Picture Book Biographies

I happen to have a lot of nieces and nephews on my husband's side. Since I'm fairly sure these kids have no shortage of toys, and I love excuses to read children's books, I decided early on that I would stick with giving them books as gifts. I dread the day that the youngest outgrows picture books, because they're the most fun to buy, but fortunately some picture books are sophisticated enough that you can go right on buying them up through age eight or even higher. Picture book biographies are especially good for this, because the "story" and vocabularies are often more involved, plus the child has the opportunity to pursue the subject further if they're interested. And even if they don't pursue it right away, maybe someday they'll remember/realize that that book they read as a kid was actually about a real person.

My most striking memory of coming across a picture book biography as an adult was while I was in library school, taking a course in Children's Literature. Our assignments required us to do a lot of research as to what was available out there for kids, and I found Frida, written by Jonah Winter and illustrated by Ana Juan. Just look at that cover! It's as though a very young Frida Kahlo was illustrating her own life, before her style solidified into the one we know today. This book was published in 2002, the same year the movie starring Salma Hayek was released. Obviously, art historians and collectors will have long known Frida Kahlo's work, but for me it took these nudges in more popular culture media to make me aware of Kahlo, and I'm glad it happened.

Another picture book biography that I only just came across is the wonderful Brothers at Bat, written by Audrey Vernick and illustrated by Steven Salerno, about an all-brother baseball team that competed for years, interrupted only by World War II. The Acerra family had sixteen kids, twelve of them boys, which was more than enough to field their own team. The book relates their story in a conversational style, all the way up through their last game as a team in 1952 and their honoring in 1997 by the Baseball Hall of Fame. What's really interesting to me is that the Acerras were one of twenty-nine baseball teams made up entirely of brothers that played between the 1860s and 1940s. This brought home two things to me: first, that people sure did have a lot of kids back then, and second, that baseball really is the American game. (It's also more "mystical" than other sports, which to me is why baseball movies often introduce a hint of magic, whereas football and ice hockey movies are almost always about sheer force of will.) But back to this book: the illustrations have lovely attention to detail, so it's worth looking at them closely.

Yet another children's book that taught me something I didn't know: Tallchief: America's Prima Ballerina. This one is actually a picture book autobiography, written by Maria Tallchief herself with assistance from Rosemary Wells, and illustrated by Gary Kelley. Ms. Tallchief was considered the first prima ballerina, and the first Native American to achieve international ballet stardom; in fact, she was the first star of George Balanchine's New York City Ballet company. Since I didn't come to appreciate ballet until my late thirties, I know little about the history of the art form, so I was glad to find out about this influential dancer.
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Easing back in with "Recently Read".....

It's been a while since I've posted, although I'm still reading pretty steadily. So instead of one long review, I'm going to ease back in with short notes on some recent reads.

First up, I read the first two delightful books in the series The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place. In the first book, The Mysterious Howling, 15-year-old Penelope Lumley takes her first governess position upon leaving the Swanburne Academy for Poor Bright Females. In the second book, Penelope and the children visit London for the first time. (The cover of the second book is to die for!) I love Penelope's poetic-yet-no-nonsense soul, and the charm of these children who end words in tapered-off howls, such as when they call Ms. Lumley "Lumawoo-oo." These books aren't the slightest bit realistic, and they don't have the amount of closure that I normally want in books, but they're so wonderful that I just don't care.

Another recent read was Thicker than Water, the fourth book in Mike Carey's Felix Castor series about a hard-boiled exorcist trying to keep it together while both his personal life and London-in-general continue to detereorate in terms of undead activity. This isn't your standard approach to zombies and werewolves, however; some of them are practically upright citizens, or at least don't particularly want to cause madness and mayhem. In any case, this fourth book bogged down a bit in the middle, and I'd almost made up my mind not to seek out the fifth book, but then this ended on a big reveal and a big bad development, so now I'm going to have to keep on with it. I hope the fifth book has the closure I'm looking for since there is no sign of a sixth book.

Around Christmas, I like to read a few Christmas-related books. This year I tried I Am Half Sick of Shadows by Alan Bradley, a Flavia de Luce cozy mystery. I was intrigued by the Tennyson-inspired title, and I thought the feisty 11-year-old heroine might be spunky like Theodosia Throckmorton or Kat Stephenson. And Flavia was spunky, but she was also riddled with contradictions: she's an 11-year-old who plays with explosive chemicals and Bunsen burners, but she still believes in Santa Claus, and her attempts to chemically catch Santa in the act are silly and serve little other purpose than to put Flavia on the roof at a key point in the plot. A big mystery in Flavia's past in hinted at; considering that this is the fourth book in the series, the author is being pretty stingy with information (although to be fair, I haven't read the first three books). My guess (possible spoiler if I'm correct) is simply that Flavia's mother died giving birth to her, or gave up her life in some other way to protect her baby, and this is what causes the sibling tension in the house. It's definitely not enough to keep me interested, I'm afraid.

I can't go into much detail on this next book since I was contracted to write a lengthy essay on it, but I do highly recommend 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami if you're in the mood for something different. At almost 1,000 pages, this is no quick read, but rather a slow yet fascinating examination of an alternate 1984 in Tokyo and how it affects the two main characters.

Finally, a nod to an absolutely adorable picture book that I've already bought for one nephew and plan to buy for another in the future: Shark vs. Train, written by Chris Barton and illustrated by Tom Lichtenheld. This book is about two little boys who go to the toybox and pull out a shark and a train, which they then pit against each other in a series of escalating silly contests, like which would be better at jumping off a high dive, which would be better at basketball, and so on. The shark and the train smack talk each other throughout, making this a witty book that parents won't mind reading more than once. Read more!

19 Girls and Me

There is so much that 19 Girls and Me gets right that I suspect I'm more disappointed than I otherwise would be with the one aspect I think it gets wrong. Nonetheless, this is a lovely children's book and one that I will consider giving as a gift.

Written by Darcy Pattison and illustrated by Steven Salerno, this picture book first grabbed my attention with its terrific eye-catching cover. The story follows new kindergartner John Hercules Po, who arrives on the first day of class to find that he is one boy among nineteen girls. His older brother warns him that all those girls will turn him into a sissy, but John learns that his new friends are just as imaginative and active as he is, and they add new elements to their play that he might not have thought of.

First what's right: The cover shows all twenty students, and I love that they're not monochromatic. Several ethnicities are represented, and I'm amazed how Salerno managed to create twenty distinct characters using very simple lines. Even better, all of the children appear on almost every page, and they each retain their distinct characteristics -- in fact, on repeat readings, it would be a fun game to have a child pick their favorite character on the cover and then find that character on each subsequent page. Aside from the characters, the rest of the illustrations are colorful, appealing, and even imaginative in the way they are positioned on the pages.

The text is also fun. There is just enough repetition that the phrase "nineteen girls and one lone boy" becomes familiar but not tedious. The children have lovely imaginative adventures, such as climbing Mount Everest, digging a tunnel to China, and floating down the Amazon River.

So what is my one quibble? Each day when the children go out for recess, John is the one to decide on the imaginative adventure of the day. Perhaps it could be argued that it's necessary for the repetitive structure of the story, and I do like the fact that once John has started the adventure, the girls add some new element to it. But couldn't this story have been told with a different child instigating the adventure each day? Is it really realistic that out of a group of nineteen little girls, not one of them would be outgoing enough to propose an adventure? Seriously, on the first day of kindergarten, would nineteen little girls allows one little boy to become the group's de facto leader? They do still contribute, and I don't want to be too hard on an author and artist who are clearly attempting to show that both sexes have value -- it's the point of the book, in fact. But I'm a little uncomfortable with it the way it is, and really would have loved it if a different child proposed the adventure each day.

This concern also extends to the illustrations, as much as I love them. When John proposes climbing Mount Everest, he is shown as the first up the ladder, with nineteen little girls following behind him. When they build a race car, John is shown driving it with nineteen little girls sitting behind him. To be fair, when the children reach the Great Wall of China, the children march along behind a Chinese soldier and John is third in line rather than first, and the Amazon and skyscraper/moon adventures are not so "ordered" that it's obvious that one child is leading. But the illustrations of John on the ladder and especially driving the race car really jumped out at me, in spite of the fact that I am usually not hyperaware of this kind of thing.

As I said, the book has far more going for it than not, and I truly do love the illustrations. I think, though, that I'd be much more comfortable giving this book to a little boy than a little girl. Overall it's a great message for boys -- it's not only okay, but often a lot of fun to play with girls. Better yet, they should be thought of as friends, not pointedly as girls. However, I'd be less likely to give this book to a little girl, because I wouldn't want her to absorb the message that the boys think up the ideas and the girls follow. On the one hand, I managed to grow up and be pretty assertive, even though I'm sure I digested lots of biased books and television shows in my childhood. On the other hand, studies have shown.... well, you know what studies have shown. Many little girls grow up unable to assert themselves.

In the end, in my opinion this is a very good book. It's just not quite great, which it could have been.

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Hold On To Your Horses

It wasn't my intention to review another picture book so soon, but I keep coming across them, and this one is special for a couple of reasons. The title is Hold On to Your Horses, and it was written by Sandra Tayler and illustrated by Angela Call. (I chose my favorite interior illustration to show here.) The story is both charming and useful, and the illustrations are nothing less than exquisite. But you don't have to take my word for it; the author and artist have made the entire book available as a free PDF download. They don't even require an e-mail registration!

The story is about a little girl named Amy who is filled with such creative imagination and energy that she has trouble thinking before she acts. According to the book's website, the author wrote the book to help her own daughter learn to "visualize and control her impulsive ideas." Amy becomes frustrated because she's always getting in trouble when she doesn't mean to, so her mother gently tells her that her ideas are like horses, sometimes running wild, and Amy needs to take care of them and keep them safe. It's a lovely and useful metaphor, and the illustrations carry it through wonderfully.

Since that PDF is available free, the book can speak for itself. A hardcover edition is also available for pre-order and will ship in July; I've ordered one for my niece and one for myself. And bravo to the author and artist for this bold and generous marketing strategy. Read more!

The Misadventures of Gaspard and Lisa

Picture books in the The Misadventures of Gaspard and Lisa series, written by Anne Gutman and illustrated by Georg Hallensleben, are originally published in French but some are also available in other languages, including English, Spanish, and German. And although I own one in English and one in German, I thought it would be more fun to display the covers of the Japanese editions, for two reasons. First, I own three of them in Japanese, but only one in German and none in English. Second, Japan was where I discovered these books, and where I fell in love with the funny stories, appealing illustrations, and charming characters.

Lisa (for some reason renamed Lola in the Spanish and Nina in the German editions) and Gaspard (Lukas in the German editions) are dogs that -- with no explanation -- live like people, even though there are actual people in their world. Actually, in some of the illustrations they look a bit like rabbits because of their ears, but I think they're dogs based on their tails. Anyhow, Lisa and Gaspard are best friends who constantly get into adventures, or misadventures. Occasionally the books deal with slightly serious issues -- Lisa is jealous of her new baby sister, Gaspard has to spend the night in the hospital, etc. -- but it's always with a light and humorous touch.

Now, many of you may know that Japan is the World Capital of All Things Cute. They are more than happy to import and adopt whimsical characters from other countries and merchandise the heck out of them, producing stickers, little wallets, plush animals, pencils, notebooks, you name it. In any case, when my husband and I went to Japan last year for the World Science Fiction Convention, I wasn't buying pottery or dolls as souvenirs -- I was buying children's picture books. We'd been taking Japanese lessons one day a week for a year in preparation for our trip, and I thought picture books would be a fun way to supplement our learning. (OK, that's a bit of an excuse -- I just love picture books!) I'd already purchased several picture books original to Japan, which have just stunning illustrations.

And then I happened upon Lisa and Gaspard in a department store. Oh my.

I decided I would get just one. I mean, after all, they weren't native to Japan, and I'd already bought a lot of books that we would have to stow in our luggage. So I picked up Le petit chat de Lisa, or basically "Lisa's Little Cat" or "Lisa's Kitten" (this one hasn't been published in English, apparently). We have cats, and I was missing them while we were on our trip, and it seemed perfect. Plus, how funny is it that the little dog gets herself a kitten as a pet? I have actually transcribed the hirigana and katakana into romaji, which is the sort of phonetic translation of the characters into the Roman alphabet. I can pick out a word here and there, but I can't really read it, because Japanese is a challenging language and I had to stop the classes when I started my new job. But oh, it's adorable!

Then, the next day, we were in another bookstore, and their Lisa and Gaspard display had the most wonderful book, Gaspard et Lisa as musée, or Gaspard and Lisa at the Museum. Now, I'm into science fiction and space and dinosaurs... and this book showed the two little dogs among the dinosaur fossils in a museum. How could I not get this book? And although they're obviously for children, they have some sly humor that adults can enjoy. Lisa and Gaspard go on a school field trip to a museum, and are a little miffed when their human classmates jokingly say that they look like some of the extinct animals on display. So the little dogs decide to play a joke: they pose within the exhibit behind signs they make up saying "very rare animal (white)" and "very rare animal (black)". But then they accidentally get locked in the museum for the night!

So there I was, completely pleased with my two Japanese Gaspard and Lisa books, and guess what happened! The next store we went into had a book titled Gaspard et Lisa au Japon, or "Gaspard and Lisa in Japan" (unfortunately not published in English). Gaspard and Lisa, on the cover with cherry blossoms and Mount Fuji (Fuji-san) in the background!

I'm sure you see where this is going. But I couldn't help it! This book is priceless. It starts with Lisa and Gaspard on an airplane (with Lisa's family, I think). They arrive in Japan and stare out the taxi window at the hustle and bustle and lights of Tokyo. They stay in a traditional Japanese hotel, and are very entertained by the electric toilet. They struggle with chopsticks, and they accidentally knock a man into the rock/sand garden at a temple they visit. When the man ends up with a cast on his leg, they helpfully draw pictures of themselves, Japanese temples, and the Eiffel Tower on it so he will remember his new friends.

So, if you have children, or nieces and nephews, or any small child in your life for whom you buy gifts, you can't go wrong with Lisa and Gaspard. Several books in the series are available in English via Amazon, or at the library. There's one where Gaspard gets a puppy -- too funny! -- but I think it was only published in French. There's also one in which they both visit Venice, and another in which Lisa goes to visit her uncle in New York. These books really are delightful, and I hope some other adults out there enjoy them as much as I do.

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The Girl in the Castle Inside the Museum

Although I have neither children nor plans to have them -- in fact, I'm not terribly comfortable around children -- I adore children's books. Picture books, chapter books, young adult novels, you name it. There's a certain freedom and beauty, and sometimes dignity, to children's books that can't always be found elsewhere.

On a recent trip to Denver, a friend introduced me to the Tattered Cover, a lovely independent bookstore in an old-ish building complete with creaking, sloping floors and comfortable furniture everywhere. And in the children's section I came across this lovely book and had to buy it: The Girl in the Castle Inside the Museum, written by Kate Bernheimer and illustrated by Nicoletta Ceccoli. A tiny girl lives in a castle inside a glass globe inside a museum that seems to house strange toys and other oddities, and children come to try to catch a glimpse of the girl inside the castle. It's a sweet, slightly recursive story (there's a reference to "this book you hold in your hands") that I very much enjoyed.


But it was the illustrations that I fell in love with. The style seems familiar and strange, and although I haven't googled Nicoletta Ceccoli yet, I feel certain that I've seen her work before. This art is luminous, surreal, and fantastic. There are dice with wings fluttering around the castle, and stuffed animals and rocking horses with button eyes. The children in the museum have big eyes that are solemn and intelligent. You have to look at the book several times to take it all in.

Even if you don't have children, maybe you have nieces and nephews. Some child in your life will love this book. Or you can just buy it for yourself.

And if this book doesn't make at least the short list for the Caldecott Award next year, I'll be a monkey's uncle. Well, aunt. Read more!