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The event was a fundraiser for the Edith B. Jackson Child Care Program, a Yale University-affiliated center celebrating its 40th anniversary, so there were a lot of speakers connected with education rather than book creation. I went for two reasons: an optional tour of the Betsy Shirley children’s lit collection at Yale’s Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, and a panel about using picture books in the classroom. Also, Rosemary Wells was giving the opening talk and Megan Lambert the final talk, so the event would be bookended by people I worked with several years ago while curating at the Carle Museum.

The Beinecke visit was the highlight for me, but I suspect most of the attendees got a lot out of the panels. And I would have, too, 20 years ago. This is not to say that there were not some flashes of brilliance during the sessions—and a moment during Rosemary Wells’s talk that got Megan and me sitting up very straight and writing notes to each other: “Rosemary Wells = Republican???” (Megan told me later that she is not. A brave soul asked her at the VIP dinner that night.) A central part of Rosemary’s talk concerned the difference between childhood in the 1950s and now, and how wonderful it was then to have more freedom—playing outside all day without supervision—and less parental fear. Food for thought.

During lunch on Saturday, I talked some of the EBJ teachers in a beautiful room upstairs from the auditorium where the conference was centered.

While I didn’t learn anything new at the panel about using books in the classroom, I loved Glory Smith’s presentation and her answers to questions. An experienced teacher and family child care owner/director (Morning Glory Early Learning Center in New Haven), she had so much common sense and practical information that I felt good looking around at all the young teachers in the audience. I hope they were taking notes! Smith must be a favorite with the kids she teaches because she truly loves picture books and understands what makes them work, both as books and as experiences for children. Christopher Korensky, who followed Smith in the panel, covered the Every Child Ready to Read approach which combines good advice with a soupçon of educational jargon like “phonological awareness.” ECRR, a caregiver education program used at public libraries, reminded me a lot of Reach Out and Read, our downstairs neighbors at the Horn Book office.

The most exciting part of the weekend for me was getting an up-close look at items in the Betsy Shirley collection at the Beinecke. Curator Timothy Young took about 40 of us around a large room containing tables of early children’s books and art from some more recent books by well-known names in the field. What surprised me most was that Shirley also collected art and books made by kids. While this falls outside my usual area of interest, it brought a sense of time passing in a way that the books themselves sometimes don’t. Images of these pieces were floating in my mind later that evening during Rosemary’s talk about changes in childhood.

As an archive junkie, I was in heaven as Young’s fellow Beinecke librarians held up some very rare books and carefully flipped through the pages for us. There were a couple of editions of the Orbis Pictus, said to be the first illustrated book printed especially for children. I was careful not to drool directly onto the pages.

One of the Shirley Collection's copies of the Orbis Pictus. This is a 1672 edition.

Most of the pieces in the collection had stories behind them, like a Maurice Sendak drawing for The Hobbit. Due to a misunderstanding, Tolkien had nixed the publisher’s proposal to let Sendak illustrate a 30th anniversary edition of the book. The two men were scheduled to meet in London to clear up the misunderstanding, but Sendak suffered a heart attack the day before the meeting. Ah, what might have been!

Ludwig Bemelmans's dummy for The Castle No. 1

What I enjoyed most about the visit was seeing preliminary work by well-known illustrators from the past 100 years, like Ludwig Bemelmans, Dorothy Lathrop, Palmer Cox, William Roscoe, Ingri and Edgar Parin d’Aulaire, and Maude and Miska Petersham. There were color separations and proofs from stone lithography, too, which Rosemary Wells was able to explain from her perspective as a practitioner. And the librarians once again flipped through pages. The dummy for The Castle No. 1 by Bemelmans (retitled The Castle Number Nine when Viking published it in 1937) was my favorite.

While I love picture books in their finished form, I tend to get even more excited about preliminary work. Sometimes it is fresher and closer to the spirit of the story than the final version. Or perhaps it’s the voyeur in me, enjoying a look at the thought process that went into creating a book. Lately I’ve become fascinated by the nest cams at Cornell’s website, watching parents sitting on eggs, eggs getting “pips” or cracks, and finally seeing the babies emerge. This is why I like archives so much. It’s like traveling back in time to watch a nest cam of the birth of a book.

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But since it’s always good to know your history, here are some forerunners of the current dystopian boom:

The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood

The Long Walk and The Running Man by Richard Bachman (nom de plume of Stephen King)

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

Lord of the Flies by William Golding

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

The Iron Heel by Jack London

The Giver by Lois Lowry

V for Vendetta by Alan Moore

Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell

Anthem and Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

It’s interesting to note that while many of these titles, such as  Brave New World and Nineteen Eighty-Four, were originally published for adults, they have since crossed over to YA readers. What dystopian works would you consider classics?

And speaking of The Giver, The Minnesota Opera is currently performing a sold-out production based on the novel. Have any readers in Minnesota seen it?

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The thirty-six stories of Tomo: Friendship Through Fiction—An Anthology of Japan Teen Stories (Stone Bridge Press, March) cover a wide range of genres (prose, verse, graphic narratives) and feature nine stories translated from the Japanese. With the exception of Graham Salisbury and Alan Gratz, most of the authors, many of whom write for adults, will be new to American teens. The book was published in March to mark the one-year anniversary of the disaster, and proceeds will go to Hope for Tomorrow, which provides educational expenses, mentoring, tutoring, and foreign language support to high school students in the hard-hit area of Tohoku.

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Our sister publication SLJ announced the winners of their mock Newbery at Heavy Medal yesterday, but voting at Someday My Printz Will Come is still open. Until noon today, that is, so hurry over and fight for your faves.

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The songs (some original, others renditions of classics) on the included CD are incredibly varied, with styles ranging from rock-and-roll to acoustic folk; the book itself contains the lyrics alongside Ryan O’Rourke’s illustrations and suggestions for paired activities and games. There’s even a recipe for a coconut cream dessert to go with the song “I’m a Little Coconut.”

Looking for a kid- and parent-friendly distraction on your next family road trip? Your old pal Lisa’s got you covered with this catchy, funny, participatory sing-along romp.

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This past Saturday I had the pleasure of attending “The Exquisite Conversation: An Adventure in Creating Books,” a program at MIT’s Kresge Auditorium co-sponsored by MIT, the Cambridge Public Library, and the National Children’s Book and Literacy Alliance. The panel, consisting of several of the contributors to The Exquisite Corpse Adventure (published in print by Candlewick, August) and moderated by NCBLA executive director Mary Brigid Barrett, was a stimulating mix of august personages (Susan Cooper, Katherine Paterson, Natalie Babbitt, Steven Kellogg, Patricia MacLachlan) and relative newcomers (author-illustrator James Ransome, illustrator Timothy Basil Ering). And M.T. Anderson, who somehow manages to be both…

They were all there to discuss the creation of The Exquisite Corpse Adventure, which began life as a progressive story published on the READ.gov website “as the foundation of a national reading and writing initiative created by NCBLA and the Center for the Book at the Library of Congress.” The panel opened, appropriately, with a progressive reading of the first episode of the book while the three illustrators present drew on easels set up behind the readers—which was only partially successful since the easels were…behind the readers. But never mind—the conversation soon picked up.

Tobin Anderson reported that the Library of Congress estimated that somewhere between 500,000 and two million readers around the world visited the website as The Exquisite Corpse Adventure unfolded. Mary Brigid spoke movingly of a teacher in Venezuela who, lacking books and other resources, printed out a new episode every month and traveled extensively throughout her region to share it with kids.

Patty MacLachlan pointed out how different creating the book was from the typical writing process because there was no revising or editing—each chapter was published as originally written, even in the printed book; there was no attempt to go back and polish rough spots or reconcile plot anomalies. Mary Brigid defended this decision: “This is different; this is a game.”

(There was no question-and-answer period, but I would have loved to ask the participating writers: how much did the “game” element change your own writing process? At times, reading the book, it almost seemed as if the primary point was to compete against one another; to try to impress one another. I’m sure this element is always present to some extent: you want to please your editor, your writers’ group, etc. But in this case did it tend to overtake the mission? Or not? Responses welcome.)

Anyway, back to business, and in fact this next bit is somewhat related to my question. Tobin divided up the contributors into two categories: what he called the “generative” writers, those who saw their roles as generators of as much incident, twists and turns of plot, and outrageousness as possible, and “rationalizers,” the ones who tried to keep the chaos under control and make all the randomness cohere into a rational story. He said it was interesting to see who fell into which category, and that it wasn’t a predictable division. Steven Kellogg asserted that “the rationalizers need the lunatics—they complement each other.”

We learned that the writers were privy to the episodes as they unfolded so that they could advance the plot and take up the challenge of preceding wicked chapter-ending cliffhangers, but this was not necessarily true for the illustrators. The irrepressibly enthusiastic (he tended to stand up whenever he spoke, which was highly endearing) Timothy Basil Ering said that he never looked to see what the other illustrators were doing—how they had portrayed characters and setting—he wanted the freedom to imagine them for himself.

The conversation then turned to a discussion of writing in general. Mary Brigid threw out a variation on the perennial question “Where do you get your ideas?” to ask “How do you begin?”  Natalie Babbitt gave her oft-supplied answer: that her childhood was the most intense period of her life and that all her stories have stemmed from the large questions she had as a preschooler. Susan Cooper described the day she was cross-country skiing with her then-husband and looked up at the falling snow and the lowering sky, and knew she would write about it, but put the moment away for two years until it re-emerged and became the impetus for The Dark Is Rising. Others said they had vivid mental images of scenes or events that sparked their stories. Susan proposed that ideas for books are like butterflies—you just have to reach out and grab one. Tobin responded that the problem with that approach is that you kill the butterfly.

A conversation about picture book texts was launched by James Ransome, who said, interestingly, that even though he is an artist, when he writes picture books he doesn’t see any images in his head. He puts the manuscript away and returns to it weeks or months later, and only then does he “see” the illustrations the text requires. Susan Cooper compared the writing of a picture book to the writing of a screenplay: in both cases, “you have to leave room for the pictures.” Patty MacLachlan commented that she had no problem turning over her picture book texts to editors and illustrators, likening her texts to teenage offspring: “At some point you have to let them go and make their own way in the world.” Tobin thought that was OK unless the illustrator turned your characters into hedgehogs.

Tobin Anderson and James Ransome

I have to say there wasn’t much content in the program for children, who (ten and up) had been invited to attend.  But the signing afterward was a huge success, and gave both kids and adult fans plenty of opportunity to interact with beloved authors and illustrators. The lines were long and the interactions between signers and signees seemed to be extensive and personal.  For those who had the opportunity to meet some of their favorite children’s book creators, it must have been an exquisite ending to a good day.

Katherine Paterson chats with a fan

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I love fairy tales and superheroes, but Vincent Boudgourd’s My Beastly Book of Twisted Tales (OwlKids Books, June) and My Beastly Book of Hilarious Heroes (OwlKids Books, August) didn’t get my imaginative juices flowing. The uninspiring instructions (e.g., “Pinocchio’s candle has burned out. Color everything black”) left me wondering “what’s the point?” I was similarly unimpressed with I ♥ People: An Activity Book for Writing, Drawing, and Having Fun by Françoize Boucher (Kane Miller, September). More journal than activity project, this book belittles the reader’s intelligence on each page with attempts at witty commentary: “Are you always ready to meet new people? Even weirdos?” I couldn’t get past the first few pages.

Then I tried Hervé Tullet’s newest book, Doodle Cook (Phaidon, October).

Its premise involves taking an “empty plate” (i.e., a circle) and adding “ingredients” (e.g., shapes, squiggles, lines, etc.) to create nineteen recipes like “Zigzag Soup” and “Crayon Tartar.” In true Tullet form, Doodle Cook requires interactivity and imagination. I created a few dishes of my own:

      

and then brought my birds to life simply by changing the placement of the shapes…

I also had a little too much fun improvising the supply list to create an Alexander Calder-inspired mobile from things I found in our office (yes, those are chopsticks – we love our Thai takeout and they worked just as well as the recommended straws).

Originality, subject matter, narrative voice, difficulty level, creativity, activity duration all played a part in these books’ success (or lack thereof). Each book approaches the “activity” part differently; you’ll have to choose based on a child’s interests/age. But the right activity book is a blast to use at any age.

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This universality of heartache inspires Handler not only in this novel, but also on his related blog, The Why We Broke Up Project, which asks for personal stories from his audience, including famous authors. (One of my favorites is Brian Selznick’s: “I knew I had to break up with Ann Rosenberg after she chose a teal dress for the prom. I had never heard of teal. Also, I was gay.”) There’s even a section on the blog where Handler hilariously and cleverly responds to some of the readers’ experiences.

The breakup testimonials are varied—some funny, others sad—but you and I, and everyone, everywhere who’s been through one will appreciate their honesty and insight. Join this catharsis-party to share your pain, be soothed and entertained by others’, and start the countdown until the novel’s December 27 release.

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Art: Ed Briant

Welcome to the Horn Book’s new digital home; please take a look around. Among the features I would like to point your attention to are our new blog, Calling Caldecott, as well as content from the just-published September-October issue of The Horn Book Magazine. One of the things I like most about the new hbook.com is the ability it gives readers to engage in dialogue with us and each other; just about every post and article ends with a spot for you to tell us what you think. Please do so.

As you poke around you will soon notice that this is a work in progress.  The structure is in place as are our most current articles, but the prodigious riches of our old site are being added gradually. (You can still access everything published there at archive.hbook.com) We hope you find the new framework helpful: above the logo are links to each of our publications and information about subscribing and advertising, below it are seven  categories (we call ‘em buckets) which, hopefully, organize the contents of the site in a logical way. (Of course, the beauty of art and progress alike is their ability to surprise us, so I’d like to challenge you all to submit articles that speak to the Horn Book’s mission–to “blow the horn for fine books for boys and girls”–but also blow our organizational scheme out of the water.)

Let me know–right here, in the comments to this post–what you like and what you don’t about the new site. One of the ambiguously great things about digital publishing is that nothing is written in stone, and I find the WordPress platform almost perilously flexible. As is the terrific team who pulled this all together: Lolly Robinson and Kitty Flynn here at the Horn Book, and Guy Gonzalez, Michael Bearse, Josh Hadro, and Ashley MacDonald in the New York offices. All of us hope this site is as helpful, accessible, and forward-looking as our first home was (see below) and our readers continue to be.

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