 |
 |
|
William
Steig
Review from May/June 2003 Horn Book Magazine William Steig When Everybody Wore
a Hat; illus. by the author When William Steig was a boy, everybody wore a hat. In this clear-eyed, affectionate look backward, the author-illustrator remembers life in 1916 when he was eight years old. Some of his memories describe the era (“Even fire engines were pulled by horses”), but most are specific to his own experiences as a child of immigrants growing up in the Bronx (“There were times when sad news would come from the Old Country. It made us scared to see Mom cry”). The often whimsical text randomly recalls rowboat rides and visits to the barbershop, as well as "the prettiest girl on the block"-each brief reminiscence accompanied by a watercolor and ink cartoon that blends humor and warmth in equal measure. At the end of the volume-which is framed by two photographs of Steig, one as a youngster and the other as a nonagenarian-he tells us he had two childhood ambitions: to be an artist and a seaman. Although he never went to sea, “I did become an artist.” As this volume proves, the world of children's books continues to be richer for that. P.D.S. Horn Book Magazine cover
Reading Doctor De Soto
With its lush, distinctive language, archetypal David vs. Goliath story, and pictures rich in character and humor, William Steig's classic Doctor De Soto became an immediate favorite with my two daughters when they were small, despite their very different approaches to books. At age 3 1⁄2, Ellie was barely verbal — a listener; at 7, Emily loved participating in the reading. With Doctor De Soto I found myself experimenting with different inflections and different voices each time I read the book (once even reading Doctor De Soto's invitation to the fox to try his "remarkable preparation" in the sing-songy come-on voice of a carnival huckster). The all-too-human fox, with his wimpy aversion to pain ("'Please!' the fox wailed. 'Have mercy, I'm suffering!'") and ridiculously short gratefulness-span ("On his way home, he wondered if it would be shabby of him to eat the De Sotos when the job was done"), provided much comic relief and opportunity for exaggerated villainous voices. While I read the story, Emily would often read the fox's part, which she soon memorized. Ellie demanded that we read it again and again, but never asked for a "line" or two of her own. Nor did she speak along with me. But one night it became clear that, despite her lack of overt participation, Ellie nevertheless owned Doctor De Soto. We were flying home from a family vacation, on the last leg of long plane trip. Seated in the midsection of a crowded DC-10, with no access to either window or aisle, we were surrounded on all sides by a raucous group of adolescent hockey players who were treating the plane as their own private locker room. Ellie was too tired even to be fascinated, and whispered to me that she didn't much like this plane. I whispered back that I didn't either, but that we were pretty much stuck until we landed in Boston. She thought about this for a while, but passive acceptance is not her way. A bit later, at the height of the ruckus, she suddenly belted out, in her biggest billy-goat-gruff voice, "'NO ONE WILL SEE YOU AGAIN,' SAID THE FOX TO HIMSELF." This surreal announcement (well, surreal to everyone but Emily and me) was greeted by about six blissful seconds of silence from the stupefied hockey players; then play resumed as usual. But Ellie had found a way — with one of the hapless fox's more menacing lines of dialogue — to make her presence and her feelings known. The power of literature, indeed. Letter from William Steig to Paul Heins May 10, ’70 Dear Mr. Heins, Bob Kraus just read your letter to me (the one about my Caldecott acceptance speech) over the phone. I’m afraid now that in addition to having to make a speech, which for me will be like walking on red hot embers & broken glass, I will have the additional burden of feeling that my speech will leave people dissatisfied & make me seem both ungracious & ungrateful. I sincerely meant what I indicated in the opening of my speech: I would almost rather die than have to formally address a group of people larger than two in number. I’ve successfully avoided doing so for 50 years; I’ve been depressed ever since January & will not realize happiness again until after June 30th when my trial is over. I’ve told this to many people, but no one believes me & I feel like a character in a Kafka novel. Please believe me when I say that speaking only a few words will require a superhuman effort for me; that I can no longer, in my sixties, hope to change my character; that I am making this effort only out of genuine gratitude; and also because I worry about my publisher, who could be an innocent victim of my neurosis. I want to make more books, books good enough to win prizes, & I’m hoping that my inability to make speeches will not hamper my progress. Sincerely yours
Letter from William Steig to Paul Heins June 12, ’70 Dear Mr. Heins - I hope you’ll understand if I tell you that I tend to be a bit “uptight”, even neurotic perhaps, about being edited. It’s not vanity — I don’t think I’m a great writer, or even a good one (in fact, I’m not a writer) — but I like to sound like myself when I talk or write. The sentence I added to my speech, an addition you seem to approve of, was in the original draft but was apparently edited out by my publisher, or by his secretary. I see the logic of your suggested changes, but don’t hate me if I say I like it better my way. Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by the New Yorker where, in forty years, neither my drawings nor their captions have been edited. Sincerely yours,
|
William
Steig was over sixty years old, a celebrated New Yorker artist
but practically a rookie in children’s books, when he
won the Caldecott Medal in 1970 for Sylvester and the
Magic Pebble (Simon). Clearly not the sort to rest on
his laurels, or perhaps even rest at all, he continued to
produce books at an impressive clip and was recognized regularly
for his exceptional achievements: The Amazing Bone
(Farrar) was a Caldecott Honor Book; Abel's Island
(Farrar) and Doctor DeSoto (Farrar) were both Newbery
Honor Books. Shrek! (Farrar), published in 1990,
was adapted into the 2001 Academy Award-winning animated film.
Mr. Steig lived in New York City for most of his life but
moved to Boston in his later years, and this is where he died,
at the age of ninety-five, on October 3, 2003.
by
Martha Parravano
 |
  
 
  |
||||||||
