Going on a Book Hunt

I discovered “Everywhere Babies” in the most appropriate of places – my OB/GYN’s office. I had an appointment for a blood test to confirm my third pregnancy and, because the news was still under wraps, I had to tote both daughters along with me.

I imagined needles plus two toddlers was going to make for a scary equation, so I grabbed a few battered picture books from the waiting room and told the girls to sit quietly and read in the chair next to me while my blood was drawn. Fortunately for me, the literature kept them happy, so much so that my youngest, Charlotte, begged to take her book home with us when we left.

With 50 irresistibly cute babies illustrated on the dust jacket alone, it’s no wonder Charlotte was captivated. Whereas my oldest never gave a baby doll a passing glance, Charlotte has a nursery full of them, all named “Baby,” and she’s drawn to infant car seat carriers like a moth drawn to flame.

When it comes to books, however, shall we say Charlotte’s taste is more selective? Few books hold her attention for long, so I’m always quick to indulge her when her interest is apparent. I put the title to memory and, via the wonders of Amazon shipping, Susan Meyers’ “Everywhere Babies” arrived on our doorstep a few days later without further review.

As a result, it came as a delightful surprise that one of my favorite author/illustrators, Marla Frazee, had produced the art for this book. Better yet, her illustrations offer an otherwise simple book a complex look at the diversity of families.

Published in 2001, “Everywhere Babies” has much in common with Mem Fox’s “Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes,” which topped all the lists of best children’s books in 2008 and also sits high on Charlotte’s list of favorites. Both books celebrate the universality of babyhood.

Fox compares babies born in different countries and different circumstances, from hillsides to cities and igloos to tents. But she emphasizes that there’s really little that truly differentiates them, for they all have “ten little fingers and ten little toes.”

The babies of this book, charmingly illustrated by Helen Oxenbury, seem to grasp this concept; they’re captured playing merrily together, bound by the common joys of infancy rather than divided by differences in language, ethnicity or nationality.

Similarly, “Everywhere Babies” celebrates the familiar milestones of a baby’s first year, from birth to that messy slice of birthday cake. Author Susan Meyers said she was inspired to write the book after the birth of her first grandchild, when she suddenly started noticing babies everywhere.

Although we often have tunnel vision after the birth of our own children, heralding our one-of-a-kind baby’s every facial expression and accomplishment, one begins to realize, as Meyers beautifully puts it, “Every day, everywhere, babies are born,” and each of those babies is treasured and loved as much as our own.

It’s humbling to be reminded that, in every city, state and country, there are hundreds, thousands, millions of babies being cuddled, kissed, fed and rocked. And those babies, as miraculously as we once did, are learning to crawl, run, jump and talk.

While Meyers’ beautifully rhythmic text highlights the commonalities of our start in the world, Marla Frazee’s abundant illustrations illuminate that these similarities exist regardless of differences in our cultures and families. Ever so subtly, but all so importantly, Frazee has depicted families in which babies are cared for my mothers, fathers, older family members, adoptive parents and both same-sex and interracial couples.

While Ames is considered progressive as far as Iowa goes, families here and in other small towns throughout the country have a much more homogeneous appearance. For those of us raising families in such environments, “Everywhere Babies” offers our children a valuable glimpse at some of the different but equally suitable ways families are formed without any overly-political, in-your-face statements like “some families have two mommies and some families have two daddies.”

I underscore the word “glimpse” because Frazee’s images of less-traditional families are given no more emphasis, and certainly less frequency, than the many other endearing illustrations in this book. Above all, Frazee’s illustrations depict just how much each of these babies is loved by the people in their lives, regardless of those caretakers’ gender, race or age.

Among it’s many messages, however, the offering that I found most powerful in this book was its representation of how quickly a baby progresses from infancy on the opening pages to her first birthday, and the end of babyhood, at the book’s conclusion. As it’s often said, “They don’t stay babies forever,” and Meyers and Frazee have done a beautiful job of reminding us to cherish this brief period while it lasts.

My oldest, Eloise, was interested only in cars, frogs and the Backyardigans for the first three years of her life, but after turning three, she caught that dreaded princess bug. I assure myself that she’s not one of those girls. You know, the girls whose only concern is looking pretty, girls who think that becoming a princess is a possible reality, girls about whom books like “Cinderella Ate My Daughter” are written.

Admittedly, Eloise would wear a crown, princess dress and high heels every day, all day if I let her. But while wearing her fancy get-up, Eloise doesn’t act like a princess; you’re more likely to find her crouched and ribbiting like her favorite amphibian. So, I suppose I’m willing to support her interest in princess stories, although I favor a less pink and Disney-branded version of these tales, something with its foundation in the centuries-old folk traditions from which the animated versions of Cinderella, Snow White and Ariel sprang.

I found just such a book while on vacation. With my children entertained at an outdoor book fair with their dad, I was afforded the rare luxury of spending as long as I liked in the children’s section of an actual bricks-and-mortar bookstore without the threat of displays being overturned and whole shelves emptied of their contents.

When I caught sight of Brigette Barrager’s “12 Dancing Princesses,” it was one of those blissful “find” moments I’m always hoping for. The cover art and ensuing illustrations are a visual indulgence equivalent to eating one of the DC Cupcakes girls’ famous frosted and sprinkled delicacies. However, the title is what really grabbed me. This wasn’t just a princess book but a book about a dozen princesses, and a dozen princesses who dance, for that matter. Eloise would be thrilled!

As I opened the front cover, my inner skeptic dreaded finding of a story better suited for a Barbie coloring book. Much to my delight, I discovered a wonderful retelling of a Grimm’s fairy tale that had long ago captivated me but had been buried in my memory for more than 20 years.

If you were a child of the ’80’s and watched as much Nickelodeon as my three sisters and I did, you may recall “Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics,” a Japanese-anime interpretation of the Brothers Grimm stories and other folk tales. This clip of the opening theme song on YouTube might jog your memory; I found myself immediately singing along.

The series aired from 1987 to 1989 and included nearly four-dozen animated presentations of such well-known stories as “Puss in Boots,” “Rumplestiltskin” and “The Traveling Musicians of Bremen.” But the episode that bewitched me was “The Worn-Out Dancing Shoes.”

Also known by the title, “The Twelve Dancing Princesses,” “The Worn-Out Dancing Shoes” was first published by the Brothers Grimm in 1812. It is the story of a king’s 12 daughters who, despite being locked in their room each night, are discovered every morning with their shoes worn through as if they had been dancing all night.

Barrager has taken liberties in her interpretation to transform some of the darker elements of the Grimms’ tale, whose original stories were intended for an adult audience. In softening its edges, she has preserved the essence of the story while making it more attractive and appropriate for her younger readers.

For the tiara obsessed, Barrager has given her princesses more endearing personalities, naming each after a beautiful flower and modeling their apparel after their namesakes.  My daughters insist that I identify each of these blooming beauties, although I tend to get a little lost when it gets down to Tulip, Petunia, Bluebell and Iris.

While these princesses are overly feminized in title and appearance, Barrager has modernized their role in the kingdom. The Grimms’ princesses were simply a prize to be won by the conquering hero, to whom the king also promises inheritance of the kingdom. Barrager’s king, on the other hand, fully intends to hand the kingdom down to his daughters but fears their narcoleptic tendencies will make them incapable. “‘How can I expect my daughters to rule the kingdom after me, when they spend their days napping?’ he thought.”

Barrager’s careful editing reflects a change in the princess icon, which was so smartly examined by Naomi Wolf in her New York Times article, “Mommy, I Want to Be a Princess:”

“If you look closely, the princess archetype is not about passivity and decorativeness: It is about power and the recognition of the true self. Little girls are obsessed with princesses for the same reason little boys are obsessed with action heroes. What other female figure can command an army, break open a treasury, or even, as in images of Kate Middleton or of Diana Spencer, simply bestow, with her presence, a sense of magic, excitement and healing? Princesses are more benevolent than pop stars and less drugged out; they are more powerful than Hillary Rodham Clinton or Condoleeza Rice, and wear better frocks. They are less disposable than fashion models and at least appear to be less stressed than the girls’ own working mothers, even if those women are at the top of the professional hierarchy. What girl would not be drawn to such an archetype, given how few other female role models you can say that about in our popular culture.”

Barrage also has cultivated a more endearing hero for her princesses in the form of Pip, the king’s in-house cobbler. Pip is responsible for repairing the princesses’ shoes each morning, and it’s revealed he has a special affection for the youngest princess, Poppy.

“Pip liked Princess Poppy because she always told him how beautiful the new shoes were…Poppy really liked Pip, too, but she just couldn’t keep her eyes open long enough to say so.”

In the Grimms’ original version of the story, it is an aged soldier who finally solves the mystery of the princesses’ nightly activities. The solider is tipped off by a woodland witch, who reveals that the princesses drug the men who attempt to investigate their nocturnal secrets. Armed with that knowledge and the witch’s invisibility cloak, the solider feigns sleep and observes the princesses escaping their room through a staircase leading to unknown depths beneath the castle.

Pip, however, relies on his own ingenuity and innate skill to solve the mystery at hand.  He crafts himself a pair of the softest, most silent shoes possible and observes the princesses stirring after the rest of the castle has gone to bed. Dressed in their finest gowns, but with their eyes closed as though they are sleepwalking, the princesses descend the stairs hidden beneath their bedroom floor. Pip follows unheard and discovers the enchanted world into which the princesses are drawn each evening.

Here Barrager wonderfully captures the exquisite details that so enthralled me as a child: a forest of trees encrusted with silver, gold and diamonds, upon whose branches jewel-colored birds perch. Pip removes a branch from each of these uniquely gilded trees as evidence of what he’s seen before following the princesses as they cross a dark and dreamy lake to an island hosting a magical ballroom. There, the princesses dance until morning, then they depart the island as mysteriously as they arrived.

Determined to break the enchantment that holds the princesses captive each night, Pip turns to the age-old solution of fairy tales: a kiss. He bestows one on Poppy’s hand, and the princesses’ eyes instantly flutter open. The forest around them begins to crumble to vapor and dust and they hurriedly escape through the trap door, which also disappears in a whirl of smoke.

Pip and the princesses rush to the king and share their fantastic story, presenting the jeweled branches as evidence. The king offers Pip any reward he desires – gold, diamonds, a castle – but Pip nervously requests permission to ask for Poppy’s hand in marriage. Poppy enthusiastically responds “yes” on her own behalf, they marry and, of course, live happily ever after.

Barrager’s treatment of this fairy tale is so wonderfully perfect, I would love to see her produce subsequent editions of other seldom-published folk stories. The Princess and the Pea, another of my personal favorites, would fair wonderfully in her hands.

In the meantime, Barrager has created a digital story, available through the Jib Jab Jr. iPad app, that’s bound to fulfill any little girl’s princess fantasies. “A Perfect Princess Day” makes your child the star of a story also featuring some of her favorite fairy tale heroines: Snow White, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. You simply upload a picture of your own darling princess and her face is inserted into the story. Just like that, she’s off having tea parties and attending balls at the castle with her royal friends and a magic flying pony.

My Eloise turns 4 next week, and while her gifts consist of Cars 2 vehicles and her party is strictly frog-themed, I’ll pop her face into Barrager’s e-book and my conscience will rest easy. For as Wolf assures us in her examination of today’s princess:

“Don’t worry if your 5-year-old girl insists on a pink frilly princess dress. It doesn’t mean she wants to subside into froth; it just means, sensibly enough for her, that she wants to take over the world.”

My daughters are the first grandchildren on both sides of our family, and they have an unending number of grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles, great-aunts and great-uncles and good family friends who like to spoil them rotten at Christmastime. As a result, in years past, we’ve headed home with a carload of toys and the overwhelming task of figuring out where to put them all.

This year, I made a preemptive strike and pleaded with these loved ones to give the girls books, and only books, if they could possibly restrain themselves. Inspired by “A Family of Readers,” written by the editors of The Horn Book Magazine, I even went as far as creating a shared Google document with titles from our children’s book wish list. And much to my delight, a fair number of people made use of this list. Better yet, several people gifted us wonderful, unique and beautiful books I’ve never laid eyes on before.

Between these gifts and the books I selected for the girls myself, I realized we should have also asked Santa for a new bookcase.

But the girls weren’t the only happy bookworms this year. I’ll be receiving “The Horn Book Magazine” and “School Library Journal” in 2012, and my thoughtful husband also converted my blog into a dot-com address. You can now find me at goingonabookhunt.com.

But my absolute favorite literary Christmas gift was the t-shirt my little sister found in Iowa City, Iowa, for my daughter, Eloise, who is most certainly a Major League Reader. You can find them online at Tshirt Booyah.

I’m looking forward to sharing all of our new favorite books with you in 2012!

Blame it on the annual turkey coma, but when my 3 year old asked earlier this month, “What’s Thanksgiving,” I was surprised to find myself caught off guard and grappling for an answer.

As I jumbled together a story about Pilgrims, a boat ride and dinner with Indians, my mind was spinning in circles trying to recall the accurate historical facts and some sort of explanation for why the commemoration of this event has evolved into such a prominent national holiday. Frankly, it was all a haze of preschool plays, Peanuts cartoons, Pepperidge Farm stuffing and Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parades.

In a method to which my journalism school mentors would wholly object, I scoured Wikipedia, the History Channel online and the Smithsonian Institute website and pieced together a summary of Thanksgiving’s history in North America, a report I’m sure would have earned me an A+ in my 10^th grade U.S. history class.

But even with an accurate account of the notorious 1621 feast hosted by the Pilgrims at Plymouth, I was still left wondering what meaning one should place on the modern day holiday… particularly because my research turned up a less-than-tidy history of thanksgiving celebrations in our country.

For starters, the Pilgrims’ meal has been unquestionably overturned as the first Thanksgiving in America. Historical research has uncovered evidence of thanksgiving church services conducted by the Spanish in Florida as early as 1565, as well as other days of thanksgiving in Popham Colony in Maine in 1607; in Jamestown, Virginia, in 1607 and 1610; and Berkeley Hundred in Charles City County, Virginia, in 1619.

So even if most modern-day Americans imagine that our Thanksgiving Day commemorates the anniversary of the nation’s first thanksgiving, that assumption is inaccurate.

Furthermore, the thanksgiving celebrations that followed the 1621 feast were sporadic, rather than a consistent annual tradition, and the causes that prompted them widely varied. The Pilgrims’ second thanksgiving celebration took place in 1623 to mark the end of a long drought. While fasting and thanksgiving became a more common practice in New England’s settlements, it wasn’t until 1789 that George Washington issued the first thanksgiving proclamation by the United States government. That occasion was designated to celebrate the end of the country’s war for independence and the successful ratification of the U.S. Constitution.

Even then, thanksgiving did not become an annual national holiday. Each state individually called for days of thanksgiving whenever they saw fit. It took a 36-year-long crusade by a writer named Sarah Josepha Hale to officially put Thanksgiving on the calendar. Hale published numerous editorials and sent countless letters to five consecutive U.S. Presidents, urging them to unify the nation in a single celebration of thanksgiving.

In the midst of the Civil War, Hale’s call struck a chord with President Abraham Lincoln. In his 1863 Thanksgiving Proclamation, Lincoln set the holiday as the final Thursday in November and called on his divided country to “fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.”

As evident in Lincoln’s words, Thanksgiving had evolved into a day in which Christians took the opportunity to thank God for their many blessings, a tradition that continues today. But the roots of the thanksgiving tradition are secular, spanning cultures, continents and millennia. The holiday’s foundation is as a harvest festival, celebrated in ancient times by the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans and by Native Americans for thousands of years before the Mayflower arrived. In fact, the Pilgrims’ own feast was non-religious, aside from saying grace, due to their puritanical rejection of public religious displays.

And sadly, the finalization of the holiday’s date has more to do with the notorious post-Thanksgiving shopping. In 1939, President Franklin D. Roosevelt moved the holiday up a week to the fourth Thursday in November (rather than the last) in hopes of encouraging earlier holiday shopping during the Great Depression.

In summary, I think it’s clear Thanksgiving is neither an anniversary of a first thanksgiving nor a Church-initiated holiday. And while there are many that get giddy over a masterful Black Friday shopping plan, the idea of Thanksgiving simply marking the start of the holiday season stands in direct contradiction to very definition of thanksgiving – expressing gratitude for what one already has.

Gratitude, it seems, may be the only consistency in our nation’s complex history of thanksgiving celebrations. And while dramatic re-imaginings of the Pilgrim’s meal may fascinate schoolchildren and make for great picture books, it’s in the simple but intentional expression of gratitude that I’ve rediscovered the “point” of Thanksgiving. Whether directed toward God or simply celebrated within one’s own soul, giving thanks achieves what Sarah Josepha Hale intended for the holiday she championed:

“There is a deep moral influence in these periodical seasons of rejoicing, in which whole communities participate. They bring out…the best sympathies in our natures.”

And there’s no one who practices thanksgiving quite as well as children’s book creator Dallas Clayton, author and illustrator of the “An Awesome Book of Thanks.” Clayton writes:

There didn’t use to be boats.

There didn’t use to be cars.

There didn’t use to be people.

There didn’t use to be stars.

There didn’t use to be anything.

But now there’s a lot, so when I look around at all that we’ve got

I say, “Thank You.”

Without a turkey, pilgrim or Indian in sight, Clayton has distilled the essence of Thanksgiving. Sure, he gives thanks for the familiar, those things we typically think of when saying Thanksgiving grace:

But he also gives thanks for the silly and obscure, a viewpoint my daughters enjoy. Each night we say this simple mealtime prayer: “God is good. God is great. Let us thank Him for our food.” Afterward, we spend a few minutes naming all the other things for which we’re thankful. Charlotte, our 2-year-old, always shouts out “Blankie” before anyone else can get a word in. She’s the Linus type. Eloise, who’s 3, amuses herself by naming unexpected things like frogs and books and rocks. Clayton is of the same mind, opening the reader’s eyes (whether child or adult) to all the simple things that make life so much nicer, things like tape dispensers, toothbrushes and toilet paper (and who would want to imagine life without toilet paper?!).

“It’s so easy – we see these things every day – to forget to say thank you in every way.”

“An Awesome Book of Thanks” is Clayton’s sophomore project. His 2008 debut in children’s literature was “An Awesome Book,” a project he conceived to encourage the imaginative and unrestrained dreams of his son. Clayton has harnessed those dreams in this book, as well, giving thanks for the fantastical imaginings of a child: girelephants, gigantic dinomachines, basketball-wizards, and kind-hearted sea monsters.

Clayton also touches on intangible concepts that may some day sink in for younger readers but certainly resonate with adults: “having all the times it takes,” “patience and hopes and rewards and revisions” and “finishing last because first isn’t always the best place to be.”

As our family prepares for Thanksgiving, Clayton’s book has inspired what I hope will become a long-lasting tradition that gives definition to a holiday with undefined or inaccurate parameters. This year, when we sit down to a dinner with loved ones, we’ll all take part in the creation of our own book of thanks. In a fashion similar to Clayton’s marker doodlings, we’ll put to paper the things for which we’re grateful. Blankies and frogs and princess outfits will likely make the list, but so too will my gratitude for finally reaching the stage at which my toddler girls will play peacefully for an hour in the basement without intervention.

And here’s one more reason to give thanks for “An Awesome Book of Thanks:” it and its predecessor (“An Awesome Book”) are available in their entirety at veryawesomeworld.com, the website for Clayton’s Awesome World Foundation. For every book the foundation sells, Clayton donates one to a school, hospital, library, camp or shelter somewhere in the world in an effort to not only promote literacy but also spread his messages of big dreams and gratitude.

The New York Times Book Review announced this week its list of the 10 Best Illustrated Children’s Books of 2011, with features and artwork to appear in the Nov. 13 printed edition of the Book Review. This list has been a frequent source of favorite picture book finds, particularly as it’s released with ample time for Christmas shopping. However, I’ve found that titles that make the list sometimes sell out quickly and become nearly unavailable as December 25th approaches.

My must-haves (already en-route from Amazon) from this year’s winners are: “I Want My Hat Back,” written and illustrated by Jon Klassen, and “Me…Jane,” written and illustrated by Patrick McDonnell.

I also adore the artwork from “A Ball for Daisy,” but I crave a book with more words. And we already own “Along A Long Road,” which was purchased for my bike-obsessed daughter.

Happy browsing!

Author and illustrator Tomie dePaola was a staple of my early childhood, as he was for many children of the ’80s, with titles like “Strega Nona” and “The Art Lesson.” But he also created a lesser-known picture book called “Marianna May and Nursey,” that remains, to this day, one of my all-time favorites.

Unlike much of his other work, which is typically autobiographical or based on age-old folk tales, “Marianna May and Nursey” is the story of a young girl who is the only child of a very wealthy, Victorian-era family. Because her parents are so very important and very busy, Marianna May is cared for by a prim, white-haired woman named Nursey.

True to the period and their socioeconomic class, Nursey, Marianna May and her parents wear white, all white, all of the time, especially during the summer. This wardrobe, unfortunately, doesn’t exactly suit Marianna May’s favorite activities.

“Nursey didn’t like it when Marianna May rolled in the grass, made mud pies, ate orange ice, or strawberry ice cream.”

As a result, Marianna May is often relegated to the front porch swing and instructed to keep her white dress clean.

 “Even though Marianna May was very rich, she was also very sad.”

DePaola’s moral resides in this single sentence. What little girl – and for that matter, what adult – doesn’t dream of life with all the fineries of the wealthy and privileged? But Marianna May’s experiences demonstrate that life isn’t always greener on the other side.

Fortunately for Marianna May, her unhappiness does not go unnoticed. One afternoon, Mr Talbot, the ice deliveryman, sees the dejected look on her face and sets out to consult with the house staff, determined to remedy the situation. Spurred by Mr. Talbot’s brilliant idea, Nanny, the cook, the cook’s helper and the laundress work all day to transform Marianna May’s white frocks into something more appropriate for a playful, young girl.

The illustrations that follow of Marianna May in her many-colored dresses are an absolute delight and have remained in my memory for nearly 20 years.

As a whole, I would compare dePaola’s book to your favorite dessert – little nutritional value, but oh-so delicious. Published in 1983, its references to wealth are a bit of a children’s-book faux paux today, but I do enjoy the historically accurate details dePaola carefully incorporated. The style of the clothing, architecture and manicured gardens all reflect the Victorian era.

The ice delivery sign hanging in the window of Marianna May’s house particularly caught my attention. I noticed that three corners of the diamond-shaped sign contained numbers. According to historical information about ice delivery, the sign was positioned so that the number pointing upward indicated how many pounds of ice a customer wanted the deliveryman to cut from his block.

Just as ice delivery has long gone by the wayside, so too has this beautiful book. You won’t find it at your local Barnes & Noble, but copies can be found in various conditions for widely varying prices from online booksellers. My mom, ever indulgent of my literary obsessions, tracked down a copy for me on eBay several Christmases ago. But for those of you in the Ames area, you’re in luck! The Ames Public Library has a copy – possibly the exact same book that enchanted me so many years ago.