The search for (more books)

Can we read? No. 141

Good morning.

I’m less than two weeks out from a concussion (night hike, depths of January, ice), and I’m also out of town (the Twin Cites, my mom and daughters, Birchbark Books, no more needs to be said) as you receive this.

Maybe those things put me in a better position than ever, today, to remind you that reading aloud — or providing your kiddos with books — might not feel like a big thing, might not feel like something that makes a difference, but it is, and it does.

Sometimes the effort we expend as parents, caregivers, educators, and otherwise feels useless, pointless, like dropping a very small pebble into very big void — so little you can’t hear the plink! of anything landing, much less see the mountain you’re building, bit by bit, but it’s worthwhile. It’s valuable. It means something.

More than once lately, I’ve thought to myself, what’s the point? Is there even going to be a world worth living in, when (god willing) my children are old?

But then I think about the kind of people I want them to become — the human beings I am raising, to the best of my ability, with everything I have and everything I am — and I know, to my core, that I want them to be curious, kind, strong, understanding, compassionate, and 110% sure of their worth.

I’m not always great at imparting that — or rather, I have no better tools to impart that than the example of my own self, books, and my commitment to sharing both with my children. I am skilled with words and yet words fail me more often than I’d like, so I’m grateful I can borrow the words of others, of authors who can say it better than I can, who have more patience for (probably) everything, who see the world in a way I don’t and in some instances, can’t.

There are many days I feel I’m failing as a mother, as the type of parent I want to be, but there’s one thing I can do, no matter what, that brings me back to my best intentions, to the deepest form of love I have for my kids, and that’s reading to them — even if I don’t feel like it, even if I am beyond exhausted, even if my heart is heavy, even if my eyes hurt, even if I’m not sure any of it is making a difference.

Don’t forget this, that reading to your children has a purpose. Even if the purpose is simply to share something you enjoy — that’s sharing your heart, love at the quantum level and love at an order of magnitude we can barely understand, and that matters more than we know or can know.

I can’t think of many things more powerful or more lasting. Keep going.

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Silent Lotus by Jeanne M. Lee (1991)

Long ago on the edge of a lake in Cambodia, a baby is born unable to hear or speak. Her parents cherish her, and she grows as beautiful as a lotus flower, but her disability prevents her from making friends in her village, and so she and her family set off for the temple in city.

Lotus’ journey unfolds with quiet beauty — complemented by Lee’s vibrant colored pencil illustrations, inspired by the decorations on Angkor Wat — as she finds her voice, speaking with her hands, body, and feet through classical Cambodian dance. She not only transforms her perceived limitations into the loveliest expressions of grace and storytelling, she’s talented enough to become the most famous dancer in the Khmer kingdom.

Ideal for early- to mid-elementary readers, this oldie-but-goodie somehow feels modern and fresh in its celebration of individuality, perseverance, and the unique ways we all contribute to the world. After all, second only to love, isn’t art the most powerful universal language?

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Elizabeti’s Doll by Stephanie Stuve-Bodeen, illustrated by Christy Hale (1998)

This review was first published in issue No. 29 — I’ve edited and updated it here

“Elizabeti had a new baby brother named Obedi. Elizabeti watched Mama take care of him and she wanted to care for her own baby.”

The only problem is that she doesn’t have a doll, so she gets creative and finds a rock — just the right size to hold — and names it Eva. Elizabeti cares for Eva just as her mother cares for Obedi, until one day she discovers that Eva is gone. She’s deeply sad but tries to carry on, continuing with her chores, one of which is filling a pot with water and setting it on stones around the fire to boil — and that’s the moment when she recognizes one of the stones as Eva.

Hale’s mixed-media illustrations are warm and show various details of Elizabeti’s life in a traditional African village (in an unnamed country), and together with Stuve-Bodeen’s straightforward prose, they’ve perfectly captured that one-of-a-kind tenderness and devotion a small child is capable of showing a doll they love, which makes this an appealing book in which little ones can see something of themselves. This is a sweet, simple story, but a satisfying one that can be returned to again and again.

If this one appeals, try the follow-up titles, Mama Elizabeti and Elizabeti’s School.

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The Search for Carmella by Chloe Savage (2024)

I received a copy of this book from Candlewick Press — all opinions are my own

In this captivating story that combines science, adventure, curiosity, and the mysteries of the deep sea, the reader meets Dr. Rose, a dedicated marine biologist who embarks on an expedition to find a legendary sea created called Carmella, who roams “the deepest, darkest oceans.” She is determined to prove Carmella is real.

Accompanied by her team of friends, Dr. Rose explores the enigmatic underwater world, encountering a variety of fascinating marine life along the way. All the action is captured by Savage’s soft, sometimes murky ink and watercolor images, which not only add to the sense of awe, they reveal what the folks in the submersible can’t see. (They also, incidentally, affirm for me why I am entirely uninterested in swimming in the ocean if I cannot see the bottom clearly beneath my feet, as Carmella is the monster I truly believe is lurking below me, creeping up with the intention to chomp me, at all times.)

I love how this imaginative book not only induces a sense of wild wonder — it somehow really captures the vastness of the ocean — but also leaves readers with questions: is Carmella real? Do sea monsters really exist? And will Dr. Rose, after coming so tantalizingly close, ever find one? (I really mean leaves readers with questions — these things are never clearly answered or explained, and it only adds to the magic and the mystery.)

This is a delightful one for preschoolers all the way to mid-elementary — or for anyone with a sense of oceanic adventure, no matter your age.

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Alfie’s Feet by Shirley Hughes (1982)

This review was first published in issue No. 6 — I’ve edited and updated it here

I’m sure the fact that I read the Alfie and Annie Rose books as a child myself contributes to my abiding love for them, but only partly: they’re simply excellent books (that stand on their own apart from my nostalgia). Shirley Hughes, who died in 2022, had an undeniable gift for coming up with stories that matter to children — she understood them and the ins and outs of their world in a singular, rare way — but for me, at least as a parent, it’s her honest illustrations of the chaos of family life that make her one of the most beloved authors of all time.

Alfie and Annie Rose (not just in this title, but all of them) live in a real house with real parents — things are messy, food and drink gets spilled, there are toys and books and cups of tea everywhere, Mom and Dad always have a vague look of exhausted calm on their faces — and that doesn’t seem particularly special except when you realize how rarely that particular reality is represented in more modern titles.

Alfie’s Feet has all this goodness and more: Alfie gets new rain boots but there’s something not quite right about them. He eventually figures it out and so do we — that is, that there is great meaning for children in even in the most ordinary events of the most ordinary days. (And really, that’s not such a bad philosophy for living a life, is it?)

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Thanks for reading today — and for reading to the kiddos in your life, most of all.
Sarah