Staake pays extraordinary respect to his young readers. And there’s a lot to say about the value of that kind of respect, at least when we’re talking about the most distinguished picture book for children.

Caldecott 2014

by

It may be early to begin handicapping the 2014 Caldecott Medal (the committee won’t meet for its first round of deliberations until the end of next month), but this is already proving to be a strong year in picture books. I have  encountered some extraordinary titles that are, each in its own way, individually distinct. Let’s take a look, shall we? I’ll start with three today, and add some more in the coming days.

In alphabetical order by author (I am a librarian, remember):

dream friendsDream Friends

written and illustrated by You Byun

Nancy Paulsen Books, 2013

A shy little girl develops a deep friendship with a ginormous white cat, though their relationship exists only in her dreams. Those dreams become the foundation for a real life friendship, though, which soon blossoms into playgrounds-full of playpals and one flesh-and-blood BFF. The story is a sweet one, sometimes a little too sweet, but the digitally manipulated pen and ink illustrations are magnificent. Byun has a glorious sense of color, which she manages carefully to distinguish between the lands of life and dreaming. She engages her unfettered imagination in the depiction of the dream world, peppering the fantastical landscapes with flying origami cranes, pendulant upside-down clock towers,  bedroom forests festooned with bonnets, and confectionary firework displays. The artist spent her childhood in Japan and Korea, and the recognizable element of kawaii to her drawings only adds to the charm. But beyond the beauty of the images, it is Byun’s ability to establish mood, communicate emotion, and define relationships with shape and color that really distinguish this elegant outing.

flora and the flamingoFlora and the Flamingo

illustrated by Molly Idle

Chronicle Books, 2013

This interactive wordless book introduces Flora, dressed in a pink bathing costume and yellow swim cap, to a similarly pink flamingo, and the two engage in a sort of mirrored dance. The flamingo engages in a gorgeous display, extending legs and draping wings in elegant expression. Flora tries to follow along but her clumsy positions are not entirely successful. Seeing her despair, the flamingo offers assistance, and soon the two have achieved a perfect compromise. Idle is artful with the “toy-and-movable” component. Individual flaps expose individual poses, as Flora struggles to match the flamingo’s grace. When the two really join forces, a single flap perfectly expresses their combination, and their dance takes flight. A final, irresistible double-gatefold completes the lesson, as Flora takes over the instruction and the flamingo follows in her exuberant footsteps. I don’t know if the Caldecott Committee has ever recognized a book with an interactive element, but given its ingenious application here, it’s hard to imagine that they won’t be looking carefully.

nino wrestles the worldNiño Wrestles the World

written and illustrated by Yuyi Morales

Roaring Brook Press, 2013

Niño is a pint-sized luchador who takes on all manner of pretend opponents in his living-room lucha libre ring. Each of his foes is imagined from pieces of Mexican culture, from Olmec Head to the Weeping Woman. Ultimately it is LAS HERMANITAS who prove to be the worthiest adversaries. But he clearly loves those little sisters, and the three become LOS TRES HERMANOS, establishing themselves as the team to beat. Morales works in digital collage, rearranging her handcrafted watercolors and woodblock images, inserting pieces of photography here and there. The typography is suitable exclamatory, and feels like part of Niño’s vivid imagination. As irresistible as the images are, to me the book’s standout element is the fact that it explores a quintessential childhood experience–imaginative play–in a way that is simultaneously culturally specific and universal. The Caldecott terms and criteria being what they are, the Committee will need to process that value in terms of its distinguished illustrations. I’d be happy to make the case.

Publisher Preview

by

Please join us on Saturday, May 11 at 1:00pm for our annual Fall Publisher Preview (yes, it’s spring, but they’re previewing their fall lists). Representatives from Albert Whitman, Capstone Press, Norwood House and Sourcebooks will be on hand to show us what they have coming down the publishing pipeline, discuss trends in the industry, and answer any questions we might have. They tend to be pretty generous, and offer lovely, book-laden goody bags as well. Not to be missed!

We meet in Springer Suites, on the bottom level of the Rebecca Crown Library on Dominican’s main campus. Go here to RSVP.

We hope to see you there!

albert whitmancapstonenorwood housesourcebooks

Dynamic Bibliography: Eight Keys and Relish

by

Every month at the Butler Center, we have an open discussion group in which we consider three books with something in common, called Butler Book Banter. The purpose of this meeting—to discuss books in the context of others—resonates with part of Thom Barthelmess’s mission for the Butler Center: what he calls Dynamic Bibliography.

I personally think Dynamic Bibliography should be added to the Oxford English Dictionary. The concept rests in the idea that while it is important to look at an individual book, the real truth, discovery, beauty, essence, and energy of a work resides in intertextuality. How do books talk to each other? What are common themes, or how do themes resist each other or argue? What is between the lines, between the pages, between the covers of a list of books? How does a book change when you discuss it in context with different books? When we put two, or three, or four books next to each other, they certainly say something different than one that stands alone.

What’s fabulous is that what the books say is all up to the reader.

Today, I am going to attempt this concept of discussion through Dynamic Bibliography with two books, both published within the last two years. They are:

Eight Keys by Suzanne LaFleur. Published by Wendy Lamb Books, 2011.

Relish: My Life in the Kitchen by Lucy Knisley. Published by First Second, 2013.

ImageEight Keys tells the story of middle grader Elise, who is struggling between her childhood self and her impending adolescence. With a best friend who she believes to be childish, a locker partner who smashes her lunch, and two parents who died before she was three, Elise doesn’t have it easy. Then, Elise discovers a key that has her name on it in her uncle’s barn, and she enters a mystery that might finally help her come to terms with her past, her situation, and herself.

Relish: My Life in the Kitchen is a graphic novel that is not just about food, but about finding deliciousness in every aspect of life. In this memoir, Lucy tells her life story through interaction of text and illustration, and she tells it in the context of sautéed garlic mushrooms, sushi, gourmet cheese, and much more. She tells of her life as a child of divorce, her travels abroad, her time in college, and her work life, her artistic core, and her relationships. It is refreshing to read a novel about a young woman who loves food, who enjoys it, and who has a healthy relationship with it.

 

Now, at first glance, these books don’t really have much to do with each other. One is a middle grade piece of fiction, one a graphic novel memoir. One’s focus is on mystery and school life, one is on food. One is written in linear prose, the other through childhood flashbacks and illustration.

 

But, let’s take a deeper look…what do both of these books say? What do they say to each other?

 

1.)    Family. Both of these girls’ lives are connected with their families, and both in unconventional ways. Elise is raised by her aunt and uncle, and Lucy spends time going back and forth between her mom’s house in the country and her dad’s city apartment. Yet, both girls cherish their families, get upset with their families, and forgive their families. And they both need their families.

 

 

 

“I walked over to her, climbed into her lap. I’m much too big for that; hadn’t done it in years and years, couldn’t even remember doing it, really. But I sat sideways with my legs on the couch. I put my arms around her neck and rested by head on her shoulder. She slipped her arms around me and held on.”
–Eight Keys

 

“After almost eight years of living in Chicago, I realized: I’m homesick…And I missed my mom’s cooking.”

 

-Relish

 

2.)    Friends. Elise’s friendship stories play a more significant role in the plot than Lucy’s, but several of Lucy’s vignettes include friendship as a central piece of her own development. Elise’s best friend Franklin is so kind and giving that when Elise ditches his babyish ways, my goes out to him. The antithesis of friendship—bullying—is also present in Eight Keys. Maybe it’s just the bullied kid in me (I have such white skin; kids called me “Albino” and “Alien” because you could see veins in my arms), but I was surprised that bullying wasn’t part of Lucy’s story. What does the absence of bullying say about Lucy’s story? That it didn’t happen, or that it wasn’t significant?

 

“Once we got on the bus, it was totally like usual—just me and Franklin on our own, in our own seat, having our own conversation. That was how the whole school day always used to go. We didn’t really need to get to know the other kids because we had each other.”

 

-Eight Keys

 

 

 

“We ate [sweet corn on a stick] while sitting on the dusty curb, with cold grapefruit soda, making a mess of our clothes and faces.”

 

-Relish

 

3.)    Leaving Childhood behind. Adolescence was a hard, sad time for me, which is probably why coming-of-age novels are always my favorite. I see myself in them. Both of these girls struggle with questions—why is middle school so much harder than elementary? Why am I getting bad grades? Why is my dad so dang hard to get along with? Why doesn’t my family understand me? Lucy tells her story as an adult reflecting back on childhood, so her maturity bleeds through, while Elise is right in the middle of her struggle and doesn’t apologize for it. While each of these girls grow in different ways, they both find their way through the muck and become strong along the way.

 

“No one likes me because I’m friends with that dweebus Franklin. He makes me look like a baby.”

 

-Eight Keys

 

“We fought. The truth is, my dad and I are sometimes too similar—too finicky and stubborn and easily wounded—to get along all the time.”

 

-Relish

 

4.)    Self-Discovery: This is the big one. Through overcoming obstacles, reconciling the past, and facing the future with an open heart, both of these girls discover who they are. Lucy uses food as a way to illustrate her self-discovery, and this makes sense because food is all about the senses—feeling, seeing, smelling, sensing, wanting, touching, tasting. Isn’t that what adolescence is about? Dipping our fingers into adulthood, trying certain dishes and finding out that some are delicious and some are disgusting? Elise discovers herself through a gift from her father, and sees that instead of waiting to live her life until after she grows up, realizes that she’s already living it, and has been her whole life.  

 

“It could be whatever I needed it to be, whatever I wanted it to be. And the truth, I suddenly understood, was that so could I.”

 

-Eight Keys

 

“Like me, still a young woman, learning about what moves me, what I want. What I love. And doing these things with excitement, curiosity, and relish.”

 

-Relish

 

These girls are both lovable, both smart, and both grow into themselves in their respective books. I think if they were to magically appear in front of me, they would be friends. They would argue because they are both strong-headed, and they would both be protective of their own hearts.

 

But I can also see them planting a garden, Elise telling Lucy the way they do it on her farm, and Lucy returning with memories from her mother’s garden in the country.

And they’d share a tomato.

B3 suspended for April 18, 2013

by

rain spoiled my bookDue to the extraordinarily excessive and perpetual rainfall, Dominican has closed campus today and suspended all events. So, our last Butler Book Banter of the season will have to wait for another day. Check back soon for dates and titles for our fall B3 series. And don’t be a stranger!

Love, Thom

Maggot Moon

by

1

maggot moon

Maggot Moon

by Sally Gardner

Candlewick/Brilliance Audio, 2013

There is so much I want to say about this book. So much. But each and every element or facet or consequence I might mention would rob you of the opportunity to experience it yourself, thereby diminishing your encounter. Even saying that much feels like something of a spoiler.

So I’ll make just these few short comments:

1) Every now and again you read something that feels actually new. This is one of those stories.

2) For a good while you will feel disoriented. Stick it out. It’s worth it.

3) There are some powerful, interactive spot illustrations in the print book that contribute to the mood. The audiobook is sharp and reserved and extraordinary. Take your pick.

4) Please read this book as soon as you can, then find me so we can talk about it.

Such Soft, Snuggly, Sleepy, Sloths

by

Lucy Cooke celebrates the otherwise underappreciated sloth in her book a little book of SLOTH. Few children’s books begin with an author’s note confessing “I love sloths. I always have.” Of course, to my knowledge, there are just not many books entirely dedicated to the beloved sloth and shame on publishing for that. Books about soft, fuzzy kittens and playful puppies enjoy rampant popularity. To be sure, if mice were paid for their abundance of stories they would have started their own colony on the moon (after all it is made of cheese, right?) far from those mean kittens. Who knows why authors love them so. No offense against rodents but even I jump when one scampers across the living room floor. The world’s largest rodent, the capybara, happens to be my favorite but how many books were published about the capybara last year (seriously, if there were any, let me know)?

slothMy apologies…this is neither about my empathy for the under-sloth as it were nor my anxiety from excessive dog/cat/mouse lit.

Slothville shelters well over a hundred sloths that have been hurt or found parentless in the wild. Founded by Judy Arroyo in Costa Rica, the sanctuary cares for the curious, grinning creatures which are lanky in appearance and leisurely in motion. In reference to a sloth named Mateo who is particularly protective of his stuffed cow Moo, Cooke jests, “If any of the other baby sloths tries to sneak a Moo hug, a fight breaks out – a very, very slow fight, in which the winner is the last sloth to stay awake.” Each page of the colorful photo album contains a single image or multiple images of the animals in cute poses a la Anne Geddes, hanging from tree limbs, or snuggling with stuffed toys, blankets, and fellow sloths. Alongside images the author relays interesting tidbits with clever quips on the animal’s behavior. The sloth’s unique behavior and bizarre characteristics will fascinate parents and children alike while the round eyed, stumpy nosed babies in their hand-crafted onesies are absolutely adorable. Besides, with a little imagination they sort of look like mice, too. Envision a rainy evening, scoop up your little one, and snuggle up to a little book of SLOTH.

A Little Book of Sloth

by Lucy Cooke

Margaret K. McElderry Books, 2013

Summer and Bird

by

ImageSummer and Bird

by Catherine Catmull

Dutton, 2012

This book is a book to write about.

I first picked it up on Thom Barthelmess’s (curator of The Butler) recommendation, but was also instantly attracted to the beauty of the cover. A cream background contrasted with eerie, sharp bare tree branches echoes the themes of light and dark in the text. A giant swan opens its wings at the top of the cover, inviting you to look at the beautifully embossed, maroon, shiny cursive-like font of the title. The stark white of the back cover seems stripped of feeling, except for the back of two girls walking away, close in physical space but looking in different directions. Ingenious design here.

The text itself is lyrical, insightful, and entirely imaginative. Like Shannon Hale, Catmull pulls you slowly into her world, and in order to follow, you have to surrender your skepticism and let yourself be taken over by the lush phrases and astonishing world building. As with Neil Gaiman or Kathi Appelt, you must relinquish control let the author lead you through a story that will surely be magical, and maybe will even change you.

The plot centers on two very different sisters, Summer and Bird, who wake up one day to find their parents missing in their forest home. Softspoken, warm Summer and the young, spunky, but selfish Bird are overwhelmed with confusion, rejection, and mystery, but decide to follow a cryptic note from their mother and are drawn to the woods in search of their parents. Much like Narnia or The Looking Glass, the sisters enter into the fantasy world of Down, where they take separate, parallel journeys as they try to find their parents. Through their own experiences—Bird falling under the power of The Puppeteer, a manipulative bird who has stolen her mother’s crown, and Summer finding herself stuck in a nest high in the sky with nothing but a small egg—they find that maybe what they were searching for wasn’t necessarily their parents, but themselves. Touching on complex themes of jealousy, desire for power, betrayal, guilt, anger, the dynamic nature of family relationships, courage, inner strength, hope, and freedom, this book is mesmerizing and thought provoking. I admit that as I was reading it, I went through cycles of emotion—anger, fear, irritation, hope, joy, catharsis, and a type of tender sorrow that reaches down deep where I can feel my chest sting a bit with wonder.

Catmull writes in a third-person omniscient perspective, one that is difficult to write in and hard to keep your reader involved in, because the narrator knows every character, and can write from each of their viewpoints. Catmull, however, uses the perspective to add layer and layer upon the story, sometimes jumping in time, sometimes giving the reader secret information that Summer and Bird do not know. Abundant with the mythology of birds and elements of fairy tale, Catmull entwines sections of her story like a skilled weaver, leaving her reader with a one-of-a-kind, extraordinary piece of art.

An eloquent, magical, unsettling, brave debut novel, this is one you want to read.

“All their lives, Bird had been the difficult one, the unmanageable child, and Summer the good girl who could always be relied on. But Summer could see that Bird had always found her own story and chosen to follow it, and Summer envied that. Most of all, she envied the magnetic bird-soul that had told Bird what to do.”

~from the text

Hygiene Hypothesis

by

2

five second ruleLast week my colleague Katie posted about Brave Irene, wondering particularly about situations in the book (neglect, stranger danger) that seemed innocent enough at the time of publication but feel somehow more difficult in a contemporary cultural context. The conversation got me thinking about an article I read recently in the Washington Post about the hygiene hypothesis. Researchers suspect a link between our growing obsession with cleanliness (which we understand as the absence of germs) and a rise in diagnosis for all sorts of immunological problems including everything from allergies to multiple sclerosis. As I understand it, the idea is this: by protecting children from garden variety germs, we remove the opportunity for their bodies to distinguish between everyday irritants and dangerous pathogens. When they are exposed to things (as they inevitably will be) their bodies treat all sorts of microbes as major threats, resulting in an overzealous auto-immune response. It’s an interesting premise, and one that makes common sense to me.

And I wonder if the same could be said for ideas. Are there costs to “protecting” children from exposure to intellectual things they will encounter in their lives? What might those costs be? I have long believed that, collectively, we err on the side of over-protection. If an effort to spare children uncomfortable emotions we fill their environments with primary colors and ebullient music and sunshine and cuddles. And we purge those environments of any references to despairing or struggle. We mean well, of course we do. We don’t want the kids in our lives to be unhappy. But kids despair and they struggle. And should not books be places for kids to make sense of those emotions? Of course they should.

I am not suggesting that we tie kids up and subject them to a literary diet of terror and dismay, any more than I would advocate feeding them decidedly rotten meat. Yuck. But I am suggesting that there is a place in the preschool world for books that acknowledge hurt and sorrow, books that recognize that such emotions exist and tell kids that it’s OK to feel them. Maybe, by inoculating children against the darker shadows the human condition, we prepare them for meeting them head on. And by showing kids that books and stories make really effective tools for managing our emotions, we give them a powerful gift indeed.

image crop from Greg Williams’ WikiWorld.