Amazing Books In Which Nothing Much Happens

Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. HarperCollins, 1932.

The opening chapter sets the stage in this story of wilderness survival and historical family life. There’s not much character development at first, but amazing detail of living on the rustic frontier pull the reader onward. Really, not much happens at all. Yet when I finished this book, I rushed back to the library to get the rest of the series (though I'd read them as a child as well)! Why did they so capture me?

Some items of note:

• Within the book there are many family stories, which gives a feel of leaving a legacy and adds to the believability of the whole.
• There’s a strong theme of hard work without complaint—such a realistic view of that age (like Sarah Plain and Tall) and unlike a more modern book about times past (thinking of Catherine Called Birdy here) the focus is on the fascinating details of life, even hard life, rather than the whining and “waaah, life is so hard.”
• Devil is in the details: Laura’s character is understated/undeveloped. Or, rather, her person is wrapped up in the goings on of those around her. Very realistic for her age (very little differentiation from parents and home at that point—she really is defined by the goings on around her). I noticed that she changes in subsequent books as she becomes her own person.
• Despite a lack of development, Laura is still lovable. She’s not the “perfect” child (unlike Mary); she has flaws but is still sweet and thoughtful, eager to please.

On Symbiosis and Stuffed Bunnies

Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems. Hyperion, 2004.

Symbiosis of text and illustration.

Little Trixie loses her stuffed Knuffle Bunny on an errand with Daddy to the Laundromat. In the excitement of having her bunny returned, Trixie says her first words: Knuffle Bunny. This book is heavy on parent-appeal, some of which will be over the head of most children—the accuracy of a parent’s frustration over a tantrum, the bra in the laundry basket. Yet it’s a satisfying and fully-developed story that incorporates text (speech bubbles) into the illustrations that are made up of black and white photographs and sketchy illustrated people.

Friends Forever: George and Martha

George and Martha by James Marshall. Houghton Mifflin, 1972.

Very similar to Frog and Toad in that it’s told in short tales, and “adult” characters who act and think like children, yet with a soft, sweet tone similar to Rosemary Wells.

In the stories two happy friends learn how to interact and be better friends though honesty and respect for one another. Valuable lessons for children. Each tale reads almost like a joke with an unexpected punch line at the end.

Interestingly, there are a number of more contemporary "versions" - or series - that aren't retellings, but are based solidly on the George and Martha model.

Overlong Crocodiles

Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile by Bernard Waber. Houghton Mifflin, 1965.

This book is fairly obviously the personification of a child in Crocodile form. The mean neighbor doesn’t like Lyle the Crocodile and wants him in a zoo but through events, Lyle ends up rescuing him and his cat from a fire, thus solving the problem. It’s quaint and the personification allows the author to stick Lyle in a zoo for a time (can’t have a child getting sent off to a cage) while keeping the young reader engaged in Lyle’s antics which are so similar to a child’s own.

I found it a bit too long to read aloud comfortably. But I tend to, uh, skip parts when I read aloud.

Too Tall for Truth: Tall Tales

John Henry by Julius Lester. Dial, 1994.

An authentic, engaging voice mingles fantasy with reality.

Pinkney’s vivid artwork combines with Lester’s picturesque text to make the telling of the story every bit as “larger than life” as the subject of the story. Lester fills his pages with word pictures, “bat wings on tombstones” and personification, the sun flossing, the wind out of breath. Yet he tosses in modern items, “like the school bus is never going to come,” which walks the line between contextualizing the fable and distracting from it (I’d vote for distracting).

But with other similes, “mountain as big as hurt feelings,” Lester touches the child’s world. A fabulous example of a Tall Tale capturing a bit of culture and history.

Bizarre Title Day: The Book of Three

The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander. 1964.

The heavy info-drop at the start of this book made me put it aside several times. The only reason I plugged ahead was because I had to complete this list!

I’m mixed. On one had the action is compelling and well-done and the plot moves fairly smoothly (i.e., not the “video game” plotline present in so many fantasy novels—like “we must rescue the enchantress but first we need the magic key but to get the magic key we must defeat the octagonal ogre but to defeat the octagonal ogre we need a dragon’s egg that can only be had as reward for aiding the chicken in his quest to cross the road!”). The similarities to Tolkien (The Hobbit published in 1937) were striking. A Gollum-like creature (Gurgi), and Taran is Sam to Gwydion’s Frodo for a good bit of the beginning. Yet this one is very much more, ahem, feminist than Tolkien. The female has a speaking role! And doesn’t end up embracing domesticity at the end (though maybe she will in future books. It’s still incredible, especially for the early ‘60s). And the plot takes many fascinating, unexpected, and un-Tolkien-like turns.

So, in short, I didn’t appreciate the info-dump at the head, as mentioned, nor the summing-up at the end. But both were far and away less tedious than Tolkien’s councils of Elrond and the like. Some notes on content:

• Taran’s move from Assistant Pig Keeper to hero is believable and subtle—nicely done. An especially poignant passage on p119, “To him, the bright morning felt deceptively gentle; the golden trees seemed to cover dark shadows. He shuddered even in the warmth.” He’s seeing with new eyes, growing, changing.
• But all this to-do over an ocular pig? Tolkien never had to argue the Ents into existence, nor Hobbits, but grown men seeking divination from a sow ... I needed some convincing that I never received.

That Ain't no Bull! Or, maybe it is...

The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf. 1963.

Detailed line drawings showing wonderful expression and a grand fairy tale opening make for a timeless story.

Dear Ferdinand is different: so common to a child’s experience, so engaging. Through an unexpected twist (he sits on a bee) it is he that ends up in the bullfight, where the humans—gasp—poke and stab bulls! But Ferdinand escapes this horrible fate simply by being himself.

An encouraging story for every child who has felt the weight of not being like everyone else.

Aside: I’m also often struck by how violent these older books can be. Would this fly in today’s market? Hmmm. Also, interesting political readings of this story ... but more on that later.

All Time Fave: Where the Wild Things Are

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. HarperCollins, 1963.

Illustrations and text work together to move the story forward. In the first spread Max faces the farthest edge, urging the reader to turn the page quickly as the text hints at all the mischief he’s carrying out. The next spread shows him running down the stairs, the very stairs that will, on the next page, take him right back up and into his bedroom for bed without supper. As Max slips into his magical world of Wild Things, the illustrations overtake the page, first relegating the text to the bottom, then driving it from the page altogether. The process reverses as Max slowly chooses to return to the safety and confines of his own room, to order, to language, and to his supper, which is waiting for him and is still hot.

I love the empowerment of this story, how Max exercises control over his own world, but ultimately returns. And unlike the rather creepy ballet version and the gawd-awful film version, this one is tender.

Chilling History Lessons

Hitler Youth: Growing Up in Hitler’s Shadow by Susan Campbell Bartoletti. Scholastic, 2005.

Fascinating and similar in tone and writing style to Darkness Over Denmark. Both take the individual stories from this horrid time in history and weave them into a steady and powerful narrative. I found myself caught up in the history—like that Hitler coming to power after the great depression meant a world-wide work shortage and tight immigration quotas so that the Jews who might have otherwise escaped to friendly countries couldn’t.

• Little different from fiction in that a visual image is painted with detail (none of it superfluous). 
• Shows so clearly that the Germans being satisfied with simple answers seems childlike because those driving Hitler’s movement were indeed children. The children weren’t trained to think, rather to obey. Reason was set aside entirely. 
• Several stories within stuck with me: Aktion T4, the top secret program to kill physically and mentally disabled people, and White Rose, the group of students who published the truth. Ultimately the group was caught and beheaded. Also the description on page 146 of the young soldiers, captured now, being led into a liberated concentration camp. Inmates flanked the boys, ghastly, like wraths. 
• The key quote on page 149: “... the children and teenagers of the Third Reich had been betrayed, deserted, and sacrificed by a party and a regime that had used them to attain power.” 
• Fabulous details in a straightforward narrative.

Brrrrrrrrrrr

The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats. Puffin Books, 1962.

Keats captures the wonder of a snowy day in the story of Peter’s enjoyment of the season’s first snow. He shows pleasures that might seem mundane to an adult, dragging of a stick to make tracks, whapping a tree for the onomatopoeic “Plop!” of snow falling on Peter’s head. Illustrations that appear like paper cut-outs, simplified almost to the point of silhouette, mirror the simplicity of the text. A perfect snowy day read.

Outfoxing the Fox in Doctor De Soto

Doctor De Soto. Farrar by William Steig, Straus and Giroux, 1982.

Anthropomorphism lightens this harrowing tale. Written in a nursery tale style, the story of Dr. De Soto’s escape from the wiley fox feels like a modern Little Red Riding Hood or Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The husband and wife dentistry team, mice, take pity on a fox and repair his tooth, but through ingenuity they “outfox the fox” and thwart his plan to eat them. Bold outline illustrations with watercolor details illustrate the story.

Caps for Sale!

Caps for Sale: A Tale of a Peddler, Some Monkeys and their Monkey Business by Esphyr Slobdkina. HarperCollins, 1940.

Slobodkina’s use of an adult protagonist empowers children one cap at a time. As he tries to reclaim his caps from the mischievous monkeys, the child-reader is one step ahead, seeing the solution to his problem before he does. The author highlights this through simple illustrations that make use of the same or similar scenes and angles in most spreads, drawing attention to the small details that change. Throw in some number and color concepts, onomatopoeia, repetition, occasional internal rhyme, and a classic is born.

I’m still slightly bothered that the man never got his lunch. A lesson in delayed gratification perhaps?

Song of the Waterboatman

The Song of the Waterboatman and other Pond Poems by Joyce Sidman. Houghton Mifflin, 2005.

Stunning illustrations. And lovely poems. I’m not sure they capture essence as well as Zolotow. I’m perhaps looking for an Annie Dillard of children’s poetry, but maybe Sidman is more accessible to a child than Zolotow (who is more Dillardy).

• --The Caddis Fly is fascinating and I love the use of the word whorled. What a cool word!
• The NF sidebars are clear and concise, but I found myself wishing they were a little more lyrical.
• Colors used in the illustration for Season’s Campaign are delicious. I wanted to roll in them, to wake up there. That poem reminds me of an eternal favorite and classic, Hailstones and Halibut Bones.
• Water Bear is fascinating too. This is why macro-evolution takes far more faith than I can muster.

Classics and Caterpillars and Chocolate Cake!

The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle, 1969.

Concept book in disguise!

A little caterpillar eats too much, gets a tummy ache, then rights his eating habits and turns into a butterfly. The story itself is engaging, but it also teaches the days of the week, counting, one-to-one correspondence (reinforced through the unevenly cut pages and tactile holes), nutrition and metamorphosis. Bright colors and lots of texture in the simple illustrations contrast with white space to make the book all at once straightforward but worth a few extra seconds per page of lingering.

No wonder this was a favorite when I was a child, and a favorite for my own children now. Pie and Fish especially love the page with the cupcake and watermelon and salami and sausage (shaushage, said Fish when he was younger). Of all Carle's books, this is my absolute favorite.

Dark Tales of Dark Times

Darkness Over Denmark by Ellen Levine. Holiday House, 2000.

The moving story of Danish resistance to Hitler’s reign of terror. Levine finds the human stories in the history and weaves them together deftly, putting a face on events that would otherwise be abstract and distant from contemporary youth. Some thoughts:

• Details: that’s where the devil is, to be sure. Levine’s text is drenched in detail, adding authenticity and making her scenes memorable.
• Personal stories: stories of individuals obtained through research and interview are interwoven with the history to enhance and illumine the narrative.
• Vivid: The writing is clear and precise, yet passionate. The author’s interest in and enthusiasm for this topic is clear on every page. I kept remembering the urgency and horror of Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five.

Grandfather’s Journey by Allen Say. 1993.

I read this book for a children’s lit course way back in college (1997 or so). While I appreciate the family story and love the skilled watercolors, I’m not now and wasn’t then overly enthusiastic about this book.

Artistically, the pictures are very posed (stiff) and though lovely, do not create a sense of movement, an urgency to flip from one page to the next. I suppose they could be seen as poised (vs. posed), like pictures in an old photo album. But does that increase the sense of movement, or further distance the reader?

And although the story gives a sense of history and place, it’s so nostalgic that I wonder if it can really capture a child audience. A lovely tribute to a grandfather, a multicultural travel story, but Great Children’s Literature?

The book is stunningly illustrated, but perhaps one of those (growing number of) picture books more aimed at adults than children.

Mike Mulligan, Guilty As Charged

Am I the only parent who uses the "abridged" bedtime story? What I mean is, I skip parts of longer books. Even shorter books. Like Cat in the Hat - he only spends one page standing on the ball in my version. I just can't take more "cake on the ball on the rake, etc." I abridge quite a bit of Mike Mulligan, too, despite the clever and rhythmic text. But for my purpose here, I read the whole thing. Promise.

Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton, 1939.

Repetition, alliteration, fully developed plotline. All of these fine qualities combine as poor Mike Mulligan, who loves his steam shovel Mary Ann, must find his place in a world changed by technology. He takes on the job of digging a new town hall and, despite antagonist Henry B. Swap smiling in a rather mean way, succeeds. Through an unexpected twist, Mike secures a future for both himself and his beloved Mary Ann. A few further thoughts:

• Tidy illustrations personify Mary Ann, illuminating the text and Mike and Mary Ann’s friendship.
• Henry B. Swap changes by the end, coming to appreciate Mike and Mary Ann and to smile in a way that’s not mean at all. A nice dynamic.
• But the book is a little long for a contemporary read-aloud. It’s difficult (tedious) to complete at one sitting. So don't beat yourself up if you skip a line here or there.

See, Flint Can Be Funny!

The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 by Christopher Paul Curtis. 1995.

One I read in college and several times since, plus heard the author reading at graduation this past July. This is the story of Kenny and his wacky family who, on a trip from their home in Flint, MI, are in Birmingham, AL at the time of a racially motivated church bombing.

The voice is funny, prone to hyperbole, which one might think makes the narrator unreliable, but the boy’s character is drawn solidly as a child we can trust. Curtis shows emotion throughout by using action, dialogue, setting rather than stating it bluntly. His climax scenes are intense: “All the hair on my head jumped up to attention,” he writes instead of saying something like, Kenny was startled. Vivid, totally in voice. The plot is understated and organic. Too much so, I wonder? I recall on the first read wondering for a long time what the point would be, if there would be one. Something to look at more closely later, perhaps.

A Chair for My Mother: Contemporary Fable

A Chair for my Mother by Vera B. Williams. Greenwillow Books, 1982.

First person narration and vibrant illustrations combine to build a believable story that is charmingly told. It’s the story of an urban family of Mother, Grandmother and daughter whose home is destroyed by fire. As they work to rebuild their home, their family bonds both with one another and with their broader community. It’s a contemporary story, but with an allusion to Goldilocks, it has a fable-like feel.