I want my hat back

This is perhaps the best picture book I've seen all year. And I don't say that lightly - a LOT of picture books come across my desk. But occasionally there's a gem that reminds me why I love children's literature so much.

The plot is deceptively simple - Bear is looking for his little red pointy hat and talks to many animals in his search - but the text is masterful, pitch-perfect, and laugh out loud funny. This last claim has been laboratory tested, at least on adults: I walked around the office and made my coworkers read the book and watched them all pause for a couple of seconds at the end and then gasp and laugh.

Have I not mentioned the illustrations yet? I would frame this whole book and put it on my wall. The illustrations are simple, nuanced, funny, mostly understated and absolutely stunning. And even the book design is an integral part of the pleasure of this picture book - the text design (font, size and colour) interacts subtly with the storyline in a pleasing way, the pages are beautifully laid out, and the colour scheme is restrained in a way that makes colour use sing with meaning. What's amazing to me, though, is that this is the first picture book where Klassen has moved from being an illustrator (of great talent) to an author-illustrator. This is not an easy transition, and I've seen it go poorly more often than not. So colour me surprised and impressed - there are only a handful of truly great author-illustrators alive today, and I think this book makes Jon Klassen a force to watch out for.

If you have an older preschooler in your life (a mature 3 year old, a 4 - 5, or even 6 year old?) who enjoys animals, great illustrations, and doesn't mind a bit of morbid humour, this is the perfect present. Even though the text is very simple, I suggest it for preschoolers instead of toddlers because the humorous finale does take a bit inferring power to understand. Spoiler - if you are morally against a bit of implied animal-on-animal violence, this is not the book for you.

Oh, and did I mention that Jon Klassen is Canadian? This one's going to win some awards. It's almost not fair that Klassen's recent picture book illustrations for Cat's Night Out won the GG in 2010. If I was on the committee, I'd find it hard not to to give that award to him again.

The Red Tree

Tan, Shaun. The Red Tree. Vancouver, BC: Simply Read Books.

Thought about this book again recently when buying a present for a friend of mine who was graduating from her program in counseling psychology.

I don't say this often but I'll say it now: This man is a genius. I couldn't have been happier when I found out earlier this year that he'd won the Astrid Lindgren Prize (see the article in the Guardian), which is one of the only children's lit award accompanied by truckloads of money. Couldn't have gone to a better person.

The Red Tree is a heart-stopping picture book that deals with depression or difficult times in an accessible, deeply moving, and entirely un-condescending way. It also offers an equally real, visceral, almost experiential vision of what hope can be. And since the arc of the book so firmly rooted in its images, the red tree with its rich and sudden appearance of colour at the end is a mysterious and unexpected gift. And although it seems to appear out of nowhere, a closer look will reveal a small red leaf on every page of the story, even at its bleakest moments.

I love the way illustration and text combine seamlessly to create a otherworldly, dreamlike (and at times almost sinister) vision, and the way the book veers away from intellectual understanding and avoids being prescriptive or didactic. The text is sparse and deceptively simple. The illustrations are rich, sombre, complex, detailed, expressive and textured. The emotional content of the book is palpable and unrelenting, in a way I don't think I have ever quite experienced in a picture book. Some people seem to think this makes it unsuitable for children (it's been challenged in my library), but I can't help thinking it actually mirrors the very profound and all-encompassing way children often experience emotion. It certainly isn't a preschool storytime read-aloud, but it has that amazing quality that will make is riveting to a wide range of ages, from young school age children to adults. Quite simply, this is one of the most stunning picture books I've ever seen, from one of our most talented illustrators (and writers).

One small quibble: I couldn't help taking issue with the line "the world is a deaf machine," for obvious reasons. It's the only thing I don't like about this book. It's too bad he chose that particular metaphor, because it does make me hesitate to cheer as loud as I can for what is otherwise nothing short of masterful, but the book is too amazing for me to pass it up for this reason.

An older one, but a good one. One of my favourites. The kind of book that genuinely moved me in that powerful somewhat pre-verbal way; the kind of book that might make a difference in someone's day or life. See what Shaun Tan has to say about the book. And while you're there, check out the rest of his website. You won't be disappointed.

Technology, ethics, and some damn good reads

A friend asked me recently to suggest a book for a high school class - something off the beaten curriculum, something with teeth-sink-into-able issues, something with the appeal of The Hunger Games that hadn't been read out yet and, most importantly, something NOT ANCIENT (but maybe available in paperback).

Immediately, my mind jumped to Little Brother. I really do not understand why this book is not as big as The Hunger Games. Cory Doctorow has a cult-like following in the adult world, and the book did indeed make it to the NYT bestseller list, but somehow it doesn't fly off the shelf at the library at the rate we expected.

It's one of the best teen books I've read in ages, a story that only gets more relevant as our governments use the terrrorism scare to erode civil liberties. This cautionary dystopia is made even more chilling by the fact that it seems to be set about three weeks in the future. Didactic? Yes, without question. But so relevant, precisely-aimed and well-crafted that it remains a work a literature. And a profoundly readable one at that.

After a terrorist attack on the Bay Area transit system, 17 year old Marcus Yallow and his friends are picked up and questioned by the Department of Homeland Security based on suspicious activity like being in the area, demanding help for an injured friend, and refusing to give up the password on an encrypted phone. When Marcus defends his right to his own privacy, he is detained and tortured in what is later referred to as "Guantanamo by the sea." When the friends are finally released, the Department of Homeland Security has turned San Francisco into a police state.

From high-tech gait-recognition cameras to the hacking of the xBox, technology plays both sides in this struggle for freedom and privacy in a world of surveillance. Plenty to talk about here. The e-book is available for free download on the author's website. A great modern-day companion to 1984.

Another great technology-meets-ethics book is The Adoration of Jenna Fox by Mary Pearson (Henry Holt, 2008). In a more distant future, Jenna (also 17) awakes after a terrible accident with absolutely no memory of her previous life. She tries to reconstruct her previous existence, but things don't seem to add up. Her parents, if they really are her parents, are hiding things from her. She struggles to escape her parents' over-protective confines and discover who, or what, she is. A story about the limits of technology, and the limits of humanity. A fabulous read with ample sparks for conversation and debate.

Another great audiobook

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card, read by Stefan Rudnicki and a full cast

Not surprisingly, when I look up the reviews for the next great audiobook I listened to, it's also an AudioFile Earphones award winner. Check out the review here, and listen to a short clip.

Ender's game is the story of Andrew ("Ender") Wiggins, a child genius who is recruited by the military at age five to fight in the ultimate war again the aliens. We follow his experiences at an off-planet school for child soldiers, where he is ostracized early by his combination of skill, young age, and the manipulation of the military handlers who hope to create a new breed of commander. Ender excels in the zero-gravity "battle room" training exercises, but must struggle to understand his place in this strange and often brutal military world populated almost entirely by other children. Before Ender reaches adolescence, he will have the opportunity to the course of history forever.

This is one of the absolutely classic science fiction titles. When I've talk about science fiction with friends, this is the number one title that jumps out of my their mouths. Perhaps because I wasn't a big SF fan when I was younger, I seem to be the only person I know who didn't read this book as a teenager, or even a kid. For some reason it's in the adult section at our library, which I think is unfortunate since it's one of those great, smart stories which presents challenging ideas from a child's point of view. Sure this story is substantial enough to appeal to adults, but so are many kids' novels. The story is read by a full cast of actors, and the narration is both compelling and easy to listen to. I got lost in this story for days, and was sad (in that particular nerdy book-loving 12 year old way) when it finished. A great story to go back and find if you missed it! And a great SF book for all of you who think you're not really the SF type.

hooray for audiobooks!

Okay, so I've recently been recovering from a concussion. I don't suggest it, really. Especially if you're also daylighting as a librarian. But while I've been unable to read any books over about 15 pages recently, I've been listening to audiobooks. Thank you universe for audiobooks. Without which I might seriously have lost it.

I'll try to share a few of my favourites. To begin:

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, written and read by Sherman Alexie

Not only is Sherman Alexie a talented writer, and funny as fuck, he's also a fantastic speaker and storyteller. You've probably heard of this book already - it's (fairly) received a lot of great press. But this is also one of those rare treats where we get to hear the original author read their own work, with the knowledge that no one else could possibly have done a better job. The book follows the adventures of fourteen year-old Arnold Spirit (AKA "Junior") as he decides to head out beyond the world of the rez and attend high school in the nearby (and overwhelming white) small town farming community, while still living at home on the reservation. Alexie doesn't shy away from the difficult, and this story has more than its fair share of death and heart-wrench, but it also has its own brand of smart, cutting, dorky, honest and deeply perceptive humour. And by humour I mean don't risk drinking milk while you listen to this story. I know the original has comics included, but somehow this version didn't leave me feeling like I'd missed anything. A truly consummate audiobook.

Check out Sherman Alexie's website under "Audio" for an mp3 clip from the audiobook, and for a list of the stupid number of awards and prizes this book/audiobook has received. Of particular note for the audio version is the Earphones award from AudioFile. AudioFile is a fantastic review source just for audiobooks - check out the AudioFile review here (and click on "listen" for an excerpt.)

Graceling

Cashore, Kristin. Graceling. Orlando, FL : Harcourt, 2008.

I’m assembling a mental list for my adult friends who have read all of Tamora Pierce’s teen fantasy novels, and are looking for other great books to turn when they want to spend an indulgent winter day in that comfortable chair by the window entranced by another world.

Most of these stories feature a fiercely strong female lead in a traditionally male-dominated domain, an otherworldly or magical talent that sets her apart from her peers, a great challenge of justice, and often a bit of reluctant romance to take our wildly independent protagonist by surprise (without threatening to tame her).

Recently I enjoyed Shannon Hale’s Goose Girl which, though a little more gentle than Pierce’s novels, still brings a rich a satisfying story to the table. But Graceling has a fiercer edge to it, a little more wildness. Now in her late teens, Katsa is a deadly figher, albeit a reluctant one. Since she was a child, Katsa’s eyes – one green and one blue – have marked her as gifted with a Grace, an extreme and superhuman skill. Used as a pawn by the King, she learns to despise her skill – the Grace of killing – and eventually seeks to control her own destiny and make her own decisions. When she meets Prince Po, Graced with combat skills, she discovers an uncomfortable match for her own powers and an unexpected ally. When a mission to rescue a prisoner gradually reveals a larger and much deadlier plot for power, the two must team up against a force that threatens all of the seven kingdoms.

The romance here is more prominent than in Pierce’s novels, but includes similar themes such as the struggle to reconcile vulnerability and independence. I enjoyed the underlying erotic tension of a deadly female fighter who finally meets a man skilled enough to give her a satisfying fight. And although Katsa learns to love, to trust, and to live with some measure of vulnerability, she never loses her wild and fiercely independent nature. And she doesn't seem to lose any of her personal distaste for marriage.

I occasionally wondered whether it might be too close to Pierce’s writing for some of my friends, but I thoroughly enjoyed this book. And apparently, according to the back cover blurbs, so did Tamora Pierce: "Here's a WOW of a book! Seeing half-wild Katsa learn humanity as she battles soldiers, storms, and her own obsessive nature--I HAD to know how it ended!" As a first novel, Graceling becomes even more impressive. Kristin Cashore is a writer to watch out for. My only complaint is that I have to wait for more news of this world. Well, not too long. Fire, the prequel to Graceling, is due out this fall. And a third book is apparently in the works.

Mrs. Chicken and the Hungry Crocodile

Pay, Won-Ldy and Margaret Lippert. Mrs. Chicken and the Hungry Crocodile. Illus. by Julie Paschkis. Henry Holt and Co., 2003.

When vain Mrs. Chicken strays a little too close to the river while trying to look at her reflection, she gets snapped up by a hungry crocodile. Held captive on an island in the river, she uses her wits to convince the crocodile that they are sisters. And sisters don't eat sisters for dinner. Talking animals, great dialogue, hatching babies, trickery, sharp teeth, and a gullible predator - this book has it all. The illustrations are stunning - simple stylized images in a limited range of bold colours - and the pages are beautifully designed with plenty of white (or black) space.

I've been doing a bunch of kindergarten outreach, and this retelling of a folktale from Liberia is one of my all-time favourite read-alouds for this age group. I'm not exactly sure why, but it's one of those magic stories that slowly makes the room go quiet. There's nothing quite like a room full of rapt five-year olds to make you appreciate a book even more than you did before. The story is plenty funny, with room for fun voices and many laughs, but it doesn’t depend on obnoxious or ridiculous humour to entertain; it’s just masterful storytelling. The text is complex and has enough tension to keep 5, 6 or 7 year olds interested, but is also accessible enough to read to a family storytime group with a mix of toddlers, preschoolers, and school-age children.

Persepolis - the movie!

If you loved Marjane Satrapi's two autobiograhical graphic novels about growing up in Iran during the time of the Islamic Revolution, you won't be disappointed by this movie. It's been a long time since I saw a movie that so faithfully brought a book to life, while going beyond the original to add new bits of brilliance. It was so fabulously good that it seemed almost as if Satrapi herself helped create it.... oh, right - she did. While the movie was created using a mostly black-and-white graphic style similar to the original drawings, the addition of sound and motion serve both to make the heartbreak more devestating and the funny even funnier. This film combines seamless high-tech mastery with the appeal and immediacy of the low-tech aesthetic. And although the story takes place in the face of war, hardship, seperation, depression, and social limitations - when this film is funny, it is funny funny funny. The "Eye of the Tiger" dance scene has got to be one of my favorite musical scenes of all time. This is one of the few instances where reading a book will not ruin the movie, and seeing the movie will not ruin the book. If you haven't already - go out and enjoy!

Me Write Book: It Bigfoot Memoir

Roumieu, Graham. Me Write Book: It Bigfoot Memoir. Toronto: Plume, 2005.

"Listen, I tired of tabloid distorting things about Bigfoot. Those jackal have try for years to devour me and slander good name. I write this to set record straight once and for all. Maybe also for cathartic value. For money too. So if you like hear about Bigfoot from Bigfoot this Bigfoot book for you. Come share the crying, the laugh, the cuddle, the smashing. First you accept me, then you love me."

This gentle illustrated memoir appears to be written for a sophisticated adult audience, but has enough gore, head-ripping, hollywood gossip, drugs, cussing, graphic bathroom humour, ninja moves and rock ballads to keep any teenager interested.

It may just be the funniest freaking thing I've ever read. Graham Roumieu is pee-in-pants brilliant. Thanks to my brother for this one!

Blankets

Thompson, Craig. Blankets. Marietta, Georgia: Top Shelf Productions, 2003.

Drawing on his own experience, Craig Thompson gives us the story of a teenager navigating his own relationship with faith in a rigidly fundamental Christian family, the push-and-pull of brothers growing up together, and, most poignantly, the all-encompassing arc of first love.

This graphic novel is one of the most beautiful things I've read in a long time. The story is moving, poignant, angsty, and portrayed with a surprising depth of emotion. By turns subtle and explosive, the ink illustrations are consistently expressive, nuanced, story-driven, exquisite. They make playful use of space but are always easy to navigate. The story is bittersweet, more tender than gritty, but saved from sentimentality by the power and emotional honesty of the illustrations.

At 582 pages, Blankets might look intimidating to those unused to the pace of graphic novels, but the length seems perfect: just long enough to read like a novel, satisfyingly substantial without requiring epic effort. I would probably have read it at a single sitting if I hadn't started so damn late at night.

This is the graphic novel the comic-ravaged twenty-five year old recommends to his (or her) girlfriend to get her hooked. A book that sparks conversation when you try to find it in a bookstore. It is the kind of book you find equally on the lists of avid comic book readers and of literature snobs just skirting the edges of graphic novel land. Several of my friends have been telling me to read it for ages. I'm glad I finally did. It's a beautiful story. One of the best graphic novels I've read. Great for teens and adults alike.

Lesser Blessed

Van Camp, Richard. The Lesser Blessed. Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre, 1996.

This is not a review, it is simply a recommendation. This novel knocked me on my ass and you should probably go read it. Please go read a review (maybe this review), as I'm probably not going to write one. This is a big big story stuffed into a short 119 pages. It is also stunning and hard and very funny and beautiful and utterly readable.

Peeps

Westerfeld, Scott. Peeps. New York: Penguin, 2005.

It's lovely to have librarian friends. I adore that on my lunch break I can ask my coworker what to read, and she'll dip into the teen stacks and come out carrying whatever it is "everyone" is talking about. In this case, everyone is talking about Peeps, the recent vampire novel by Scott Westerfeld, author of the also popular book So Yesterday.

I'm not usually one for vampire stories, at least I didn't think I was. But Peeps is an interesting take on vampire, explaining all the myths and stories with a scientific (though no less glamorously gory) slant. In Cal's world vampires are generally referred to as parasite-positives, or peeps for short. College freshamn Cal is one of the lucky ones, not a full-blown peep but a "carrier," one who hosts the parasite without descending into madness and violence. His work is to track down those in his line of infection, the women he infected before he knew what he carried and, ultimately, to find the elusive one who infected him during a one-night stand. But the parasite is changing, the work is becoming more dangerous, and something is stirring under the city itself.

The parasite is passed by body fluid transmission, and in the interests of self-preservation and proliferation, the parasite makes its carriers perpetually horny. As a committed member of Night Watch, an ancient underground New York society that tracks down and rehabilitates peeps before they wreak havoc on society, Cal knows that he cannot risk even a single kiss without turning the object of his affection into a monster of sorts. This conveniently maintains a brooding climate of sexual tension throughout the story, without allowing it to derail into plot-less vampire sex.

The book alternates between narrative chapters and short (2-3 page) explorations of the gory but fascinating stories of read-world parasites. These chapterers are interesting, but feel somewhat forced at times. It is certainly not a book for the weak of stomach, but for those who don't mind a little bit of gore with their lunch this is a fabulous and compelling read. It may just have turned me into a vampire story reader. The elusive "everyone" did not lead me astray: Peeps is a great book and Scott Westerfeld is an author to watch.

Persepolis!

Satrapi, Marjane. Persepolis: The story of a childhood. New York: Pantheon, 2003. Satrapi, Marjane.

A break from classes has done wonders for my reading life... After hearing only high praise for this graphic novel for years, I finally had the opportunity to read it and I was not disappointed.

With equal attention to the big-picture of political landscape and the intimate details of personal narrative, Satrapi weaves a compelling and readable story of growing up in Iran in the 70s and 80s. Against a backdrop of the overthrow of the Shah's regime, the Islamic revolution and the war with Iraq, the first of the two autobiographical novels tells the story of a girl coming of age and discovering her own individuality and identity in the face of social and political pressure. It is hard not to find this spunky, intellectually curious, courageous and sometimes reckless girl absolutely engaging as she defies school rules, talks to god in secret and .

Marjane's Marxist parents are politically active but also aware of the very real risks of their choices. They may risk arrest to smuggle Iron Maiden posters and Nikes home from Europe for their daughter, but they worry when she bgins to openly defy authority at school.

These stories are told with what feels like a remarkable level off honesty, both in the text and the illustrations. The deceptively simple high contrast black-and-white drawings are by turns whimsical, funnny, descriptive, horrifying, and deeply moving - but they are always expressive and convey a sense of immediacy that comes partly from the child's perspective. This is a book that will appeal to children and adults alike. The young narrator's perspective and the accessibility provided by the format make it an excellent choice for younger readers, but the emotional and political complexity of the story are combined with a tone that is never condescending and, as such, the the appeal is not limited by the age of the narrator.

A must must must read. I can't wait to see what they make of the movie...

What's the most beautiful thing you know about horses?

Van Camp, Richard. What's the most beautiful thing you know about horses? Illus. George Littlechild. Children's Book Press, 2003.

My new favourite picture book of the week! (I'd heard about it but hadn't read it until I was putting together a display of Canadian authors for National Aboriginal Day.)

On a cold cold day in Fort Smith, Northwest Territories, Richard Van Camp (I would say narrator but I really want to believe that the author did do this) passes the time by calling everyone he knows and asking them to tell him the most beautiful thing they know about horses. The answers are by turns funny, touching, quirky, impossible, and lyrical but they always have the ring of true dialogue. George Littlechild's stunning illustrations use vibrant colours, bold blocky shapes and expressive lines that speak to the act of drawing and creating. The images manage to be both direct and stylized, childlike and sophisticated. This is a charming, moving and gently surprising book. Unmissable.

The Amber Spyglass

I've just, at long last, finished reading The Amber Spyglass, the final book in the His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman. I refused to read it until I had some time off because I wanted to sink right in and live in the book for a while without having somewhere else I needed to be. It's hard to believe the series gets better and more complex as it goes on, but it does. I am too stunned to write any kind of a review of this book (not that the world needs another one) except to say that it's one of the best I've ever read. It's been a long time since I felt that bereft at having to close a book and leave a world behind. If you haven't read it (and you like fantasy even a little bit), I'm jealous.

What a lovely lovely treat. I hope the movie doesn't suck, but the movie website is fun (although a little hard and slow to navigate). Plus you can find out what your daemon is. I did. What do you think? See the post below...

(I'm not sure about the modest part.)

The Crazy Man

Porter, Pamela. The Crazy Man. Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2005.

Farming in southern Saskatchewan has never been easy, but things go from bad to worse when a gruesome farming accident leaves twelve-year old Emaline Bitterman with a permanently injured leg, a dead dog, and a father who isn’t coming home. Unable to seed this year’s crop on her own, Emaline’s mother makes arrangements a man from the local mental institution to come help in the fields. The neighbours and townspeople are afraid of Angus, but Emaline sees another person struggling to recover from loss and family betrayal.

Unabashedly set in small-town Saskatchewan, the book offers a rich portrait of a farming community struggling to survive a period of dry weather and low wheat prices in the 1960s. The book is also steeped in the larger social and political landscape of the era, with references to Tommy Douglas, Marin Luther, King, the Wheat Board, and the Soviets.

The story doesn’t provide a happily-ever-after on the outside; instead, the narrative arc follows Emaline’s personal struggle to come to terms with her losses. Though the events of the story are difficult, the story itself is not depressing. The tone is hopeful, and the story celebrates the human ability to heal from hurt. Emaline embodies that innocent lack of prejudice often bestowed on child protagonists, but Porter manages to make this interaction convincing and utterly believable.

When someone introduced this book using the phrases “novel in verse” and “appeal for reluctant readers” in the same sentence, I have to say that I was entirely unconvinced. Once I started reading, however, I finished the story in a single sitting. It was compelling, moving and surprising easy to read. The free verse form is used here as a tool to sharpen and condense the language, heighten the emotion and point-of-view of the protagonist, and weed out any extraneous detail or description. The language isn’t “flowery” as some poetry-avoiders might fear, but whittled down to the essentials. Plot, voice, character (and even a sense of place) shine through with an immediacy that makes the book highly readable, while the short lines and 2-3 page sections make the text easier to scan.

Even though the cover is beautiful and the pages nicely designed, this book might be a hard sell to less committed readers, especially with any mention of poetry. A “novel in free verse” sounds unfortunately close to something good for your health. This is unfortunate since The Crazy Man is one of the most compelling and readable books of realistic historical fiction I’ve read. If it hadn’t already won the Governor General’s, the TD Book Award and the Geoffrey Bilson Award for Historical Fiction, I would predict a sweep of prestigious awards for this book.

The Invisible Child

Paterson, Katherine. "In Search of Wonder." In The Invisible Child: On Reading and Writing Books for Children. New York: Dutton Children's Books, 2001.

"I fed upon wonder as a child, and when I'm deprived of it, my inner life feels as sterile as a barren landscape and my outer life feels as bombarded with junk as a suburban mall."

Katherine Paterson's opening chapter is taken from a lecture on wonder that reads like a sermon without duty to any particular religion; it is a taxonomy of the different flavours of wonder - curiosity, wonder at the extraordinary, wonder at the ordinary - and an exploration of the role wonder plays in our lives, with a gentle nod towards the mystery at the core of wonder. And the bent of this talk it that children's literature, the stuff that really shines, is rich with it. Is, in fact, defined by it.

I appreciated the differentiation between the wonder at the extraordinary - the new invention, the unbelievable message in Charlotte's Web, the thrill of faster, louder, more exciting - which pales with familiarity, and the wonder at the ordinary which continues to expand and unfold with careful attention paid to even the most familiar object. Look no further than Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden for that heightened sense of magic and wonder in what is so easily ignored.

Paterson uses the image of the spider web to talk about wonder, and visits it from different angles - from Charlotte's Web to the poetry of A.R. Ammon. I love the idea of the web as precisely patterned in the centre to reflect the species of the maker-spider, and moving out in increasing chaos towards a complete freedom to hang itself from whatever is available. Is that what children's literature aims to do? Hang itself, so improbably at times, from whatever is available while starting from a tightly woven core of wonder as individual as the maker.

This is a beautiful talk about a topic essential to any consideration of children's literature. If you haven't already - read it.

Paterson, Katherine. "Newberry Medal Acceptance Speech (1978) for Bridge to Terabithia. " In The Invisible Child: On Reading and Writing Books for Children. New York: Dutton Children's Books, 2001.

I didn't mean to start reading this speech, but suddenly I found I'd accidentally finished it and was surprised at how moved I was by the story of what this book was born out of and how it came into the world. I'm still shocked to hear that some critics find it devoid of hope simply because it deals with the unthinkable death of a child. But just as courage isn't the absence of fear but the willingness to face it, isn't hope something more than the absence of difficulty? Isn't it, in fact, something that depends of the presence of difficult circumstances for its very existence?

I was also fascinated to hear about the very substantial process of editing, to re-discover how involved a good editor can be in the act of creation. But I think what moved me the most was to hear how real the story was for the writer, and how difficult it was for her to write the difficult parts - to me this seems like the antipathy of condescension, the ultimate show of respect for the child reader.

His Dark Materials

Pullman, Philip. The Golden Compass. New York: Random House, 1996.

Why has it taken me so long to read Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy? This is fantasy at its best, the rare kind of writing that comes recommended with equal zeal from Blake scholars, adults looking for a good read, and children. This is un-put-downable, thought-provoking, beautiful writing (yes - you can have all three!).

In an alternate but parallel world, Lyra lives with the scholars of Oxford who have taken care of her since both her parents died. Or so she has always been told. A series of events lead her north to a land of snow, armoured polar bears, witches, a secret research station, and the answers to her questions about the disappearances of local children. After she discovers the horrible truth about her mother, she is determined to find her father and help him with his esoteric work involving that strange substance, the Dust, that is the source of so much conflict and fear. But she is soon to discover that the world is so much more complicated than she ever understood. And meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, everyone is watching Lyra to see if she will fulfill the destiny that has been foretold for her.

Borrowing heavily from Paradise Lost and Blake's ideas of Innocence and Experience, the story is dense and intellectually compelling while still remaining immensely readable. I'm sure I've missed more literary references than I've caught, but still I don't feel at all shut out of the story. On the contrary, this feels like an incredibly accessible book. But also the kind of book that will most surely do more for renewing current readership of Milton and Blake than any other publication in recent years (as a new edition of Paradise Lost, with forward by Pullman, will attest).

But as I make my way into the third book in the trilogy (currently and tragically on hold as homework calls), I can't help but wonder whether a book that so openly describes warring and corrupt factions of the church, and challenges ideas of religion and authority, would have come out of the United States. It was also interesting that in a story of good and evil, the sides are not easily divided - though there is clearly good, there are also many evils warring with each other, and various players will take sides with whatever faction will help them most at a moment in time. Is there more room in British publishing and culture for this kind of open and critical engagement with the world in children's literature? I like the respect that this book implies for its readership of all ages, the unwillingness to dumb-down ideas, the big questions it asks. I also like the fast pace of the action, the intricacies of plot, and the suspense that kept me reading far past my bedtime.

I'm still waiting to see where it's all heading... Excruciating to wait.

The People Could Fly

Hamilton, Virginia. The People Could Fly. Illus. Leo and Diane Dillon. New York: Knopf, 2004.

Recommended by a classmate who remembered the original story from a collection of the same name, this stand-alone illustrated version of The People Could Fly is truly an extraordinary picture book. A powerful re-telling of a mythic tale set in the days of slavery, this story begins in Africa with people who could fly but who lose their wings when they are forced onto a slave ship. When conditions become horrific on the plantation, an old man remembers the words that magically allow his people to fly again. First a woman with a baby who is beaten by the whip-wielding Driver, then a young man who collapses in the heat, and eventually the whole group of people who once had the power to fly are released by the man's magic words and escape into the sky far from the reaches of the Overseer and the plantation. Those others who could not fly are left behind, but pass the strange and miraculous story on through the generations. The paintings that illustrate the story are beautiful without shying away from the brutal history of slavery. And even amidst such explicit suffering, the story ends on a note of hope and wonder. Excerpts from the author's letter and notes, from the original collection of stories published in 1985, give additional and very interesting background information about the story and the folklore tradition from which it comes.

The unflinching but accessible language, combined with the the power of the story and the telling, make this a book that is possible to read to a younger audience but still very compelling to an older one. A winner of the Coretta Scott King Award.

Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus

Willems, Mo. Don't let the pigeon drive the bus. New York: Hyperion, 2003.

[assignment: write a blurb]

In this award-winning and hysterically interactive book, the bus driver has left YOU in charge of the bus while he's gone, and it's your job to keep the pesky pigeon from driving the bus. But pigeon is very insistant - will you be able to hold out? Using simple crayon-edged cartoons, Mo Willems has created a truly unforgettable bug-eyed character who will try anything for a chance to get on that bus. A Caldecott Medal book.