Show and Tell by Dilys Evans (Chronicle Books, 2008) carries the subtitle “Exploring the fine art of children’s book illustration,” and that is what it is: a full-color coffee table style book that highlights a few of the best children’s book illustrators by examining what makes their art “fine art.” Because I love reading picture books, I really appreciated the analysis of great children’s book illustration, as well as the discussion of the illustrators’ lives, from the beginning of their interest in art to where they found their inspiration for their illustration.

Continue reading »

I really love to sink in to a deep, many-hundred-page biography about a fascinating person, but I don’t always have time to do so. Jane Smiley’s biography of Charles Dickens (a part of the Penguin Lives series) is the opposite of a deep biography: it’s a succinct but relevant overview of Dickens’ life by looking at the works he created and his correspondence with associates.

To be honest, now that I’ve learned even just 200 pages worth about the man, his personality, and his life, I’m not sure I want to delve deeper. This is a testament to Ms Smiley’s ability to focus on the most important aspects of the author’s life, for her volume satisfied many of my curiosities. It also managed to frustrate me because as I got to know this remarkable author I so admire for his writing, I found he was a rather unpleasant and unforgiving person to his family and friends.

That’s not to say that Charles Dickens is portrayed as all “bad” in this book. In the past, I’ve read a children’s biography of Charles Dickens that focused on his childhood difficulties, his later charity work, and the ways in which his novels promoted social change, all of which are fascinating in considering his impact on society. Ms Smiley likewise reviews these public influences of the author. Yet, Charles Dickens was obviously a complicated man, and learning about his more private life was not as inspiring. (ETA: This paragraph added Jan 27.)

Nevertheless, in the future, I think I’d rather approach Charles Dickens simply through the novels he wrote. Continue reading »

I wish I could finish off my series of posts on Henry VI with as much enthusiasm as I had for the second play, but 3 Henry VI (written 1595) was simply not as enjoyable as 2 Henry VI was.

In the first place, 3 Henry VI is simply violent from the first scene, when Richard Duke of Gloucester enters with the Duke of Somerset’s head and York and Montague compare bloody swords. The play also has lots of betrayal: no one can trust each other, and promises are broken from one scene to the next. “An oath is of no moment,” says Richard Duke of Gloucester in Act 1, scene 2. The leaders themselves are unsure who they want to follow and they frequently change loyalties from one king to the other. It should be noted that the cast of characters includes King Henry VI and King Edward IV. Obviously, there is a bit of confusion as to who is actually ruling England during the years portrayed in this play.

But by focusing on the fragility of power, Shakespeare manages to poignantly touch on the pointlessness of greed and power. Although I disliked King Henry VI in the previous two plays, in this play, his steadfastness is the most enjoyable aspect. He remarks on his life and the pointlessness of war, and the scenes in which he does so are the most memorable of the play. So, while the play does for the majority of the moving action illustrated the ultimate chaos that comes from power and greed, it also draws the other parallel in its quieter, more subtle scenes: the pointlessness of war, the danger with leadership being an inherited calling, and the tragedies associated with betrayal. Continue reading »

In honor of my 31st birthday on Sunday, I thought I’d find a Persephone book with a title that made me laugh: It’s Hard to be Hip Over Thirty and Other Tragedies of Married Life by Judith Viorst. Being in the USA, however, I only found the non-Persephone edition, the original 1968 publication of Viorst’s slim volume of poetry. Apparently, the Persephone reissue also includes another 50 pages or so of additional poems.

At any rate, I was not blown away by Viorst’s poetry; they left me feeling rather meh. With such a clever title, I had hoped I could relate to the poems of finding a place in a new relationship and so forth. As a married stay-at-home mom in 2012, though, I found the poetry dated. Viorst’s poems dealt with a newly married woman’s struggle to feel like herself in a new role as wife (as in the poem “The Honeymoon is Over”) and other poems focus on the suburbanite mother’s frustrations at being a domestic worker in the home. For example, in “The Other Woman,” the narrator observes that ” The other woman/ never smells like Ajax or Spaghetti-O.”

I just could not relate. This may be because my marriage relationship is balanced and I find personal satisfaction in my role as a mother in a suburban community. I don’t feel threatened by the “working women” my husband may associate with. And although my marital role is to take care of my child and clean the house, I don’t smell like “Ajax or Spaghetti-O” nor do I discuss brand names of detergents with my friends as a poem indicates. Seriously, does anyone do that?

Maybe that is the point. By reading Viorst’s 1960s perspective of her stifled marriage, I can see how far we’ve come? Okay, I admit it, I feel I’m reaching here, trying to figure out why this is classic. I know that Persephone Books reissues neglected feminist works (usually by women) from the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century. Maybe recognizing that some women don’t find satisfaction in their domestic duties, especially in the changing 1960s, is an important feminist observation.

Personally, I like being a stay-at-home mom. I find satisfaction from it. My husband and I don’t bicker (and I don’t recall ever doing so) as the characters in “The Honeymoon is Over” do. And I certainly don’t find myself constantly mopping the house as many poems mention. I guess I’ve never been “hip” and I don’t care. Add to my frustrations with Viorst’s volume the fact that each poem seems wordy (I’m a fan of careful worded poetry, spare and succinct), and I must say that this poetry collection simply was not for me.

Maybe you’ll enjoy it more. Also, please note that the Persephone edition has another 50 pages of poetry over this one; maybe I would have enjoyed those additional poems more. As it was, this was one Persephone I’m certainly glad I didn’t spend money on.

I suspect that most children’s lit readers of this blog have already discovered the announcements for the ALA Youth Media Awards, but nevertheless, I really wanted to give my thoughts, since this year I made a huge effort to read the recently published children’s picture books as a part of the Cybils 2011 nomination process.

The Caldecott winner and honors are listed here. The three honor books are ones I completely loved and wanted to see recognized. All three of them had been nominated for the Cybils, and two had ended up on the finalist list. I personally was hoping Grandpa Green would be recognized as a Caldecott winner for its art: it’s simply fantastic, I think, although a number of people have expressed doubt given its limited kid appeal. (Raisin enjoyed it very much as well, although I do admit he didn’t love it as much as I did.) At any rate, I was surprised by A Ball for Daisy as the winner. Although I like Chris Raschka’s style in other books, Daisy just did not impress me (and it was not nominated for the CYBILS picture books award either, interestingly enough). Raisin liked it enough: we read it a few times. But I personally found the art a bit off-putting: it just wasn’t my style. It looked too raw to be a favorite. Nonetheless, I’m pretty satisfied with the three honor books, so I’ll take the fact that Daisy isn’t illustrated in my style with a grain of salt and accept the list as a good one.

What did you think of the Caldecott winner and honor books?

I haven’t read any of the nominees for most of the other categories, including the Newbery (maybe in a few years when Raisin is reading that reading level of book, then I’ll be “in the know”). There were a few books I recognized in other categories and a number that I’m excited to read at some point. But the only other category that caught my eye in terms of what I wanted to post about was the Geisel Award (named after Dr. Seuss of course) and selects great early reader books. The winner and the honors are named here.

I have not read the winner, Tales for Very Picky Eaters, but I think my son will enjoy that, as he has become rather picky lately about what he eats. I have read both the Elephant and Piggie honor book (I Broke My Trunk!) and I Want My Hat Back. I agree on those being fantastic for early readers. Raisin was quite proud of his ability to read I Want My Hat Back way back in May when I first gave him the review copy I received from BEA. And again, I haven’t read the last honor book, See Me Run, which is about dogs. I’ll have to look it up.

I’m quite excited to explore the world of early readers in the coming months. Although I don’t intend to stop looking for fantastic picture books (I love them!) my son is starting to really enjoy the early readers we’ve found: he loves being able to read me a story. Elephant and Piggie were his first favorites, and this last week we discovered Fly Guy (yuck for me, but perfect for Raisin’s reading level and four-year-old sense of humor right now).

What early readers with similar reading level to Fly Guy can you suggest?

Although a slim volume, Shakespeare and his Contemporaries by Charles Nicholl (published by the British National Portrait Gallery 2005) accomplishes it’s purpose. As the title indicates, the volume illustrates the various persons, distinguished and not, that Shakespeare was familiar with during the years of his life. Some of these people were associates of the Bard: fellow writers, patrons, and actors. Others were higher class gentlemen and ladies, such as the queen and her ladies in waiting. All were people who were alive during Shakespeare’s writing years, and he probably was familiar with them.

As it was published by the National Portrait Gallery, most of the Bard’s contemporaries’ portraits are shown (although it is interesting to see just which people he associated with do not have any remaining portraits: they will be forever faceless). Nicholl’s text does justice to the limited space the volume was intended to fill: he does not wax long on unnecessary bibliographical details, but rather keeps his succinct thoughts on Shakespeare’s contemporaries relevant to the life details that may be interesting to the scholar of Shakespeare. The tone is official and to the point: it’s not necessarily a light read. That said, given the brevity and succinct nature of the writing, it is a perfect tone.

This volume is not a complete portrait of any contemporary of Shakespeare, nor a complete portrait of the Bard himself. Nonetheless, it is certainly an appropriate scholarly introduction to Shakespeare’s possibly significant contemporaries. The volume’s audience may be limited to scholars: I had to request an Interlibrary Loan from a nearby university library.

Nonetheless, I must remind the reader of this blog once again that I am not a scholar, nor did I read the volume with a scholar’s eye: I’m simply a reader of Shakespeare who was curious about those he may or may not have associated with. Because my purposes in reading are not scholarly, I’m certain the sketches of the various people will not remain with me. All the same, I’m glad I picked up Shakespeare and His Contemporaries right now: it was a perfect glimpse at the significant persons living during Shakespeare’s lifetime.

Another post for Allie’s Shakespeare Month.

Bleak House (published serially 1852-1853) is a sweeping saga of epic proportions. Charles Dickens obviously planned the plot carefully, especially by providing introduction and characters for the bulk of the first third of the novel, so that the last third of the novel would swiftly move to a satisfying conclusion that ties all the previously unconnected threads together.

Because of its imposing nature (the novel in print is nearly 1000 pages), its abundance of memorable characters, and Dickens’ elegant writing style as he created the settings, Bleak House is not a novel for every reader. The beginning is confusing especially. But for the careful and interested reader who takes the time to sink into the details and immerse oneself in the foggy and confusing murk that is 1850s London, Bleak House provides a number of keen insights in to the impact of social class on life and the changing nature of social class in those years, especially in the context of a satiric look at the Court of Chancery and the practice of law in nineteenth century England in general.

Of course, the novel addresses a number of other social issues. For example, Dickens approaches gender roles to some extent (in Bleak House, Dickens writes with a female first person narration, and some of the women’s struggles are ones men probably would not deal with) and, as is typical of Dickens, the plight of the orphan and the poor is central.

But to me, the bulk of the issues he describes seem to hearken back to a changing upper class in Victorian England. One wealthy family has a secret to keep hidden, a secret that probably would not be detrimental to their reputation had they not been upper class. Another gentleman lives in poverty due to his own misguided hopes. The exaggerated and sometimes ridiculous caricatures of other supposedly upper class persons also bring more questions to the front of the reader’s mind: what makes a gentleman and a lady? Why? How do persons of the different classes differ?

Bleak House is crammed with rather depressing commentary on both the lives of the poor and of the rich, the hazy nature of the law courts (specifically Chancery), and a frank discussion of illegitimacy. This gives Bleak House a rather depressing tone: the marvelously written first chapters, which capture the fog and dirt of Victorian London, are a pretty accurate foreshadowing of the hopelessness many the characters will face. And yet, I personally found Bleak House anything but depressing. The residence of John Jarndyce which was called Bleak House was full of cheer, charm, and pleasantness. Further, as the story of Esther’s life became uncovered, her satisfaction in life seemed only to improve. And while there were, I admit, a number of unhappy ends in the novel, for the most part, I found the ending a satisfying resolution to a lengthy and deep story (albeit a satire-rich ending).

Although I not certain Bleak House will end up on my list of favorite Dickens’ novels (I believe that will still include Great Expectations and A Christmas Carol), it’s certainly one I will enjoy sinking my teeth in to again in a few years. There’s a reason it’s a classic, and it is certainly a novel that is meant to be reread and pondered and enjoyed time and again.

From this point, this post contains spoilers for Bleak House. Continue reading »

My work as a Fiction Picture Book panelist is over, but the great things about the Cybils is the lists of finalists to keep reading from for the rest of the year! This month, I decided to find the seven nonfiction picture book nominees to see what the fuss was about in the nonfiction sector. Continue reading »

Coming off the heels of 1 Henry VI, the next play, 2 Henry VI, struck me as wonderfully written. I hadn’t found much to stand out in 1 Henry VI. But from the beginning, the analogies, the rhythm of the poetry, and the play on words impressed me in the second play. As the action progressed, I could picture the actors and their reactions. I really enjoyed 2 Henry VI, and in fact I read it twice this month just so I’d feel I understood it fully.

1 Henry VI provided the backdrop for the War of the Roses, capturing the 20 years or so after Henry V’s death and the establishment of the Duke of Gloucester (Lord Humphrey) as the Lord Protector of England, since Henry VI was only an infant at his father’s death. At the end of the play, Lord Suffolk in France has arranged for Margaret of Anjou to marry the now-grown King Henry VI.

Then, 2 Henry VI begins right where the first play left off, with Suffolk arriving in England to deliver Princess Margaret to the King. From the first scene, there is tension as the Lord Protector reads the treaty arrangement that gives Margaret (who is French) to England: two of the recently conquered territories in France have been returned to French rule as a result of the marriage arrangements.

2 Henry VI is about conflicting interests, about secrets among leaders, and especially about what it means to be a leader as chaos begins to erupt around King Henry’s throne. It’s obvious that King Henry VI depends on his Lord Protector (who is his uncle) and others to guide him as king. Although he is technically of age, he is a weak and inefficient leader, although he trusts all his close counselors. This blind trust leads to the beginning of his downfall as friends are executed and his supposed friends instigate uprisings against him. I have not yet read 3 Henry VI, but I can see where it will go. Continue reading »

Note: this post contains “spoilers” for the first 60% of Bleak House.

I have a book club discussion on this book next Wednesday night, so I have been pushing myself to read quickly: this has been my main reading material this week (after I finished 2 Henry VI, that is — more on that tomorrow, maybe).  At any rate, reading Bleak House in long one-hour stretches in the evening has been very helpful to get me accustomed to the confusion that is Chancery (I’m not worrying about it, as many of suggested I shouldn’t) and the multitude of characters. I’m now about 60% finished.

There are two things that are making Bleak House one of the great novels I’ve read. One is the writing: I love the frequent metaphors that bring the setting to life. The second aspect is the characters. There are so many of them, but they are rather memorable in their own ways, and I enjoy disliking the villains, like Mr Smallwood and Mrs Jellyby (what an awful lady!), and cheering for the wonderful “heros” of the book: John Jarndyce who is so very good, Esther who likewise deserves a great end, and even poor Caddy Jellyby (now Turveydrop) who seems so sincere in her desire to have a happy life despite her mother. These characters that I love have really let me sink in to the story.

I must admit: I did reference a character list in the past week. As some cautioned, this provided very detailed spoilers, so I knew the Lady Dedlock connection to Esther before it was revealed. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t “believe” in spoilers, but I do somewhat wish it could have mysteriously unfolded to me, much as the secrets in The Woman in White were enjoyed on my first read. Nevertheless, I liked seeing how it was going to come: the discussions between that man named Guppy (great name) and Lady Dedlock made complete sense to me, while if I hadn’t known what the underlying secret was I may have been confused as I’d felt in the beginning. So it was a nice experience to read it, knowing the secret, but it may been nice the other way too. I still stand by the “no such thing as a spoiler” philosophy. The story is great regardless.

And yet, last night, Mr Dickens just about lost me. In the last chapters I read of the novel, Mr Krook’s death by spontaneous combustion just about did me in. It was so ridiculous and “out there” that I wondered if Dickens was trying to turn this novel into science fiction. I referred to the footnotes in my Penguin copy of the book (I’ve been reading on my nook) and found a explanation in an appendix that explains the inclusion of the phenomenon in this novel.

For the purposes of the novel, however, perhaps the signal point is in the narrator’s observation: “The less the court understands of all this, the more the court likes it’ (Chapter 33). Not only does Krook’s grisly end give a narrative and symbolic parallel to the theme of self-destruction also played out by Jarndyce and Jarndyce in Chancery, but it is equally surrounded by enticing mystery.

I can really appreciate the symbolic irony of the mysterious death. I must also admit that this portion of the novel sent me on a hunt for more information about spontaneous human combustion. See the Wikipedia page about it, as well as a post about a 2010 and a 2011 possible death.

Personally, I think there must be an alternative explanation for these deaths (as well as those throughout history). I hope Bones does an episode about it (I’m currently watching season 4 with my husband; will it come up at some point?)

At any rate, despite the supernatural science in the novel, I’m enjoying watching the scenes unfold. I’m looking forward to a resolution! And I suspect already that this may be a novel to revisit.

What do you think about spontaneous human combustion? I’m very curious about it, although I’m kind of with one of the scientists quoted in Wikipedia: if it’s so reasonable an explanation, how come it doesn’t happen more often than 200 times in 300 years?