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.

Press Here!

In France, Herve Tullet is know as the King of Preschool. Press Here (Chronicle Books, 2011) is his latest picture book - and what a hoot! At first the series of coloured circles and written instructions (press the yellow dot, shake the book, clap twice, etc.), might not seem like much, but add kids to the mix and watch the magic happen. I could keep describing, but wouldn't you rather watch kids play? CLICK HERE for the video trailer!

And see Herve Tullet in action here - great stuff: "There will be three people. I will be in the middle in my book. And there will be a child. And there will be someone who knows how to read the book. And I hope everybody could play with the book. The child could play, and the adult could play too."

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.

A new review at CM

I'm still here. Really! I've just been laying low as I started an excellent new job as a children's librarian. I hope to resurface soon.

My latest review is up at CM Magazine for Colors! ¡Colores! It's a quiet but truly beautiful bilingual picture book that reads like poetry - in a good way. And that's something I don't say lightly. And the watercolor illustrations - simple, exquisite, whimsical, wow! Check it out.

Also in the latest edition of CM, one of the most unusual takes on a color concept book I've come across: The Black Book of Colors. This picture book describes colors by texture, taste, smell and sound, with both text and braille. The illustrations are rendered entirely in black with raised black lines. I'm intrigued. Can't wait to get that one in my hot little hands.

Shi-shi-etko

Campbell, Nicola. Shi-shi-etko. Illus. Kim LaFave. Toronto: Groundwood Books, 2005.

"One, two, three, four mornings left until I go to school." So begins the story of Shi-shi-etko, a young aboriginal girl who is soon to be taken from her family and sent to a residential school. In her last four days with her family, Shi-shi-etko gathers together memories of her home to hold with her until she can return the following summer.

This gentle but profoundly moving story introduces one of the most abhorrent chapters of Canadian history - the story of the forceful and legally sanctified removal of aboriginal children from their families and communities. At the Serendipity conference yesterday, it was fascinating to hear Nicola Campbell speak about trying to find a balance that would allow her to honour the harsh realities of this part of our history and share it with children without simply traumatizing them. It can't have been an easy task, but somehow she has managed to write this book with equal respect for the hearts of the children who will hear this story and the realities of the children who lived this story.

In the way that intense sadness can charge the everyday things around us with incredible sharpness and beauty, the weight of what is about to be lost fills this story with a sense of beauty and connection and quiet focused attention that only makes the impending departure more heartbreaking. The illustrations by Kim LaFave are digitally created, some borrowing from photographs taken by the author, but they have a rich painterly feel that matches Campbell's story. Like the text, the illustrations illuminate the beauty of each plant, place and person that is a part of the coming loss. The images manage to convey joy, wonder and a sense of belonging at the same time as they hold great grief.

Shi-shi-etko is not a textbook that will explain the details or legacy of residential school system to children; instead it is a beautifully told and very human story that offers readers a connected point of entry into a much larger story.

We also got a sneak preview of Nicola's next book, Shinchi's Canoe, which tells the story of Shi-shi-etko's younger brother Shinchi, and takes place primarly at the residential school itself. Another beautifully told story, due out this July.

Celebrating a banned book...

Harris, Robie. It’s So Amazing. Illus. Michael Emberely. Cambridge, Mass.: Candlewick Press, 1999.

One of the sex education books in Robie Harris's popular and frequently challenged collection, It's So Amazing provides in-depth kid-oriented information about sex, sexuality, birth, bodies, babies, HIV, and related topics for children 5-9. Perfect for parents and kids to read together.

Though the language is accessible, the book is more of an information resource than a quick picture book to be read aloud at a single sitting. Those with younger children may want to start with the more basic picture book by the same author, It's not the Stork. (For older kids, Harris also has It's Perfectly Normal, a book about puberty and changing bodies in the tradition of What's Happening To Me.)

Micheal Emberley's cartoon illustrations are fun, well-researched, frank, and appealing in their ability to be both anatomically precise and humorous at the same time. Our exploration of the facts of life is guided by Bird and Bee, who hover over the illustrations with their light-hearted banter, by turns explaining new terms and providing comic relief. Right from the front cover, their vastly different takes on the subject are clear: Curious Bird wants to know it all, "Every single thing about there babies come from is SO-OOO A-MAZING to me!", while embarrassed Bee is a slightly less enthusiastic, "Can we talk about something else? ANYTHING else?"

Since its publication in 1999, this book has been challenged and banned based on sexual content matter, nudity, and references to abortion, masturbation, and homosexuality. Despite critical success, including recognition as ALA notable book for Middle Readers in 2000, the book continues to be challenged.

Frankly, if a sex education book for children is challenged on the basis of nudity and sexual content, and for even mentioning topics like homosexuality or abortion, I am a little concerned about the content of sex education books that are not challenged. And it is heart-breakingly clear in this particular case that moving such a title to an adult or reference only section is a form of banning the book, since it is clearly aimed at children and will generally only be useful to adults in relation to children.

For a brief history of some of the situations in which the title was banned (access was denied or restricted) or challenged (a request was made to remove the book from a collection or restrict access), check out these links:

Marshall University Library's Banned Book Week webpage

Why Have These Books Been Banned/Challenged? (ALA)

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.

New CM review

My latest review for CM is up. Check it out...

Closet inventor? Lover of cardboard? Looking for a primary school read-aloud? Gravity Buster: Journal #2 of a Cardboard Genius might be for you.

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.

What-If Sara

Tregebov, Thea. What-If Sara. Illus. Leanne Franson. Toronto: Second Story Press, 1999.

Sara tries to be helpful, first with her mother's baking and then with her father's tailoring, but she can't seem to help her active imagination and busy fingers from running away on her. Only when things start to go wrong does she have the chance to prove she can rise to the challenge and help out her family. Although not the focus of the book, this story explores some of the realities of living in an immigrant family. When Sara finally does come to the rescue in the present, it is to help her father write out and deliver his bills because he has trouble with English. Even the stories that haunt her imagination - villages holding out against attacking soldiers - seem to echo the reasons a family might need to come to a new country, or the stories parents might tell to a younger generation in a new land. The layers are subtle, ringing true without feeling didactic, and the story that shines through is that of a feisty and capable young girl who uses her imagination to help save the day. The watercolour illustrations bring Sara's imagination to life, separating old world imagining from everyday activities by using a muted colour scheme for the village scenes (except for Sara and her ubiquitous companion cat), and a border of dough or thread to indicated the object into which her active mind has thrown itself.

Mrs. Katz and Tush

Polacco, Patricia. Mrs. Katz and Tush. New York: Bantam, 1992.

Larnel doesn't know much about his neighbour, Mrs. Katz, except that she's lonely. But when Larnel brings her a stray kitten from the basement of their building, the cat becomes a catalyst for an unlikely friendship between the young African-American boy and the older Jewish woman. After a crisis involving a runaway cat, Mrs. Katz invites Larnel for a Passover dinner. The narrative uses the story of Passover, which focuses on seeking freedom from slavery, to underline some of the similarities between Jewish and African-American history. The illustrations are colourful and lively, with great attention paid to the detail and expressiveness of individual faces.

A man called Raven

Van Camp, Richard. A man called Raven. Illus. George Littlechild. San Francisco: Children's Book Press, 1997.

When two boys mistreat a raven, a strange man they've never seen before appears to tell them a story about a man in another time and place. This man also mistreats ravens and as a consequence he is turned into raven, and unable to return to his community of people. Slowly he changes and learns to look out for his people. And sometimes, when the people are forgetting something, he changes back into a man, but never for long. The vivid colours and simple energetic shapes of the pastel and paint illustrations are reminiscent of expressive children's crayon drawings at first, but these bold and expressive images also convey character and facial expressions at a very sophisticated level and make visual reference to traditional styles. The movement and energy of the illustrations are a perfect fit for the magical shape-shifting underlay of story and the sense of wonder and realization that the narrative moves towards at the close. Both the narrative and the images work together to suggest (without much doubt) the real identity of the mysterious visitor as he leaves at the end of the story, but neither tells the reader the information directly. This book uses the traditional figure of Raven to reinforce the importance of respect for nature and for fellow creatures.

Coyote's new suit

King, Thomas. Coyote's new suit. Illus. Johnny Wales. Toronto: Key Porter Kids, 2004.

When Coyote boasts about his beautiful suit, Raven can't resist teasing him and using Coyote's vanity to wreak havoc in the forest. Soon Coyote's quest for the ultimate suit leaves many of his fellow creatures without fur and forces them to the edge of town where humans hang out their discarded clothes on lines just waiting (or so Raven promises) for someone to come claim them. Chaos breaks out when Coyote has a yard sale and the humans, who are busy trying on his collection of animal suits to replace their missing clothes, meet up with a bizarrely dressed crew of forest animals. Watercolour (and pencil?) illustrations play up the humour of the situation, especially the clothing swaps. Thomas King draws on various First Nations characters and storytelling traditions to create this story: The narrative is strong, conversational, funny, irreverent and full of trickster humour; Coyote and Raven, both tricksters, are the primary players in the story; and the long-ago past ("when animals and human beings still talked to each other") blends seamlessly with the present (baseball games, supermarkets, bingo, gold-foil pedal pushers). A playful fun story in which one trickster is out-witted by another and, as the ending suggests, doesn't ever really seem to learn his lesson.

Grandfather's Journey

Say, Allan. Grandfather's Journey. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1993.

In spare but nuanced prose, Allan Say tells the story of his grandfather's journey from Japan to American where he settles in California, but eventually longs for his home country and returns, only to find that he then misses California. The watercolour illustrations have a purposefully static and posed quality to them, as if to emulate photo portraits in an old album, but somehow still manage to provide a sense of narrative and movement to the book as a whole.

I love the story but I'm not sure what to think about the part of the narrative that says: "He met many people along the way. He shook hands with black men and white men, with yellow men and red men." The book was written in 1993 so I assume this is not done un-selfconciously, but even if it is meant to capture the voice of another generation - does it work? Is it appropriate? I haven't quite finished thinking about that one. But the story is moving and well told, with beautiful illustrations. A Caldecott Medal book.

Ruby's Wish

Bridges, Shirin Yim. Ruby's Wish. Illus. Sophie Blackall. San Francisco: Chronicle, 2002.

For a book with such a moving, true and important story behind it, Ruby's Wish certainly had ample opportunity to become a didactic, historical lesson-imparting artifact. And, even had it failed artistically, the story of the first women in China to go to university would certainly still have been interesting. But between the careful use of details in the narrative that quickly sketch a believable and feisty character, and the exquisite gouache paintings, this book becomes something truly remarkable. The illustrations manage to find that delicate balance between expressiveness and restraint; even the use of the colour red to tie the images together is done with a fine sense of balance - dominating some images while only highlighting small pieces of others. And the final page breaks a pattern, both visually and linguistically, revealing that the story is told and written by the granddaughter of Ruby, and showing a double picture frame with an illustration of Ruby as a child in one side and what appears to be a grainy photo of the author's grandmother on the other. Beautiful, moving, and a winner of the Ezra Jack Keats Book Award among others. The story culminates on Chinese New Year (without this being the entire focus of the story) which make it a great choice for this week.

The Day of Ahmed's Secret

Parry, Florence. The Day of Ahmed's Secret. Illus. Ted Lewin. HarperTrophy, 1995.

Ahmed has a secret, and he's bursting to tell everybody he meets on the streets and marketplaces of Cairo. But first he must finish his daily rounds as a butagaz boy, delivering butane gas by donkey cart all through the city. The suspense of the secret is maintained as the reader navigates through the gorgeous and photo-realistic watercolour illustrations of Ahmed's daily encounters, until the last page: "Today I learned to write my name." The name is written in Arabic script, but the joy and wonder at being able to write one's own name bridges language and culture to celebrate this important milestone in many children's lives. A gorgeous, believable book with a story that transcends cultural differences without aiming to erase them.

The Name Jar

Choi, Yangsook. The Name Jar. Toronto: Random House Canada, 2001.

It's Unhei's first day of school in a new country. When noone can pronounce her Korean name properly, she decides to adopt an American name. Her classmates all contribute suggestions to the name jar on her desk and wait for her to choose one. But with the help of a name stamp given to Unhei by her grandmother, and the friendship of a boy in her new school, Unhei's given name becomes her chosen name as well. The bright and somewhat stylized paintings deftly capture the various aspects of Unhei's life - school, home, and the Korean market. The end-papers are a beautiful collage of English names written on paper scraps intermingled with red Korean names stamped on the deep yellow background.

Nadia's Hands

English, Karen. Nadia's Hands. Illus. Jonathan Weiner. Honesday, Pennsylvania: Caroline House, 1999.

Nadia is excited to be chosen as the flower girl for her Aunt Laila's wedding, but she worries about the Henna used to decorate her hands which will not wash off in time for school on Monday morning. The mehndi designs on her hands are an important part of a traditional Pakistani wedding, and they make her Grandma and her aunts happy, but when Nadia looks down at her hands all she can think is that they don't look like her hands anymore. And they certainly don't look like anyone else's hands in her class. The richly textured illustrations in oil pastel take the reader through the preparations and ceremony of a traditional Pakistani wedding, and follow Nadia's journey from fear and worry to acceptance and pride. The mehndi designs are mirrored in the accent decorations on the white pages facing the main illustrations.

Me and Mr. Mah

Spalding, Andrea. Me and Mr. Mah. Illus. Janet Wilson. Victoria, BC: Orca Book Publishers, 1999.

Following his parents separation, Ian leaves farm life behind and moves into the city with his mother. Their new moonscape of a yard doesn't look anything like the farm, and Ian misses his father intensely. But on the other side of the fence is a lush green world of sunflowers and Chinese vegetables tended by Mr. Mah. Through a common love of gardening, the two neighbours become friends and exchange stories about farming days in rice paddies and prairie fields. Each has a precious box of memories from a time and place now gone, but the two friends also create new memories together as they explore the city (which, from the images of Chinatown and the Chinese cemetery by the ocean, appears to be Victoria, BC). The watercolour paintings are lush and appear saturated with sunlight. On most pages one full-page illustration bleeds over into a smaller painting on the facing page, leaving plenty of white space for the text. In one spread, however, the two figures sit in the centre foreground while one side shows a remembered scene from a rice paddy and the other a prairie field. The gutter is the divide between scenes, but the rich ochre colour scheme ties the two fields together and underscores the connection between the two characters in relation to their former lives and losses. A beautiful and touching story about loss, change, loneliness, and friendship across both age and culture.