Suddenly, literacy is a hot topic. While definitions may vary, there is general agreement that it’s a good thing, and the more of it, the better. The problem seems to be discovering how to nurture it. Because Americans incline toward Puritanism when faced with self-improvement, the process can seem singularly dreary. By adding our voices to the chorus of admonitions and prescriptions, we hope to restore literacy to its rightful place as a joyous exchange between adults and children without fear of failure. Basically, we’re promoting reading aloud, a time-honored tradition. It is educational, but most of all, it’s fun.

No, we can’t guarantee your child’s acceptance to the college of his or her choice; nor can we promise that your listeners will be in the top reading group. But if you try — and persevere — you will find mutual pleasure and increased understanding of one another’s ideas and dreams. You will have opened up a channel of communication that can compete with for-profit networks. If that happens, reading scores may improve as well, not to mention achievement in math and science, as a recent study seems to suggest. But remember, pleasure comes first; story hour is not simply school in disguise.

Once committed to the idea of immersing your household in books, how do you begin? Many families have already established regular story times but want to perfect skills; others may have found scheduling just a bit too difficult in these hectic days; still others may have decided that older children are too sophisticated for get-togethers with books. All of these challenges can be considered under three major headings: where and when to read; what to read; how to read.

1. Where and when to read

Just about anywhere and anytime — as long as you’re not disturbing someone who doesn’t want to be disturbed. Of course, there’s the familiar bedtime ritual for toddlers. But have you considered using the time spent waiting for doctors or dentists? Amusing one child during another’s music lesson or sports practice? Adding a new dimension to birthday parties or holiday celebrations with a pre-planned story program?

Bring books to the playground, pool, or shore. Have books in the car; tapes may be used if motion makes you too queasy to read. One enterprising mother used to bring books to the hairdresser! Another brought suitable books to religious services so that her preschooler wouldn’t fidget during sermons. (They read aloud before and after the rites concluded.) But you have to be armed at all times. Remember, paperbacks make it easy to have a well-stocked traveling library.

2. What to read

You are not alone. Consult your local children’s librarian. Look for lists, like the one that follows, which suggest popular titles. Make a file of your own favorites — the books that make your audiences ask, “Read it again, please!”

You will find that the right books have certain elements in common: the themes are clearly defined; plots develop logically and progressively with few, if any, flashbacks; the characters are memorable; there is often an element of suspense, perhaps a problem that must be solved, to keep readers interested. They are child-centered, but never cute. They offer security, and they frequently empower the child, particularly preschoolers, without condescending. Be aware that some books may appeal to older rather than younger audiences. When looking for new books, compare them with your and your children’s favorites to see if they measure up. And never use a book that you yourself don’t enjoy! Remember, shared pleasure is one of the rewards for reading aloud.

Picture books are prime choices for reading aloud, particularly in limited spans of time. The stories are short; the illustrations help to focus the audience’s attention. And they’re not only for pre-schoolers — just ask the teenagers and adults who have discovered Lane Smith and Jon Scieszka. We live in a visual age; the dramatic increase in sophisticated picture books seems an inevitable development in the electronic era. Many also appeal to reluctant readers.

Be careful when selecting books with numerous sidebars or speech-balloons for your initial efforts with larger groups. These may make it difficult for your audience to follow the storyline. There are, of course, exceptions that demand some creative interpretation. Also, be sure that illustrations are sizable enough to be seen at a distance. Some books, like The Tale of Peter Rabbit in its original format, are really best suited for sharing with one or two children. They are for lap-sitters.

And never, never read a book aloud that you haven’t read first, particularly in a group setting. It may be too long, too short, boring, inadequately illustrated, poorly synchronized, or unsuitable for the audience. If a child asks you to use something unfamiliar, suggest postponing the reading until you have a chance to preview the selection.

3. How to Read

How to read is closely related to what to read. Having selected a book you enjoy, read at a pace that allows your listener(s) to absorb both words and pictures. Developing visual literacy is an important part of story time. Don’t rush, but don’t lose the rhythm either. Let the book dictate your tempo.

Although we suggest that you can read just about anywhere, particularly one-to-one, we also urge you, if possible, to create a distraction-free environment. Comfortable seating for both reader and listener(s) is important. And non-glare lighting is a must; otherwise, those handsome illustrations will be lost on a squinting audience.

These are just a few basic ideas we’ve learned as parents, teachers, and librarians. Ann told stories for more than two decades at the Wayland Public Library; Mary honed her skills at Playland on Boston Common, near traffic-saturated Tremont Street, as part of a Boston Public Library outreach program. Believe us, you can do it!

The stories in the following collection have been proven successful in holding the interest of children. Some are suspenseful and exciting, some are funny, some are soothing, but they all work.

Nursery

Brown, Margaret Wise. Goodnight Moon. Harper, 32 pp. Illus. by Clement Hurd.
The quintessential bedtime book, quiet, serene, and comforting in its familiarity.

Carle, Eric. The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Philomel, 32 pp.
A cutout book in which a caterpillar eats its way through a steadily increasing number of delectable foods and finally becomes a butterfly — a natural history lesson and a counting book as an added bonus.

dePaola, Tomie. Tomie dePaola’s Mother Goose. Putnam, 127 pp.
Every child needs a Mother Goose; this one contains a wide selection of nursery rhymes with lively, handsome illustrations and comfortable large print.

Hest, Amy. In the Rain with Baby Duck. Illus. by Jill Barton. Candlewick, 24 pp.
Baby Duck does not like the rain, to the consternation of her parents. But sympathetic Grampa Duck knows just what to do; he finds her mother’s childhood umbrella and boots. A splendid book for a rainy day.

Hill, Eric. Where’s Spot? Putnam, 24 pp.
Spot the puppy hides from his mother in a raise-the-flap book that allows every child to have the pleasure of being Spot’s discoverer.

Wells, Rosemary. Max’s First Word. Dial, 12 pp.
A board book in which Max quietly outgenerals his bossy older sister Ruby in her attempts to run his life. Max and Ruby have many epic confrontations in further sequels. Very gratifying for the not-so-underdog.

Preschool

Freeman, Don. Corduroy. Viking, 32 pp.
It is love at first sight when young Lisa sees Corduroy, a stuffed bear with one button missing from his overalls, for sale in a department store, but she lacks enough money to buy him. The happy conclusion is deeply satisfying.

Hadithi, Mwenye. Hot Hippo. Illus. by Adrienne Kennaway. Little, 32 pp.
Hippo is so hot! But Ngai, the god of Everything and Everywhere, allows only fishes to live in the water. So Hippo and Ngai work out an agreement, and hippos even today follow Ngai’s rules.

Hughes, Shirley. Alfie’s Feet. Lothrop, 32 pp.
Something is wrong with Alfie’s new rain boots; they feel funny. But the problem turns out not to be Alfie’s boots at all in a surprise (or maybe not such a surprise) ending.

Keats, Ezra Jack. Peter’s Chair. Harper, 32 pp.
Peter is certainly not willing to share his own little chair with his new baby sister, so he takes it and hides. But Mother knows just what to do.

Sendak, Maurice. Where the Wild Things Are. Harper, 40 pp.
The most famous picture book of its day retains its fascination for children, who recognize Max’s bad behavior, his romp with the wild things, and especially his return home, as part of their wishes and dreams.

Zion, Gene. Harry the Dirty Dog. Illus. by Margaret Bloy Graham. Harper, 32 pp.
Harry is a friendly, curious dog whose sooty but enjoyable wanderings turn his white coat with black spots into a black coat with white spots. But how will his family ever recognize him now?

Primary

Allard, Harry. Miss Nelson Is Missing! Illus. by James Marshall. Houghton, 32 pp.
What can have happened to dear Miss Nelson, who deserts her class in desperation when they keep on acting up? And where did her replacement, horrible Miss Viola Swamp, emerge from?

dePaola, Tomie. Strega Nona. Simon, 32 pp.
Poor Big Anthony can’t stop Strega Nona’s magic pasta pot from overflowing in a famous Italian tale.

McCloskey, Robert. Burt Dow, Deep-Water Man. Viking, 64 pp.
Burt Dow’s fantastic adventures out in his fishing dory include being swallowed and (even more difficult!) unswallowed by a whale.

Rathmann, Peggy. Officer Buckle and Gloria. Putnam, 32 pp.
Officer Buckle, the police safety officer, kind but somewhat dull, does not realize that his dog Gloria is the real star of his school talks.

Rayner, Mary. Mr. and Mrs. Pig’s Evening Out. Atheneum, 32 pp.
Mr. and Mrs. Pig carelessly leave their children in charge of Mrs. Wolf, but the piglets, especially Sorrel, are equal to anything.

Waber, Bernard. Ira Sleeps Over. Houghton, 46 pp.
Feeling ashamed of wanting to bring his teddy bear with him, and heckled by his sister, Ira is seriously insecure in his first-ever sleepover, but he finds comfort unexpectedly.

Middle Grades

Cooney, Barbara. Miss Rumphius. Viking, 32 pp.
The tale of Miss Rumphius who, after her retirement as a librarian, plants lupines all over New England is a beautiful example of a life well spent.

Mahy, Margaret. The Great White Man-Eating Shark. Illus. by Jonathan Allen. Dial, 32 pp.
Norvin, a fine but selfish young swimmer who wants to have the whole beach to himself, finds the perfect way to discourage other swimmers. Maybe.

Scieszka, Jon. The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales. Illus. by Lane Smith. Viking, 56 pp.
Folktales as you have never heard them, such as “The Really Ugly Duckling” and “The Other Frog Prince.” Wild spoofs and even wilder illustrations will keep you on your toes.

Steig, William. Doctor De Soto. Farrar, 32 pp.
Doctor De Soto, a kindly mouse dentist, treats all animals in pain. But when a fox tries to take advantage of him, in a menu-planning sort of way, Doctor De Soto devises a splendid revenge.

Turkle, Brinton. Do Not Open. Dutton, 32 pp.
Miss Moody and her cat, Captain Kidd, find, while beachcombing, a curious purple glass bottle. Should they open it?

Van Allsburg, Chris. The Stranger. Houghton, 32 pp.
The enigmatic but pleasant stranger recovering at Farmer Bailey’s house after an accident doesn’t even speak. But unusual weather and other bizarre occur-rences give rise to questions in the Baileys’ minds.

Mary Burns and Ann Flowers are long-time reviewers for The Horn Book Magazine.

From the March/April 1997 issue of The Horn Book Magazine

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The Origin of Species, while an extreme case, points to a disturbing trend in recent trade publishing for children: the notion that any book (but most especially a best-selling picture book) can and should be reissued as a board book. Lately we’ve been inundated with board book editions of popular children’s books, from watered down adaptations of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s classic Little House books (“Here is Laura. She lives in a little house on the prairie”) to truncated editions of new and old favorites.

Perhaps unwitting consumers believe they are getting the exact same story when they choose the sturdier board book edition over an original picture book edition. Sometimes they are. The board book editions of Margaret Wise Brown’s Goodnight Moon and Ezra Jack Keats’s The Snowy Day, for example, lose nothing but their original size and shape in their conversion from picture book to board book. And, as an added bonus, Goodnight Moon actually works well as a book for babies since it has many of the qualities of the most successful board books. The Snowy Day, on the other hand, is still a story better suited to three- and four-year-olds; however, we can always hope that it will survive its owner’s infancy or find its way into the hands of an older sibling, cousin, or friend. At least these children will get a complete, unabridged version of the original.

Other board book consumers will not be so lucky. One may be tipped off to the changes in Bill Martin Jr and John Archambault’s Chicka Chicka Boom Boom because, even though the cover of the board book looks very much like the cover of the picture book edition, the title has been changed to Chicka Chicka ABC; indeed, the board book has only half the story of the original. The alphabet letters never recover after their fall from the coconut tree in the board book version. Upon hearing Chicka Chicka ABC for the first time, one twenty-month-old who was very familiar with the original book commented sadly, at the book’s conclusion: “Boom boom?” I can’t say for certain exactly what he meant, but his disappointment with the book’s transformation was unmistakable.

The best-selling board book edition of Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney pales in comparison to the original bestselling picture book on which it was based. The text in the twenty-page board book edition is word-for-word the same as the twenty-eight-page original. So how do you suppose they managed to do that with eight fewer pages? By deleting illustrations, of course, and by twice cramming what once spread over four pages onto two. This completely throws off the pace of the book, a feature that approached perfection in the original, and quite likely contributed to the book’s initial critical success. Ironically, the popularity of the original drives the success of the board book edition: who can resist a sturdier, less expensive version of this engaging best-selling title? People who know and love the original, that’s who! Why tamper with success? Why publish an inferior board book edition of a book that succeeds perfectly well on its own as a picture book? Sadly, the only obvious answer is: because it will sell. Why should publishers limit themselves to selling something only once when it can easily be repackaged and sold a second time?

With the current boom in board books, it seems that nearly every best-selling picture book is destined to become a board book, whether the content is suited to babies and toddlers or not. Conversely, we see fewer and fewer original board books being published—those that are specifically created with the interests and needs of the youngest in mind. In the rush to repackage successful picture books as board books, it seems that the ultimate audience for board books has been entirely disregarded.

Publishers don’t deserve all the blame for the misguided board book boom. After all, they’re just doing their job, giving the people what they want. And people want books for babies. Badly. Anxious to put durable books into tiny hands, parents and librarians avidly purchase board book editions of familiar picture books. But, if there weren’t board book editions available, how many parents would choose Rainbow Fish as a story to read to their baby? How many librarians would think of recommending Lois Ehlert’s Eating the Alphabet for a toddler? And yet these are books that are currently being purchased for this age group, simply because they are available as board books.

Perhaps we have never given true board books much in the way of critical attention. We have probably been a little too quick in the past to write them off as insignificant, unimportant, or ephemeral, not real books, after all. But is there more to true board books than mere form? What can we learn from looking at some outstanding board books that were published prior to the boom? How do these books serve the developmental needs of babies? What do they have that most of the boom books lack?

Any book, of course, can be read aloud to a baby, from nursery rhymes to T. S. Eliot, but board books have been especially designed for them. Constructed of heavy cardboard stock covered with a washable, glossy surface, they stand up to rough handling by babies, who are more likely to throw or pound on or suck on a book than they are to turn its pages. Rather than telling a detailed story, board books help babies begin to understand the idea of books: here is an object that has something to look at and something to say, and we make it work by opening it up and turning the pages like this. Once babies catch on to the idea of turning pages, they are generally very eager to do so, whether they are able to do it themselves or have to prod an elder to turn the pages for them. Those who create the best board books recognize and nurture this enthusiasm by using few, if any, words.

Consequently, most board books have little space for plot development. They may be as simple as Tana Hoban’s Red, Blue, Yellow Shoe, a wordless book featuring photographs of ten colorful, familiar objects, or Lucy Cousins’s striking animal board books, Country Animals, Farm Animals, Garden Animals, and Pet Animals, which consist of boldly colored, stylized portraits of common animals, each one labeled with its name (duck, hen, pig, etc.). More recently, Monica Wellington has created a baby-centered series of object identification books with her What Does Baby See? series. Her Baby in a Car and Baby in a Buggy both highlight the sorts of ordinary things babies typically get excited about seeing when they are out and about, including traffic lights, balloons, fire trucks, balls, and garbage trucks.

Helen Oxenbury offers a few more words in her series of four large, square board books, All Fall Down, Clap Hands, Say Goodnight, and Tickle, Tickle. Each one shows chunky, active toddlers in day care who engage in typical activities such as singing, bouncing, running around in circles, clapping, and waving good-bye. Oxenbury’s brief rhyming text averages just five words per page, perfect for an audience whose attention span and energy level probably matches that of Oxenbury’s young characters. Cheryl Willis Hudson uses a slightly longer (ten words to a page) rhyming text to celebrate the routine of two dramatic occurrences in every baby’s day: waking up in the morning and going to bed at night. Her large-sized board books, Good Morning Baby and Good Night Baby, both feature African-American toddlers, a rarity in the nearly all-white world of board books.

Rosemary Wells is one of the few authors who actually manages to develop plot and character in this context (although Wells, too, uses few words). In her popular series of board books about a headstrong baby rabbit named Max and his bossy older sister, Ruby, she is able to build a simple plot by focusing on conflict between the two siblings. In Max’s First Word, for example, Ruby tries to expand her little brother’s vocabulary:

Max’s one word was BANG!
No, Max, said his sister Ruby. Say CUP.
Bang, said Max.
POT, Max, said Ruby.

As Ruby goes around the kitchen, pointing out objects and asking Max to repeat their names, Wells is actually using the tried-and-true technique of object identification, common in books for babies, but she is creatively raising it to a new level by making it part of a natural interaction between siblings. Her clever repetition of the word bang, an infant crowd-pleaser of a word if there ever was one, also helps to hold the attention of young listeners.

One feature that these books have in common is their simple, flat, boldly colored artwork. Like the text, art in board books is best streamlined and uncluttered by background details. The kitchen setting of Max’s First Word, for example, is implied through Max’s highchair and by the array of objects Ruby points out to him. Nowhere do we see the stove, refrigerator, or tile floor, as all of the action takes place against plain, vividly colored backgrounds. Similarly, Oxenbury’s day care center is implied by her diverse cast of four characters who all appear to be the same age. Behind these four is a clean white background that helps the young audience focus on and define the objects or characters in the foreground. Another feature they all have in common is the authors’ keen understanding of the common interests and capabilities of babies. From the identification of clearly recognizable objects and animals to the portrayal of everyday routines and activities familiar to most babies, these are the subjects which are likely to hold their attention through the five to seven page-turnings required to take a board book from beginning to end.

It is this rare ability to hold a baby’s attention that is the key to any board book’s success. When a baby is able to focus on the book as a whole—not just as something to chew or pound or throw, but as something that opens up to a world of words and pictures that uses the same ingenious page-turning technique over and over again — then we can actually see the origin of our own peculiar species of readers.

From the March/April 1997 issue of The Horn Book Magazine.

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My oldest child, a daughter, remembers that when she was three, and we lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, while her father was a law student, she often walked with me to a nearby grocery store. She tells me that there were letters painted in the street at the corner where we stopped and waited for the light to change. I have no memory of them. But she tells me that I pointed the two Os out to her. I told her they were like eyes, she says, and that because of those O-eyes she could remember that the word in the street was look.

Then — a miracle! — one evening she glanced at the print in a picture book I was reading to her (who knows what it was? We had so many) and happened upon the same word. She saw it on the page, looked up at me, saw that I was reading the print, heard me saying the word look — and made the magical connection in her mind that propelled her, like a little tow-headed rocket, into reading.

Thirty-five years later, I live again near that same street corner. The letters are no longer there, though I believe my daughter that they once were. I never walk past that place without thinking how private, powerful, and memorable a moment it is, in the life of a child, when the shape of letters takes on meaning and a door of the world opens.

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The following Sunday, at their request, we again played, “You can be president.” This time, Fred Jr. was ready. Much to our surprise, he responded quickly and with hard data. We couldn’t believe it, but we kept our mouths shut and kept playing.

Next, the twins wanted their turns at being president. Each was just as enthusiastic about expressing his ideas and solutions to the questions we posed.

When the cycle went around several times, the boys were ready to take the game to its next phase. John suggested that we become presidents from the past and future. Robert chose John F. Kennedy and Harry S. Truman. John, who was a Star Trek fan, was elected President of the Earth in the year 3060 A.C. (After Consolidation) when we were part of a Galactic Federation of Planets.

To prepare themselves, they read history, biography, sci-fi, historical fiction, newspapers, and magazines, and used their imaginations. Our Sunday evening news conferences with the presidents were always intense, informative, and a whole lot of fun.

Without realizing it, our sons were learning how to express themselves clearly and concisely, solve problems, and think critically. They also embraced reading as a lifetime endeavor and not a chore. If your children can read but won’t — don’t panic. Find out what interests them and start there. Hey, tell them they can be president. Something magical might happen.

From the March/April 1997 Horn Book Magazine.

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When I was a child, books published in the U.S. were difficult to come by in New Zealand, dominated as it was by its trading relationship with Britain. But by the time I came to read to my daughters, the publishing world had changed. I was able to read them Blueberries for Sal as well as Peter Rabbit. Of course new ones kept on creeping in. My oldest daughter loved Kiki Goes to Camp by Charlotte Steiner at a time when I was most enthusiastic about The Boy and the Magic by Colette.

When I pull one of my own childhood favorites from the shelf, I wonder, will I still enjoy it? Has time brought me and this book to a point from which we just go in different directions? This does happen. I occasionally read The Story of Ferdinand to my grandchildren, but without the pleasure in the story I originally felt. (To hell with Hemingway! I no longer believe in the enthusiasm Ferdinand’s brothers show for the bull ring, which I now see as a place of atrocity.) The words on the page stand still. The world and the reader change around them.

Now, reading to grandchildren, I read newer authors. Eric Carle, Quentin Blake, Harve and Margot Zemach, Maurice Sendak. I read stories by New Zealanders whose stories make the immediate environment of the listening children replete with imaginative possibility. I also read them The Stinky Cheese Man, Jumanji, and Julius, the Baby of the World from signed copies acquired at ALA conferences.

But sometimes as I read familiar tales to my grandchildren, I weep. One such book, Honey Bear by Dixie Willson, was given to me by an aunt in 1939. It is a sweet, rather sentimental story, though mysterious and humorous, too. I read Honey Bear to my grandchildren and cry as I read, not because of its sentiment but because of its accumulated power. By now there is more to the story than words, pages, and pictures. The voices of my dead parents come to me out of the story, setting up profound sympathetic resonance in that echoing inner library, both voices mingling with mine as I read, yet again, this little-known book.

It was mysterious then, and it is still mysterious today, and the children I read it to watch my face as I read and stare at my tears — those outer signs of the power of the story working in an individual consciousness — with wonder.

From the March/April 1997 issue of The Horn Book Magazine: Special Issue: Family Reading.

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I don’t know that my children would agree — and I am not consulting them to find out — but high on the list of favorite read-aloud books in the house where I was the Mommy is The Runaway Bunny. As a mother, as a pillow to the warm small nestling body, as reader aloud and silent, that book satisfied. The rhythmic prose, the colorful illustrations, the balanced structure of the story, all of those contributed to our pleasure. For myself, also, there was the thought-provoking content of the book — the mother bunny who was so reassuringly always present, or was it smotheringly always present? or merely inescapably? Was I oversensitive to feel a kind of chill when I read the mother bunny’s promise, “I will be the wind and I will blow you where I want you to go”? Was I over-identifying with the child beside me in her/his longing to escape that overflowing, overwhelming Mother? The question the book raises is: What about love?

There are no answers offered, unless in the final line of the story, after the little bunny has remarked, “Shucks. I might as well stay here and be your little bunny.” The mother responds — lovingly, patiently, wisely, victoriously, smugly, above all enigmatically: “Have a carrot.”

Have a carrot, I say to my children, and they understand everything I mean. I mean, everything, including love. Whatever else it might have meant, to our children, to their parents, that line constitutes a family chord. It plays us together, and that is one of the answers about love, isn’t it?

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