2nd grade and up
I’m a writer currently in the beginning stages of developing a World War II novel that focuses on the separation of a husband and wife by the events of the time. While the separation in Woodson’s Caldecott Honor book is one between a daughter and her mother rather than a soldier and his wife, the longing Ada Ruth feels for her mother is similar to the emotion I envision for my characters. Nothing escapes Ada Ruth’s tendency to associate her surroundings with her mother; Mama may be working far away in Chicago, but the snow that blankets Ada Ruth’s farm and the stray kitten whose body warms the little girl’s lap are constant reminders of her mother’s sayings and touch. This attention to the smallest of details is such a realistic touch that the longing is palpable.
Certainly, the subject matter of the 1940s home front appealed to me because of my interest in the war and that time period, and the African-American experience of that time was an interesting part of the history. But I also feel drawn to the relationship between Ada Ruth and her grandmother, one of unequivocal love beneath a façade of pragmatism and occasional gruffness, and one that transcends all racial barriers to speak to the human condition. Ada Ruth knows her grandmother is all talk when she claims the kitten must go while she puts down a saucer of milk. She knows Grandma misses Mama as much as she does, despite her calls to hush up crying.
The illustrations are particularly poignant not in any kind of overly sentimental way, but in their subtle way of portraying the longing this family feels. Almost all of the pictures have a door or window, with the light from the outside world spilling in to illuminate the characters faces or to place them in silhouette, alluding to Ada Ruth's constant vigilance in looking for Mama. The two pictures outside the house serve to show how wide open the world is, emphasizing how alone Ada Ruth and Grandma are without Mama’s presence. This pairing of colloquial yet lyrical writing and beautiful, haunting illustrations make this book truly special.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Spider and the Fly by Tony DiTerlizzi
2nd grade and up
I must have a thing for old black and white movies right now, because I loved this Caldecott Honor book precisely because it is so heavily influenced by silent films, right down to the curly-cues framing the text of Mary Howitt’s famous poem. The illustrations are so delightfully creepy in their details, from the ghosts of insects trying futilely to warn the fly, to the cookbook that graces the spider’s side table. The characters themselves put me in mind of old movies, with the spider’s facial features at times evoking the charm of Clark Gable, and at other times suggesting the menace of Vincent Price. The fly, oddly enough, reminds me of Daisy from The Great Gatsby, with her Twenties garb, gentility, and, fittingly, her vanity.
I wasn’t consciously trying to go for a movie theme when I chose the books I would read for this blog – perhaps I was simply drawn to Hugo Cabret and The Spider and the Fly because of my movie obsession. I do find it interesting that both of these books could draw on silent films with such different results. Both have their moments of whimsy, but DiTerlizzi’s book is, in keeping with its subject, more fantastical – Hugo seemed a flesh and blood boy to me at times, while The Spider and the Fly are more like characters in a rather macabre cartoon. I’m not sure how much very young children would catch in this book; the details are so rich, and the visual humor is so subtle in some places, I can only assume older children would find more to enjoy. All I can say for certain is that I thoroughly loved the book and most definitely will find a place for it in my collection in whatever grade level I end up serving.
I must have a thing for old black and white movies right now, because I loved this Caldecott Honor book precisely because it is so heavily influenced by silent films, right down to the curly-cues framing the text of Mary Howitt’s famous poem. The illustrations are so delightfully creepy in their details, from the ghosts of insects trying futilely to warn the fly, to the cookbook that graces the spider’s side table. The characters themselves put me in mind of old movies, with the spider’s facial features at times evoking the charm of Clark Gable, and at other times suggesting the menace of Vincent Price. The fly, oddly enough, reminds me of Daisy from The Great Gatsby, with her Twenties garb, gentility, and, fittingly, her vanity.
I wasn’t consciously trying to go for a movie theme when I chose the books I would read for this blog – perhaps I was simply drawn to Hugo Cabret and The Spider and the Fly because of my movie obsession. I do find it interesting that both of these books could draw on silent films with such different results. Both have their moments of whimsy, but DiTerlizzi’s book is, in keeping with its subject, more fantastical – Hugo seemed a flesh and blood boy to me at times, while The Spider and the Fly are more like characters in a rather macabre cartoon. I’m not sure how much very young children would catch in this book; the details are so rich, and the visual humor is so subtle in some places, I can only assume older children would find more to enjoy. All I can say for certain is that I thoroughly loved the book and most definitely will find a place for it in my collection in whatever grade level I end up serving.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick
4th grade and up
This book won the Caldecott medal for its depiction of a Paris orphan and his encounter with an enigmatic old toymaker in the early 1930s. While the popular view of Caldecott winners tends to focus on picture books for young children, Selznick absolutely deserved to win the medal despite the book’s length – over 500 pages – and intended older audience. The novel may look like another of the door-stopper books that have come into vogue with the popularity of the Harry Potter series, but because the illustrations tell most of the story, it never feels overwhelming. Selznick takes his cue from silent films of early cinematic history with a frame that encourages young readers to imagine the action of the story taking place on a screen as the music of a nickelodeon dances in the background and the sun rises on a new day in Hugo’s miserable life. As in his The Robot King, Selznick draws his characters with an engineer’s precision, with his cogs and gears taking on lives of their own alongside the human characters. This fascination with the mechanical world becomes almost magical, and Hugo seems an apprentice magician as he learns the secrets of his father’s automaton, helps an old movie master regain the joy of his work, and,ultimately, creates some meaning for his life.
As I might have expected from a Caldecott winner, the illustrations portray the sense of wonder at the world that Hugo and the toymaker rediscover in their time together. The stills from early silent films are like scenes from a dream, with fairies and mermaids and fantastic creatures to take the reader’s mind to worlds that are at once unknown and terribly familiar.
I am particularly drawn to this type of work because of its nostalgia for the limitless possibilities of childhood. Despite Hugo’s destitution and desolation, Selznick always imbues the boy with a hope that he can bring himself out of his desperate situation if only he can fix the automaton and create some link with his father. This hope that his skill can help him change his world is an important one to convey to children -- particularly as they move into intermediate grades and toward a deeper understanding of themselves -- in that they need to see their own potential to effect change in a world that often takes for granted children’s powerlessness.
This book won the Caldecott medal for its depiction of a Paris orphan and his encounter with an enigmatic old toymaker in the early 1930s. While the popular view of Caldecott winners tends to focus on picture books for young children, Selznick absolutely deserved to win the medal despite the book’s length – over 500 pages – and intended older audience. The novel may look like another of the door-stopper books that have come into vogue with the popularity of the Harry Potter series, but because the illustrations tell most of the story, it never feels overwhelming. Selznick takes his cue from silent films of early cinematic history with a frame that encourages young readers to imagine the action of the story taking place on a screen as the music of a nickelodeon dances in the background and the sun rises on a new day in Hugo’s miserable life. As in his The Robot King, Selznick draws his characters with an engineer’s precision, with his cogs and gears taking on lives of their own alongside the human characters. This fascination with the mechanical world becomes almost magical, and Hugo seems an apprentice magician as he learns the secrets of his father’s automaton, helps an old movie master regain the joy of his work, and,ultimately, creates some meaning for his life.
As I might have expected from a Caldecott winner, the illustrations portray the sense of wonder at the world that Hugo and the toymaker rediscover in their time together. The stills from early silent films are like scenes from a dream, with fairies and mermaids and fantastic creatures to take the reader’s mind to worlds that are at once unknown and terribly familiar.
I am particularly drawn to this type of work because of its nostalgia for the limitless possibilities of childhood. Despite Hugo’s destitution and desolation, Selznick always imbues the boy with a hope that he can bring himself out of his desperate situation if only he can fix the automaton and create some link with his father. This hope that his skill can help him change his world is an important one to convey to children -- particularly as they move into intermediate grades and toward a deeper understanding of themselves -- in that they need to see their own potential to effect change in a world that often takes for granted children’s powerlessness.
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