Books in the Classroom: Alphabet Books

ove the clock back two hundred and fifty years to Colonial America. A few solemn children sit in wooden desks and begin their schoolwork, chanting in unison, "In Adam's fall / We sinned all" — the beginning of one of the first alphabet books, an early instructional tool that provided youngsters with a formal introduction to reading, coupling the letters and sounds of language with moral instruction.

Compare this scene to a modern classroom. Children in one corner respond to Bert Kitchen's Animal Alphabet (Dial) by cutting out magazine pictures of creatures whose names begin with particular letters. Others roll their tongues over those glorious words in Leonard Baskin's Hosie's Alphabet (Viking): the "quintessential quail," the "omnivorous swarming locust," and the "ghastly, garrulous gargoyle." Still another group sprawls on the floor, reciting Anne Shelby's story of a potluck supper in Potluck (Orchard): "Acton appeared with asparagus soup. Ben brought bagels. Christine came with carrot cake and corn on the cob. Don did dumplings." Like their historical counterparts, these youngsters are learning to read with alphabet books, but this time the learning crackles with both excitement and joy.

For over two centuries, what has remained constant in classrooms and nurseries is children and alphabet books. What has changed is how the number and variety in the latter motivate and educate the former.

Children's greatest growth in language comes during the preschool years. Infants make sounds; these sounds translate into words; the words into sentences; the sentences into stories. When they learn to read, youngsters link their oral language to its written counterpart. Their first alphabet books begin this transition.

Very young children need simple, uncluttered books. Words should represent familiar, concrete objects, with a beginning apple rather than atom. First alphabet books typically pair initial sounds with words, and these associations should depict regular phonographs. Pages that proclaim "K is for knife" or "G is for gnu" bewilder rather than educate. These key words should also have unambiguous names; "B is for bow-wow," in a book peopled with objects rather than sounds, will confuse the child who identifies the animal as a dog.

In addition, illustrations must be obvious and straightforward. Complications in naming lead to misunderstandings. One preschooler, upset because she had read an alphabet book incorrectly, sadly pointed out this problem: "I said 'R for rope,' but the book meant 'S for snake.'"

While the above criteria represent important considerations in evaluation, they must not create static prescriptions for mass-producing similar texts. Artists and authors frequently break traditional rules; often they do so brilliantly. Brian Wildsmith's ABC (Watts), for example, designates i for iguana, a word and sound less obvious to youngsters than the more standard i for ice cream. Yet, when readers encounter Wildsmith's iguana, a glorious, multi-colored reptile, they simply must know more about this strange and wondrous creature.

Children interacting with their first texts aren't reading in the traditional sense of relying solely on the printed word. Instead, they depend on illustrations to create meaning. Consequently, in initial alphabet books, only one or two objects should appear on the page, acknowledging a child's immature perceptual and spatial skills. There's plenty of time later on to hunt for hidden pictures, sort out numerous nouns, or locate obscure objects after letter-sound correspondence has been mastered.

Although text is of lesser importance than illustrations, it nonetheless deserves attention. Predictable patterns, such as a for apple and b for bear, restate a letter-is-for-noun sequence that lets children imitate reading each time they turn a page and identify an illustration within the established motif. In addition, a text that includes both upper- and lower-case letters gives youngsters a true picture of our written language.

Once children familiarize themselves with the basics, they can be challenged to apply their newfound knowledge to other texts. Lucy Micklethwait's I Spy: An Alphabet in Art (Greenwillow), for example, not only introduces readers to twenty-six handsome reproductions, but also directs them to find appropriate symbols on each canvas, alternating the obvious umbrellas from Rembrandt's signature painting to Miro's stars in the more abstract Woman and Bird in the Moonlight.

Not all alphabet books concentrate on naming; some deal with the positioning of letters. Bill Martin, Jr., and John Archambault's Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (Simon) treats youngsters to a jazzy alternative to the traditional "Alphabet Song," which for generations has led children to wonder just what letter el-em-en-o-pee really is. Here they chant, "A told B, and B told C, 'I'll meet you at the top of the coconut tree.'" For a show-stopping alternative to reading aloud, pair the book with Ray Charles's classy audiocassette, and let children explore the alphabet with a musical master.

In real words, letters appear out of sequence, so children need practice in identifying them without their traditional orthographic neighbors. Laura Geringer's The Cow Is Mooing Anyhow (Harper) combines this skill with a slight story line and more advanced, busy illustrations. A mother initiates a morning ritual when she brings her daughter breakfast. But once she leaves the room, all sorts of wacky diners join the little girl. First to arrive are some iguanas, who "come in their pajamas"; then a horseshoe crab "drives up in a taxicab." These creatures are joined, in turn, by other combinations of animals who enter the double-page spreads: a dragonfly and a goose; a quail, an albatross, and an x-ray fish; and a kangaroo and an eel. Each alphabetic entry is noted in a repeating lettered border which positions the letters in their traditional slots, while frenetic scenes call for multiple readings, since details, such as the paintings on the walls, change along with the story.

Expanding on letter play, Suse MacDonald manipulates shape rather than position. In Alphabatics (Bradbury) she takes each letter, twisting and enlarging and altering the form until the letter becomes a visual representation of a key word. Upper-case A, for instance, turns upside-down, adds a watery base, grows two animals, and becomes an ark, while lower-case b rotates on its side, rounds its former base, and floats across the page as a balloon. Arthur Geisert introduces more text in his Pigs from A to Z (Houghton), while he encourages pictorial detectives to locate the numerous examples of a specific letter, along with both preceding and succeeding ones, hidden in his clever illustrations of swine in motion.

Additional visual and verbal sophistication await readers of Anna's Alphabet: An Adventure in Imagination (Harper). Each bordered page introduces a single letter — an improbable Mobius strip of twisted wood — and a full-color, slyly implausible illustration: a typewriter types only ts, an umbrella rains inside itself, and a rocking horse rests on crossed runners. Delicate pen and ink borders frame the wordless text, introducing animals and plants beginning with the appropriate letter. The naming of these creatures and flora requires, or begins to cultivate, an extended vocabulary, while the finding of them becomes an optical treasure hunt.

As children's language develops, so does their need for story, and more advanced alphabet books provide simple narration within their familiar pattern. Arnold Lobel's On Market Street (Greenwillow), for example, takes a shop-till-you-drop youngster to Market Street, where he discovers all sorts of wondrous wares to sample. Anita Lobel's unusual illustrations depict each product — from apples to zippers — as a costume, while the simple text provides the sparest of frames for naming the twenty-six objects. Two cumulative pages recap the shopping expedition, first in alphabetic sequence, and second in random order. Ann Jonas's Aardvarks, Disembark! (Greenwillow) brings even more sophistication to this narrative pattern. Couching her alphabet book within the story of Noah and the ark, Jonas outlines events of the great Flood. As the waters recede, Noah must empty his vessel and, showing a real flair for organization, does so in alphabetical order. His biological roll call allows the more conventional creatures to emerge, but Noah soon discovers all sorts of less familiar animals still left on board. He "didn't know their names, so he could only call, 'Disembark, everyone! Everyone, disembark!'" They start down Mount Ararat, in familiar alphabetical order, taking an entire day to reach the bottom. Who are these forgotten animals, the aye-ayes, the gavials, the tarpons, and the wanderoos? Most are either endangered or extinct, and, in an informative appendix, Jonas gives the status and environmental location of each.

This pattern, which uses the alphabet as an organizational structure for presenting information, defines a subculture of alphabet books which explore finite subjects, introduce concepts, and organize literary forms for older children. Lois Ehlert's Eating the Alphabet (Harcourt), for example, highlights fruits and vegetables, often including the less obvious varieties, such as x for xigua or u for ugli fruit, along with nonstandard sounds, such as j for jalapeno or jicama. Intended to introduce subject, rather than letters, this book concludes with a picture glossary, which for many provides an appropriate introduction to the dictionary. Mary Beth Owens's A Caribou Alphabet (Farrar) narrows the subject to a single species; her entries include lichen, predator, and xalibu, the Indian word meaning "pawer" from which the name caribou evolved.

Betsy Bowen introduces a sequential structure along with the alphabet in Antler, Bear, Canoe: A Northwoods Alphabet Year (Joy Street). From January to December she takes readers through activities, terms, and situations native to her Minnesota environment, covering fishing in March, loons in June, and zero temperatures in December.

In many books the subject addresses less concrete, and consequently more sophisticated, topics. Ann Whitford Paul's Eight Hands Round: A Patchwork Alphabet (Harper), for instance, unifies the topic of American history with twenty-six quilting patterns. Each highlights a specific characteristic, introducing games (kite flying), handicrafts (Yankee puzzles), living conditions (log cabins), and historical situations (the Underground Railroad). Similarly, Jim Aylesworth's The Folks in the Valley: A Pennsylvania Dutch ABC (Harper) outlines a daily way of life that begins with a for alarm clocks, continues with h for pitched hay, and concludes with z for "the sound / Of their well-earned rest."

Additional alphabet books depend heavily on text and thus expand their audience to older children. Individual volumes, such as Alligators to Zooplankton (Watts), resemble mini-encyclopedias, combining the traditional format of letter/word identification with expository text, informative charts, handsome illustrations, a detailed bibliography, and an index. Similar in form, but more idiosyncratic in execution, Tim Arnold's Natural History from A to Z: A Terrestrial Sampler (McElderry) employs varied entries (from specific animals such as c for coatimundi to the more general classifications, with u for ungulates) as convenient points of departure for all kinds of far-ranging discussions on natural history.

Literary forms, as well as informational subjects, will occasionally depend on ABC order for organization. Sylvia Cassedy's Roomrimes (Harper) explores twenty-six places in verse, taking the reader from attics to elevators to parlors to zoos. Assonance and alliteration appropriately mark Jeanne and William Steig's alphabetic poetry in Alpha Beta Chowder (Harper), introducing such memorable creatures as Ivan the Terrible, "inclined to be irksome" and irritated by infants, and Daphne, who dresses divinely (unlike the deplorable Dora, who's "definitely dowdy" in "that dismal dirndl").

Alphabet books not only use the basic structure of language for reading readiness, subject exploration, and organizational patterns, but a few introduce early word play. Cathi Hepworth's Antics!: An Alphabetical Anthology (Putnam) spotlights twenty-six words, all with the word ant hidden in the syllables. The philosophical Kant, the artistic "Rembrant," and the worldly Nonchalant all appear with several clever linguistic creations: a Xanthophile, worshipping yellow bananas, and Your Ant Yetta, relaxing with tea and bonbons.

But leave it to Dr. Seuss to find the standard twenty-six letters limiting. In On beyond Zebra! (Random), his young narrator declares: "In the places I go there are things that I see / That I never could spell if I stopped with the Z." His lingua franca includes creatures like the Yuzz-a-ma-Tuzz, the Umbus ("a sort of a Cow, with . . . ninety-eight faucets"), and Jogg-oons ("who doodle around in the far desert dunes / Just doodle around, crooning very sad tunes") that require letters such as YUZZ, UM, and JOGG just to spell them. A few readings of On beyond Zebra!, and a creative child might just agree with the good doctor:

This is really great stuff!
And I guess the old alphabet
ISN’T enough!

Betty Carter teaches children's and young-adult literature in the School of Library and Information Studies at Texas Woman's University.