Can we read? No. 39
Hi there!
Guess what? I completely forget to send May’s issue of (How) Can we read? (This is where I share with you everything I know about raising readers and building a culture of books and literacy in your home, on the second Friday of every month.) It was of course ready and the Friday came and went and I didn’t even notice 🤦🏻♀️ In the spirit of the teacher of a mending workshop I took last week — a woman who said repeatedly and with sincerity, “Embrace imperfectionism”— I’m going to just let it go and publish it next month.
(Look at me, embracing imperfectionism like it doesn’t nearly destroy me! Thank you for your patience. If you want to browse past monthly issues I’ve included a list at the end.) On June 11 I’ll come at you with all my thoughts on buying books. Until then, regular programming…
Just a Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book by Yuyi Morales (2003)
I often see this Yuyi Morales title relegated to “Halloween books” because of the skeleton, but if you’re only reading this in October you’re missing out. Morales is a multi-faceted artist — not merely a children’s book writer and illustrator but also a Brazilian folk dancer, puppet maker, and former host of a Spanish-language radio show for children — and this cross-disciplinary experience shows in her work. Her illustrations are always vibrant, always vivacious, and frequently have the look of puppetry (this is especially evident in her collaboration with Tony Johnston, My Abuelita). More importantly, however, are the glimpses her work offers into the rich traditions of Mexican culture. Here in this original trickster tale, the reader learns what happens when the skeleton Señor Calavera (Spanish for “skull”) arrives unexpectedly at Grandma Beetle’s door: “Just a minute” she tells him, buying time as she moves through her chores in bilingual numeric order, stalling because she has one house to sweep, two pots of tea to boil, three pounds of corn to make into tortillas, and so on. As Grandma Beetle lists all she has yet to do in English, Señor Calavera counts along (increasingly impatiently) in Spanish. By the end — which culminates in a special event full of family and love — the skeleton has had such fun he leaves instead of taking Grandma Beetle with him. Young children may not recognize that Grandma Beetle escapes death in this story, and that’s okay — they will enjoy this for the entertaining romp, the bright cumulative tale with visual and verbal appeal that it is.
If you like this one, check out its sequel, Just In Case: A Trickster Tale and Spanish Alphabet Book, by the same author.
The Story of The Milky Way: A Cherokee Tale by Joseph Bruchac and Gayle Ross, illustrated by Virginia A. Stroud (1995)
I’ve known about (and owned) this book for years but it has only been in the last few months that my children had gravitated towards it and asked for it again and again, making it one of our favorites of 2021 thus far. Never mind that it’s 25+ years old — some tales are timeless, not only because they’re good but because they fill a deep need for understanding, and this is such a story.
It begins: “Long ago when the world was new, there were not many stars in the sky.” The people depended on corn for their food and were careful, after grinding it, to keep it safely stored in bins behind their homes so that they would not starve in winter. When a significant amount of corn disappears from the bin of two elders, the hunt for the thief is on: a young grandson hides near the bin one night and waits. What he sees is something he cannot account for — an eerie light in the shape of a great dog comes to eat from the bin — so he and the people bring the mystery to the Beloved Woman, “a leader among the people,” who determines that the creature is a spirit dog, and that they must scare it away with their drums and turtleshell rattles. They do just this, and the spirit dog is so startled by their clamor, “the noise as loud as the Thunderer,” that he runs to the top of a hill and into the sky, spilling cornmeal from his mouth as he goes, which stays behind “as a great band of light across the night sky” that the Cherokee people call Gil-liutsun stanun’yi — “the place where the dog ran.” This is a rare book created by no less than three own voices authors and illustrators (two of whom are Cherokee) and they have done such a stunning job it’s unfathomable to me that this wasn’t super famous in 1995*: it’s brilliant in every way, from the folk art illustrations that manage to convey a remarkable level of suspense to the prose that tells, truly, the most beautiful pourquoi tale I’ve ever heard.
If you’re looking for the perfect star-gazing tale this summer, look no further. (Probably you should just buy it: this is a must-have for any home library.)
*It did win the Scientific American Young Readers Book Award but that’s it
Moonhorse by Mary Pope Osborne, illustrated by S.M. Saelig (1991)
Speaking of the sky (and in my house we frequently are, as my kids are still on a space kick): Moonhorse is a soft and bewitching companion to the The Story of the Milky Way, not only because it also deals with the night sky and the magic of what can be seen there, but because it conveys a similar mood and feeling. Here the reader meets a young girl as she is rocking on her porch with her father while the moon comes up: the night is quiet and so is Daddy — he has fallen asleep by the time the first star appears. But the little girl has not, and as she sits and observes through all her senses the world around her, the Moonhorse appears. There is only one thing to do, of course: “grab his white man and climb on his back” and adventure off into the night. As the pair venture “high over twilight” they see all sorts of sights: the Dipper and the Bear, the Goat and the Scorpion and the Archer, as together they “gallop toward midnight… pulling the Moon through the clear silent sky.” I will not spoil the end, merely say that the safety and surety with which the girl and the Moonhorse return to the porch is one of the most emotionally satisfying and gentlest ways to send a child off to sleep that I’ve come across: Saelig’s incredibly dreamy paintings are not limited to the time spent in outer space but extend to the ground as well, which lends the whole book a time-out-of-time quality that Pope Osbourne’s poetic writing only intensifies. (I was surprised by her talent, to be honest — she shows a depth here that is in such opposition from her Magic Tree House series, which is poorly written to a degree that distresses me given how much my children like it, but intrigued me enough to seek out her work beyond MTH). If you need some new bedtime reading, look no further than Moonhorse — you won’t regret this ride.
(It’s been such a long time since I made any kind of pun!)
Paddington the Artist by Michael Bond, illustrated by R.W. Alley (1998 — first published in 1985)
I am normally against adaptations* of classics and/or longer books. There are a few exceptions, but for the most part I revile adaptations because they are so often dumbed-down versions of original texts that kids can absolutely handle — this, I think, not only insults the intelligence of children, which is bad enough, but offers them a far less rich (and frequently crappy — there’s no other word for it) telling. I hate reading adaptations and my kids don’t know how much better the real version is, so sometimes they learn to dislike a book that is, in its true form, beautiful and enjoyable. (I am thinking of every version of The Tale of Peter Rabbit that is not Beatrix Potter’s work — I cautioned you against these options in my special edition on Easter.)
However, the lamentable state of adaptations is not true across the board — and the Paddington Bear picture book are one shining exception. We have a handful of Michael Bond’s Paddington adaptations — some board books, which both my children loved as toddlers and are some of my favorite titles for the littlest littles — as well as the longer ones (like Paddington the Artist) that are based closely on the original stories, often lifting the prose directly from the source but editing out the longer parts. I might even take issue with that were it not for R.W. Alley’s wonderfully warm illustrations. I am a huge fan of Alley’s (I’ve reviewed books of his in issue No. 8 and my special edition on Halloween and we own and love many more), and never more so than in his collaborations with Bond on the Paddington books — he captures the Peruvian fellow’s spirit so well that now when I look at the images in my childhood copy, with line drawings from Peggy Fortnum (whose drawings of Paddington were iconic for years — see my much-used childhood copy below), it just doesn’t feel right.
The success of Bond’s and Alley’s collaborations are on full display in any of their titles, this one included, where Paddington, out for a Sunday walk with his friend Mr. Gruber, comes across some paintings in the park, is inspired to put his own artistic talent (or lack thereof) to use, and ends up in a very Paddington-esque situation — which is to say, the outcomes is humorous, entertaining, and full of all the things 63-years’ worth of children have loved about this perennially lovable bear.
If you haven’t spent any time with Paddington I urge you to remedy such a sad state of affairs — and may the children in your life adore him and his zany escapades enough to batter and cherish their copies, as I once did.
*Note that “adapted” and “abridged” are two different things — I am not a fan of anything abridged either but for less passionate reasons, as abridgments merely leave out sections of the story — not ideal, but not as terrible in my mind as modifying the writing and sometimes even changing the story that happens in adaptations. That said, I purposely search out unabridged stories for my children (in my experience abridgments most frequently happen to classics, and audiobooks are especially subject, so if this matters to you, look very carefully at the audio titles you are choosing as sometimes this detail is only noted in the finest print).
Show Me a Story: 40 Craft Projects and Activities to Spark Children's Storytelling by Emily K. Neuburger (2012)
Once in awhile I write about “books for you” rather than ones for kids — these are usually very obviously not ones you are going to share with children but rather ones that might interest or influence you. I have a lot of these types of books — a whole long shelf of them here in my home office — and I love reading them for inspiration or browsing them for ideas when I feel like I’m in a parenting slump (even though they’re not parenting books — I just need the reminder in those times that I am more than capable, good even, at connecting with and having fun with my kids).
My favorite books of this type are process art ones — I reviewed one of my very favorites, First Art for Toddlers and Twos: Open-Ended Art Experiences by MaryAnn F. Kohl, in issue No. 18 and banged on about other process art/making books in reviewing Tinkerlab: A Hands-On Guide for Little Inventors by Rachelle Doorley in issue No. 25 — but I do have a few that exist in opposition to that ethos, and Show Me a Story is definitely one of them. Here is why this title is worth your while, though: while every craft in this project book does have a clearly defined, product-oriented outcome, the resulting activity it fosters is very much a process-based thing. For example: in the project on the cover, “Story Stones,” the object is to create stones covered with images to use as storytelling props. In one sense, the product is clear: make stones with images. Yet in another, it’s very process-y: nowhere in the directions does it tell you what images to use, what kind of stones to make, much less how to use the stones afterward to tell a story. And this is why it passes my nitpicky process-over-product test: the ideas here are crafts, yes, there are steps to follow and many photos of examples of each, but they are deeply rooted in imagination and play, all in support of telling stories.
This is a fun book to have for rainy days, especially if you keep a wide array of art supplies (rocks, fabric, cardboard, all kinds of collage materials — ask me how much, well, trash I keep in a large plastic box in a closet accessible to my children). I’d love to see what an aunt/uncle or grandparent could do with this book and a free afternoon with the children in their lives. Beyond that, I cannot recommend this book highly enough for teachers, preschool through upper elementary, and children’s librarians — I would lose my everloving mind (in the very best way) if my kid came home from school or storytime at the library with any of the projects/ideas in this book.
This is a good one.
That’s all from me today — thanks for reading!
If you’d like to browse past issues of the monthly series where I share my experience and knowledge re: building a culture of reading on your home, have at it:
(How) Can we read? archives:
(You can also read the full archives of this newsletter — all issues, of every kind — as a website.)
The June issue of (How) Can we read? will be about buying books. Future issue will cover, by request: my own reading habits, tender topics for kids, more on our family reading routines, another Ask Me Anything, why poetry matters, and things I haven’t even come up with yet. (If you have requests or ideas, please hit reply and let me know!)
Sarah